Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I don't like it." Sophia said.

That's because you know someone died in there, Carol thought, exasperated. Her sigh was carefully drawn out like a needle, long and threaded with the same patience, the same breath she had been weaving for a month. She looked across the car to her daughter, lovingly, wearily, and drew her lips up in a smile that ended at the crease of her mouth, her eyes fixed. Sophia had recently celebrated her twenty third birthday, but here in Carol's second hand Honda Civic, she sounded older still, by decades, as she had since her mid-teenage years, during the period after they'd left Ed.

"Yes, we know you don't like it, Sophia." Carol's eyebrows lifted and Sophia turned to her mother, sharply, her dark eyes lowering just a fraction before she pushed the car door open and stepped out onto the gravel sprayed dirt to look around.

Sophia was now teaching at the little elementary school in town, she had moved out to Maryville just under a year ago when her teaching contact started. She had met Carl Grimes, a civil engineer working with a local building firm, who was younger than Sophia by a matter of months. Although they didn't live together, they'd been fairly inseparable, Carol had deducted through careful observation. Carl seemed like a nice young man, there was something ineffably charming and amusing about him. He seemed to be a calming influence on her daughter, and for that reason, Carol had suggested he tag along today.

"I think it's nice, Carol," his voice sang out from the backseat. Carl's neck twisted carefully as he extracted himself from the vehicle. He seemed somewhat aware of the occasional tension that settled between his girlfriend and her mother, a hinged silence that lifted from references or clinging apprehensions he knew little of. Or else, he had impeccable timing, infusing a sense of peace through distraction, always embedded in his youthful enthusiasm. "Let's go see it in the flesh!"

"Thank you Carl," Carol murmured softly, taking a deep breath as she also ventured out, to join the group in the front yard of the property.

They were inspecting a two bedroom cabin in the valley just outside of Maryville, in rural East Georgia. Aaron Miller was the estate agent for the property, a tall, brunette man with kind eyes and a gentle voice. Carol had felt instantly at ease with him and wanted to drop any pretence that she was undecided about the house. Her elbows fanned out as her hands found the warm lining of her pockets, and she looked up at the house by the lake, top of the bend in the road, the solid vision of a photograph she'd been studying and lingering over every night since Sophia had asked her to move closer.

Carol studied her daughter thoughtfully as Sophia waited with Carl and Aaron, for Carol to cross the threshold into the cabin mid-way down the winding hill. Sophia had grown taller than Carol had envisioned she would, inching just slightly above Carl. Her locks ended just above shoulder length in a long layered bob, a shade or two a lighter brown than Carl's. They were a beautiful couple, Carol thought tenderly, and her heart lurched with love and worry, which trembled through her as she ascended the stairs. She pulled her sweater tighter around herself, a pale blue knit with generous pockets, in a wishbone stitch that she'd found on a successful thrift store hunt. It was late April, but cooler in the valley, rain had been predicted, and Carol ran her hands lightly down her indigo jeans as she took her first steps through the front entrance, the door unlocked by Aaron moments earlier.

The timber cottage had two bedrooms upstairs, an open plan kitchen, dining and lounge, and a wraparound deck with a porch swing at the front. The swing was an included fixture, Aaron had explained with a strange flare of his fingers and a head tilt, as if unable to hide his embarrassment at having to mention the feature as a bonus. It was a beautiful swing, hanging from the rafters, light chestnut in colour, picking up shadows in its detail. Carol assumed his reluctance had more to do with an awkward compensation, for rumours as to why the property was so cheap, why it had sat on the market for years, having had only one nibble - a sale to owner occupiers who had resided in the cabin for just one fortnight, before the property was dumped back into Aaron's hands again.

Carol wandered through the structure wordlessly, her fingers lightly trailing over the kitchen bench, mottled cream and charcoal granite. Her eyes fixed on the lake until she was outside again, drifting over the back deck, drinking in the view she'd fallen in love over a tiny screen in her little bedroom, two hours South of Maryville. An endless expanse of water rippled in the distance, sun bouncing over it, as a sway of sugar maple trees, their shadows brushing the wispy grass, covered the large back yard. There was a jetty stretching out onto the water but it looked communal, joining the properties either side.

Aaron had followed Sophia and Carl upstairs to the bedrooms, likely sensing where his energy and persuasion should be focused. If he'd noticed Carol's draw to the water, he didn't let on, but the good agent in him would likely have allowed her that time, to imagine evenings at the railing, hot tea in her hands as gentle clouds rolled, dusky and purple overhead. Carol took a moment to let her eyes wander to the neighbours, a large, sweeping house with hedges to her right, and to her left, quite the opposite. A neatly kept mobile home in an off-white with grey trim, several freezers with large padlocks, the cords wrapped up the nearest wall. A small collection of animal pelts were stretched and hung, four or five that she could see, toward the back of the dwelling, as well as buckets, plastic containers, and a hose pulled tight around them.

Carol frowned softly as she took in the clear outline of a crossbow, buckets of darts, ropes, and what could possibly be knives, their angled handles featuring metal rivets that caught a rare streak of sun through the cloud coverage, large enough for Carol to make out their shape from where she stood. Thoughts of Sophia entered Carol's mind, and what her daughter's reaction to the array of weapons might be. As her gaze drifted over the collection of hunting gear, she noticed a shadowed head bobbing amongst the skins. A man stood up abruptly, having sensed Carol's gaze, and his face fixed on her with a searching intensity that made her feel exposed to the elements, stripped of any cover. A frown emerged on the curious face, his eyes narrowing, and her lips pressed together quickly, her hand lifting in a wave. His demeanor changed then, and he looked trapped, like an animal held in the gaze of a predator, for seconds that Carol felt distinctly, before he moved suddenly away, with a backward glare that further confused her. Her hand withered in the cool air and she brought it quickly to her heart, feeling foolish, her thoughts returning to the knives and arrows, the buckets and shadows stacked across the man's yard.

Sophia had been raised in suburbia, in relative obscurity from the more authentic aspects of life, with no experiences in hunting, and only limited time spent in the outdoors. Carol's mind fleetingly searched for a memory where Sophia had camped, held marshmallows over a bonfire, and canoed. Her daughter had gone once, on a school camp and had that experience, surrounded by her peers. She had come home to shrug her shoulders at her mother, hiding away in her room, and offering nothing of her time away.

Carol anticipated Sophia's sigh before the young woman emerged on the deck beside her and she stepped carefully away from the railing, trying to shield the authenticity behind her. All she wanted was for Sophia to walk out onto the deck, and see the lake, see what Carol saw, without any other factors distracting her. Carl mercifully emerged from the cabin first and caught Carol's bright eyes, the slight twist of her head, the way her eyes ducked to the side. Her throat worked softly, but Carl had already turned with her, to face the fenceline behind Carol, and spotted the skins, or the man, or both. He cleared his own throat, more effectively than Carol had, but before Sophia could fix her eyes on the sparkle of water, Carl was issuing a loud, joyful exclamation as he pointed out the far side of the property, and he led Sophia down the sturdy steps towards the neighbour on the right. Carol took a shallow breath as she watched them go. Sophia had missed the view.

"Irma?!"

Carol jumped slightly at the sound of Sophia's happy shout, and, a little confused, she looked quizzically to Aaron who brought his attention from the pleasant greeting that was taking place, back to her.

"Lovely neighbours," his warm voice drifted to her. "Dale and Irma, older couple. Retired," he smiled tightly. "They travel a little from what I understand, but they're very ... generous. With their time, with sharing the fruits of their labours, Irma's quite the gardener. And ah," she watched Aaron's eyes flick over to the other side, where the man with the weaponry on display resided. She noted the shifting tension in Aaron's jaw and sensed it realign for the same reason she felt herself imploring Carl, for Sophia's sake, for her own.

"And your other neighbour is very quiet," Aaron asserted. His speech to follow seemed well practised and Carol could imagine him bringing local buyers, or buyers new to the area, up to the cabin with a reputation that lingered around the story of a woman who had died on the stairwell. They would walk out onto this beautiful deck, to watch the sun hover over a welcoming lake, and find the added bonus of a bewildered hunter with a collection of deer and hog skins, glaring up at them from his busy property. His sun chairs, stripped and bearing an assortment of wild animal parts, perhaps might be too colourful an introduction to anyone envisioning picture postcard in full peripheral vision.

"He's an artisan, as you can see, he's uh, a gifted hunter and trapper, selling skins and, uh, other .. meat, I , uh, I think he does maybe a little taxidermy, from what I've heard, which actually, surprisingly has had a fascinating resurgence in popularity amongst the alternative art crowd, he has people coming from all over the area to buy his work," Aaron cleared his throat, one gently closed fist to his mouth, and nodded vigorously.

Carol was difficult to read, she knew that. It was an art she had perfected while living with Ed for fifteen years. However it was Sophia who had been implored up into the outskirts of Maryville in the background of her call to Aaron and in his office just an hour earlier.

"Do people really care about a little pelt tanning, or whatever, out here?” Carol asked, ignoring her own concerns on behalf of her daughter. "It's rural, right next to the woods, I would've thought along with hunting, fishing, it would just be pretty common practice."

Aaron shrugged, "I never know how folks will react until I being them up here. Most don't mind. Maryville is small, but its growing, becoming more progressive," Aaron smiled carefully. "Attitudes are tending to move away from the, uh, production and sale of furs. Somewhat. Though hunting is still very much a valued hobby for some of the residents, and, and some tourists as well, and it's a way of life, putting dinner on the tables of many families. I can't say I've noticed a smell at all, even on a hot day. But as far as visuals go, if you wanted, I do happen to have contacts for two very qualified and well respected fencers in town. For those instances when you might want .. a little more privacy.".

They watched as the man next door weaved around his row of tans. He glared up at them once more and began hauling a container through the backyard.

"Well it doesn't bother me. And I don't care about the woman who died on the stairs. I mean, obviously I care about her, just, it's not going to stop me."

"Oh no, it was...," Aaron stopped himself quickly. “Carol, what you might have heard...”

"Aaron, I have what I have, to offer, with what the bank approved. I know the sellers rejected the last offer, but you said that was awhile ago, so if they can't meet mine, I'll just have to walk away. Simple as that," Carol gazed solemnly at the agent and he studied her, smiling a little, amused, his mouth faltering.

"Let me introduce you to Irma," his velvet tone found its way a moment later. "Sophia would know her well, Irma being a retired teacher, I'm pretty sure she's still on the PTA somehow. They're big into community, the Horvaths."

Aaron took off in the direction of the fence line while Carol trailed behind, her eyes flicking back over to the other neighbour's property. The man was moving a frame in his yard, angling it into the shadows, a faint shimmer of tender sun on his arms, which were streaked with a rich collection of earthy tones. He looked up to catch Carol's eye again, his tongue darting to the corner of his mouth as he squinted. This time, she turned away first, her cheeks flushing, and focused on her step across the undulating scrub.

Sophia and Irma were engaged in an animated conversation when Carol and Aaron met them at the fence line. Carl was off to the side a little farther, peering up at the clouds, as Carol had often found him doing on the few visits she'd spent with Sophia in the past year. He would simply stare off into space, or the sky, Carol would ask had he spotted something interesting, wanting to know where his thoughts had travelled. Sometimes Carl would deliver some stupendous revelation or observation, surprising her. Something philosophical. The rest of the time, he'd simply have noticed a bug, and was tracking its loop in a web, his focus thoroughly encapsulated. He looked at Carol now, as though anticipating her usual query and he shrugged.

"The clouds are moving quick today," he stated happily, "But, I don't think it's gonna rain."

Carol nodded thankfully and smoothed her right eyebrow with her thumb. Something about Carl's words seemed comfortingly prophetic, as though there was an underlying message in the clouds about the house. But knowing Carl as she did, he was only speaking of the weather.

Sophia introduced Irma to her mother, and explained their connection, meeting to discuss changes and fundraising for the school. Irma, a kind looking woman in her 70's, wore a purple scarf around her head, her cheeks pale and her mouth slightly drawn. Her eyes were kind, and when she turned to Carol, it was with a grace that seemed rare.

"My husband, Dale, would've loved to have met you too Carol, but he's gone out to Ekinston today, no doubt in search of beer and cheese. That man, he epitomises the way of the heart being through ones' stomach. Hopefully," her eyes shone, "we'll see more of you in time."

"Oh, that would be lovely, I'm sure. Can I ask you what happened to the woman, the owner before last?" Carol asked, her voice level. Aaron swore under his breath behind her and Sophia exhaled audibly to her left. Carol's eyebrows arched high as she forced a smile. Sophia was the reason she had brought the matter up. "Sophia is a little concerned about what happened to her. So, should she be? Is there any reason you can think of, for us to be concerned?”

"Mom," Sophia murmured. "Do we need to talk about this now?" She glanced at Irma apologetically as Carol shrugged.

"Well, yeah, now is the time to decide, Sophia. It's a simple question. I mean, it's not like the place is haunted or anything, right?" Carol laughed lightly, her voice intended to diffuse the sudden tension, but she found it had quite the opposite effect. Irma didn't join her laughter. Instead a touch of grief edged the woman's face as her eyes lifted to the cabin behind them.

"I'm sorry," Carol gaped quickly. "You were neighbours. That was," realising that she'd allowed the disagreement between herself and Sophia to derail her focus, Carol promptly changed direction. "Insensitive. I didn't mean any disrespect. I'm used to living among people who .. who don't seem to care if you come or go, as long as you don't block in their driveway." Carol's thoughts rested briefly on the woman who had lived and died in the house she wanted to buy. The grief felt dangerous and unsteady, and she knew immediately that she wasn't equipped to deal with it. She couldn't fall apart in front of this gentle woman, couldn't register a trace of regret in her voice, but she tried regardless to portray some compassion in her features. She still harboured a disbelief towards her former neighbours, the ones who'd lived beside her and Ed. On the nights that he'd been drinking, the house had shaken with his screaming, and she wondered briefly what it might have been like to have had neighbours like the Horvaths. Neighbours who somehow seemed to care.

"No, there's no reason to be concerned," was all Irma offered in the end, her smile slightly strained, a little like Carol's had been out on the driveway.

"Well, we should be going. We've got some units in town to look at," Sophia smiled cautiously, her voice a perfect pitch. "Irma, I'll see you up at the school, if I don't see you in town," She pushed her way lightly off the fence and took her mother's hand resolutely.

Carol allowed herself to be led away, lifting her other hand in a wave. "It was nice to meet you Irma!"

"Well there you go!" Carl fell into a relaxed gait behind them. "Straight from the horse's mouth, no reason to be concerned. Should be a great place for your Mom, Soph."

Carol felt Sophia's hand slip silently from hers.

"Thanks Carl." Her eyes fixed straight ahead. "Let's hope so."

***

Carol caught Aaron just as he was climbing into his hybrid.

"Aaron?" She asked quietly. "What happened to the sellers? Is it true they only lived here for a couple of weeks?"

Aaron pressed his lips together carefully. It seemed he'd taken up Carol's needle and was threading his own breath for the cabin. He looked up at her, his eyes bright, his smile taut. "They ah, they found something," he spoke earnestly, grimacing, his swallow traced with some difficulty. "In the basement, instruments, ah," his gaze drifted over to the young couple by Carol's car and Carol followed his eyes.

The sound of Sophia's laughter flared gently. It was a sharp, brief giggle, a sound Carol was still getting used to, Carl's goofy grin displayed. He had Sophia bent over his arms and Carol took a nervous step forward, trembling for a second, until she realised her daughter had twisted herself that way, that she was safe and protected with Carl. Her eyes welled up and she shook her head a little, tonguing the roof of her mouth.

"Instruments? What do you mean, like a torture chamber?" Carol asked bluntly and Aaron blanched. "Why didn't they just take it all out?"

"Uh," Aaron snickered a little, and shook his head. "I'm not sure, perhaps just the thought of, of that in the house was..." he looked to Carol for help, but her eyes had lingered on her daughter, a real smile tugging at her mouth.

"Was anyone ever arrested?" Carol mused. "For what happened to the woman?"

Aaron shook his head glumly, his patience enduring, like the thread, a patient flame. "They did take everything out, Carol, of course. It's all gone," His tone was soothing once again. "The ..medical instruments, that, that whole section. They didn't find any .. anything .. else of that nature."

Carol nodded thoughtfully. "It's not ideal," she agreed, her eyes flicking briefly to the Horvath's fence line. "So how do I make an offer?"

"Carol, did you, did you look at the, the house? Inside? Upstairs..." Aaron queried, concerned. "And we still have the units to look at-"

"Sophia wants to see the units." Carol smiled. "Let me know when you're ready for my offer. For this place." She looked up at the shadowed angles, the arched windows and sloping roof.

She couldn't explain why, but the cabin felt like a friend, opening its arms to her, as it had in the pictures on the website when she'd first started looking. She didn't want to think about instruments and stairwells, or Irma's pained expression. She was used to making sacrifices. If an uncomfortable history was the only reason she could afford the place, then it seemed a small price to pay. But as she gazed at the cabin, with visions of the lake, Carol thought about how easily it could have been her on the stairwell, in another house, and that it very nearly was. She shivered and turned to the hybrid. There was another feeling brushing lightly against her suddenly, a creeping sensation, that told Carol the cabin needed her. She wanted Aaron to take her offer now, so that she didn't have to wonder why, or think about those things again. Her pause, out on the back deck as she'd drawn in the ripples of water, had felt right somehow, like she was coming home. She needed this place, in a way she hadn't needed many things in her life, and the thought burned through her with a fevered intensity that both unsettled and soothed her. Carol jiggled her car keys lightly in her hand and made her way over to her daughter.

Chapter Text

Carl assured Carol that the cabin had 'good bones' when she and Sophia dropped him home after their tour of the units. He'd said the same of the other properties, but emphasised 'that cabin' and given her a nod, his lips twisting to further illustrate his point. He lingered with Sophia only briefly, despite Carol urging them both to take some extra time, to see a movie.

"I'll be here permanently in just a few weeks. Go." But she knew that Sophia had been busting at the seams, itching to discuss the cabin, to list its faults for her, since they'd pulled up in its driveway.

Carol had been living in a small apartment with a flatmate since Sophia started college. When they'd left Ed, Carol had first stayed in a shelter for several months while Sophia lived with one of her friends, and then they'd found a place together before Sophia enrolled in a community college. Carol had lived with an elderly lady named Bernice for some time and then found a room with Olivia, who had two cats and liked to watch YouTube knitting tutorials. Olivia was pleasant, but nervous in a different way to Carol, so Carol had learned to be guarded around her. The knowledge of Ed's restraining order and the source of her nightmares had not been shared with the younger woman, and Carol had dutifully taken her prescribed medication in an effort to reduce the occurrence of bad dreams.

Carol pulled her vehicle out onto Carl's tidy street and gave Sophia a moment to get her bearings. "It's just a house," she said smoothly, trying to keep her voice neutral, but still inviting.

"And the units are just units. That are closer."

"So close, they're matchbox sized," Carol forced a smile. "I know. I know, I can't afford to be picky. If it wasn't for your Great Aunt Pat up and dying on us, I-”

“Uh, Mom?”

“Well, she's helping out with your student loans too. If it wasn't for her, Olivia and I would be opening up our own sweat knitting tutorial shop in the next six months.” Carol trilled, not surprised that Sophia picked up on the slight edge to her ramble.

“I like Olivia.”

Something in Carol's thread was starting to fray. “You like Olivia, you hate the cabin. Good thing you don't have to live my life, right?” Sophia's shoulders tensed and Carol eyed the road ahead, the trees blurring into a haze of amber and green. She took a long breath and spoke carefully, her hands gripping the wheel. "Thank you for coming today, it means a lot." They drove a little further in the direction of Sophia's unit. "Irma seems nice." Carol's eyebrows arched and she glanced at Sophia when she heard a soft snort. "What?"

"I dunno, why do you hate everyone?"

"You think I hate Irma? I don't even know her," Sophia was staring out the window, but her posture had relaxed. Carol sighed. "It's probably some self defensive reflex thing."

"Yes, it's definitely that. But Irma's nice. So you don't have to reflex. Or defend."

"Easier said than done.” Carol chided melodically. ”I guess I didn't think about people being neighbourly out here. Like a little … community,” Carol tested the word out, smiling brightly, hopefully. “It's nice! You know what, I'll bake her a pie or something to make up for it."

"No she doesn't eat sugar,” Sophia turned suddenly. “With the cancer, she has a low sugar ... it's a change of lifestyle, she said."

"They have these savoury pies I hear you can make.” Carol's eyebrows lifted. “Did you like the view?

"Nope. Hated it." Sophia smirked. "Seriously though, Mom, I hope you're very happy in your cabin. You deserve to be happy. For once in your life." Her tone had flipped so suddenly, exuding such earnestness, that Carol's eyes stung, her mouth twisting as she tried to lift her lashes away from the reddening creases.

"I was happy the second that midwife laid you on my chest. And your first kick.” Sophia didn't respond and Carol swallowed several times before speaking. “There's a man next door that makes his own pelts. That's pretty interesting, right?"

"Good for him. She was probably Irma's best friend, you know."

Carol smiled when she heard the subtle mirth in Sophia's voice. "I'll make the good pastry. Sugar free. I promise. Hey you know what?” She asked decisively. “All this talk about sugar. I think we should get one of those chocolate bomb things you were talking about.”

“Oh if you don't, I will.” Sophia reached down for her bag without hesitation.

***

Carol spent the night on Sophia's futon, in threadless nightmares of medical instruments, hidden rooms, the blue of the trapper's eyes, and Irma's harrowed expression. It was a relief to wake up and set her mind to tasks in the little kitchen of Sophia's unit, brewing coffee and stopping herself from rearranging her daughter's collection of mugs, all hung on little hooks. There was a level of order to every item on the shelves and in cupboards, and Carol chuckled lightly as her eyes found items she hadn't seen on her last visit, quirky sculptures and tokens from the Maryville area, a little teaspoon featuring the lake, her lake, buried in a drawer. Carol knew Sophia received gifts from her students and their parents, that she was well loved and that she lit up whenever she spoke of her third grade class. Pride swelled within her as she remembered all the milestones, all the tears that had brought her daughter here.

Everything in Sophia's space was well thought out from the carefully scribed school events, her salon visits, marked on an Oceans of the World Calendar, to carefully pressed blouses hanging in dust free cupboards, well ordered cleaning products, and soaps in the bathroom. There was a level of procedure, of control, that Carol understood well. It had been her way, for years, and Sophia had absorbed it. They were alike in more ways than her daughter would ever care to admit, and Carol wondered, as she mused over the décor and other structures, what elements had been triggered by the stress of living with Ed, and what interests and habits might have developed naturally on their own.

***

Carol went ahead with a building inspection although she could barely afford it. Neither could she afford for things to go wrong, however, her anxiety flared at the thought of speaking to the inspector, of having a man talk down to her. She was wary of being dismissed, and of having to regulate a deep, precarious rage that had begun to take hold of her recently, often when she least expected it. She wished with a pang that she'd had the courage to ask Sophia, or even Carl to go with her, but she also craved her independence and she'd envisioned Sophia's scrutiny over the house with unease. Still, she felt terribly alone, and as a result, she diligently traipsed after Aaron even though she knew it was probably ridiculous to do so. They both wanted the sale to go through. The camaraderie she'd found in him, whether real or imagined, and likely one sided, was enough. She found comfort in his nod, his mellow tone, explaining the inspector's jargon. She tried not to ask the many burning things that pressed inside her, about the cabin's internal history, the woman and her days within it. She looked to the house instead, and found, as she gazed up at the cabin, at the shadows in the angled windows, a sense of comfort. She felt again, a sweeping impression that the house somehow needed her. She felt protective, in a way she'd never felt before. She leaned into the sensation and chose to let it guide her, pushing away thoughts of Ed, the things he'd said about her mind, his taunting accusations. Carol took many a breath with an undeveloped question on her tongue, and Aaron eyed her cautiously, as her lips pressed together, silencing herself and him, with a stilted smile.

The inspector, Alden, a man with chesnut curls, also assured Carol that the house had good bones. He drew her attention to the plumbing and the fixtures in the bathroom, kitchen and laundry, estimating their life expectancy and what she should anticipate. He took a call before turning his attention to the drainage on the side of the house, and Aaron chose that moment to regretfully excuse himself, heading off to a showing for another property. Carol waited patiently in the shadows, pushing the toe of her ballet flat over the grain in the lawn. She was almost fully immersed in the patterns and detail of the greenery when she heard the vague drone of wheels on the road behind her. Glancing over her shoulder as the car rolled past, Carol felt her lungs empty completely and her throat swell closed. She felt ice burning in her chest, her legs threatening to falter. Ed had purchased a slightly newer Jeep when she'd seen him at the last hearing, in a gun metal pearl finish, a dusty tint of blue. She'd researched how much it it might’ve retailed for and her eyes had lingered over its description, gun metal pearl, virtually indestructible.

The car swept past and Carol turned, her fingers at her windpipe. She took an involuntary step away from the road, and for a moment it was nine years earlier, and she was standing in the darkened car park at Sophia's school, her head twisting at the sound of screeching wheels. Ed wasn't supposed to come within three hundred yards of her now, she hadn't seen him or the car in almost eight years. There was no reason to suspect that the car belonged to him, but still, she felt her old pangs of validation, exculpation, rising with a sea sickness that rushed from her shoulders into her fingertips. A moment later, the road, in a rural forest area, was quiet again, the Jeep's hum having dissipated in the tepid air.

Carol stroked her arms gently and focused on her breathing, found the details in the lawn again, and watched black ants trail to a nearby nest. A shadow doubled over the others and Carol looked up. The deep blue gaze of her neighbour, the trapper, was fixed on her face, his mouth moving beneath the whispers of his fringe.

"Oh!" She laughed, her hand falling from her throat. "Sorry, I was off with .."

"You can't buy it." He interrupted her, his breath drawn in gasps, ragged, like a wild thing being chased. The chill returned to her rib cage.

"I'm sorry?" She apologised again, the meaning changed, as her fingers began to tremble, her heart thudding slowly. She studied the neighbour, the width of his shoulders, the short, grey whiskers splitting over his chin. His dark eyes were hard, drilling into hers, as his breath slowed, and his hands trembled at his sides.

"The cabin," he insisted. "It's not safe."

It felt like a strike, like her collar had been pulled up and was choking her, like this man was dragging her further out into the sunlight, his features vanishing in the glare. She felt colder, a shiver winding up from her stomach, felt her muscles giving, and she wondered, vaguely, where Alden was. She struggled to tear her focus. Safe, she saw the word pressing on the man's lips, still. Safety was all she'd been hoping for, since she could remember. She thought she'd abandoned any chance of ever finding it. But here, where she was not only taking a chance on safe, but also on want, this person, a man she didn't know, had arrived to take it all away from her.

She heard Alden clearing his throat behind her, heard his apology, a distracted one, and the man took off, stalking back to his property, clambering into the same glare that had made Carol so uneasy. She finally took a step, trembling as she shifted, and tried to track her gaze to the inspector.

"This part here," Alden was walking farther away, mumbling, his head down, his back turned.

Carol desperately wished that Aaron was still here and she felt a sudden urge, which embarrassed her, to call him and ask him to return. She wanted to run to the other fence line, to Irma, and hear her words again, there's no reason to be concerned, however forced they'd seemed.

Carol's eyes glistened, her lips parted helplessly, and Alden finally looked back at her. He looked stricken suddenly, his mouth agape, when he saw her pale features, her shoulders shaking.

"Everything ... okay?" His steps were quick up the hill, his hands lifting carefully towards her as though she might fall into them.

Angry suddenly, Carol tore at the inside of her lip with her teeth and pushed her thumbnail into her pinkie, trying to collect herself. "Uh, the house?" She asked Alden, her breaths broken, and he frowned because he didn't understand. "The house," she repeated. "You said it's .. it's safe?"

Alden glanced to the side, where the shadows lengthened, as though he wanted to run in their direction. "Uh," his gravelly voice drifted. He considered Carol carefully, and a resolve emerged in his features. "Yeah, it's perfectly sound. It's got a great foundation, structurally it's, its a good build." He spoke slowly, as though he was trying to work his way though a riddle. "It's just a little built up in this area, I'll show you. To get better drainage, you might want to consider digging another trench out to the side," Alden weaved over a small garden as he charged ahead and Carol stepped awkwardly after him, her heart still battering.

***

Carol thanked Alden and watched him drive away. Since the sellers had chosen not to attend, Carol took it upon herself to dwell a little longer, feel the bones that Carl and Alden had said were good, and let her neighbour's words wash through her, savouring a hint of defiance. She half expected the trapper to charge back up the hill, and she readied herself as she sat on the porch swing, drawing her legs up beneath herself. She shut her eyes and found the breeze. Her neighbour's face, his stare, swept through her mind and she exhaled quickly, scrambling off the deck to stalk over to the fence line, where she hesitated, her eyes on his front door. Carol studied the frame for a moment before her eyes found the hose and she followed it down the side of the property, ensuring she didn't step out of her own yard. The path across the backyard was hilly, flattening out where the skins and freezers sat, glints of light and blocks of colour, jarring in the landscape.

"Hey!" She called out, only her voice travelling over the invisible barricade. When there was no response, her conviction began to wane. "Hello?" She called uncertainly. "Can you please come out here and tell me why the cabin isn't safe? No? Okay, well I just want you to know that I don't listen to people who just … drop their shitty opinions and run. Without ... not from people I don't even know!" She asserted, trying to muster her own belief in the words.

It's not safe. The words echoed through her again, but nothing stirred from her neighbour's side. Carol eyed the empty frames thoughtfully, noting the weapons had also shifted out of sight. She remembered the size of the man's hands and the unsettling manner in which his jaw had clenched. He hadn't bothered with a typical greeting, or returned her wave. It dawned on Carol that there might be other social conventions, rules he didn't know, or might choose to ignore. The property was completely inanimate. If he came charging out of his trailer now, arms swinging, she was an acre from the Horvaths, if they were even home. If that had been Ed, he could have taken her off the front lawn in a matter of seconds. This is what Sophia had meant when she said that the units were closer. Closer together, to other people. Sighing in frustration, Carol left the fence line, further agitated, feeling unresolved. But as she drifted away, she realised that the man had been trying to warn her, to keep her from harm, from whatever disturbed him.

She continued up the hill, stepping over the elevated section Alden had pointed out. As she did, she felt the strange sensation of being pulled from within, like a hand had taken hold of her radius and was leading her back to the swing. Carol stopped at the front steps and looked up at the cabin with wonder. The inner pull remained and stepping back, she felt it strengthen. She gasped a little, her hands tensing, and she scanned the neighbour's yard again and stepped toward her car, feeling the pull within release her gently. It suddenly felt like a cool mist, and she felt abandoned, a latent dread of unexpected autonomy. As she slid into her car seat and fastened her seat belt, Carol watched the chair swing move idly in the light noon breeze. She felt that she was leaving a piece of herself behind. She also found, the longer she gazed up at the wooden planks, at the shadows pressing into the angled windows, that something about the cabin felt safe and familiar. Carol felt again, that sweeping impression that the house somehow needed her. She leaned into the sensation, was comforted by it, and decided to let it guide her.

***

“What's wrong Mom?”

Sophia was checking her students' class work and not outwardly listening. There was a news program, vivid with primary colours beaming from her smart tv, a local reporter warbling in the background. Her unlined eyes flicked between the screen, the schoolwork and her mother, but Carol didn't answer.

The last thing Carol wanted, was to burden Sophia with the neighbour's dramatic revelations. During her hollow drive from the cabin, Carol had lost all memory of the comforting sensation the cabin had directed into her. All that had remained with her in the enclosed burrow of her car, were intersecting images of Ed, keys in hand, smirking beside the gun metal pearl finish, and the panicked blue chasm of the neighbour's eyes, the chill in his lips as he'd shattered her dreams. Carol knew that if Carl was here, he'd have dismissed her concerns with a shake of his head, offered a charming pep talk about following her dreams and not letting the negative thoughts win. She willed the thought away, guilt swelling at a comparison of the well adjusted boy to her own daughter, who'd lived through countless horrors because of her home life. However, something inside her finally broke and she took a shuddering breath as Sophia's eyes swept back to her.

"Maybe I should've just bought one of the units." She said wearily.

"Oh Mom,” Sophia sighed, turning the pen in her hand. “You love that house,” and her eyes drifted across the room, edged with things that Carol knew, took her daughter an effort not to say. "You said the inspection went well. Is there something wrong with the cabin? You can tell me. I know you didn't want me to go. What is it, the roof?"

Carol shook her head, but to her dismay, her eyes welled up. "The roof is fine. Everything's fine.” She tried to smile brightly. “There's an issue with the drainage,” she explained. “I might need to dig a trench.”

“Oh my god. A trench?” Sophia's eyes widened theatrically. “Here i was worried about resale value and idiot teenagers hanging around and-”

“That's what you were worried about?” Carol queried. “Not..”

“Not what?”

“I guess I just thought … maybe, it was a little too close to … history. And that, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have hoped for something so..."

"Hey," Sophia said slowly, frowning. “Of course you should be hoping for something so … so what? So nice?" She lifted herself from her place at the table and walked over to drape herself around her mother. "You deserve nice things, Mom. You deserve to be happy. Anything less is bullshit, okay? And it's been bullshit since that day you finally walked out of a hospital and into a police station. Before then, Mom. Way before all that, before him.” Sophia took a deep breath. “But I've been proud of you the whole time." She smiled wistfully. "And I'm sorry I said I didn't like the house. The house is fine." Carol nodded, wordless in her daughter's embrace. "Mom, you love that house."

Carol nodded again, and patted Sophia's hands over her shoulders. She laughed a little, tearfully, as the hands squeezed briefly, before her daughter left to gather a mug, to rifle through the plates in her refrigerator.

Carol twisted the heels of her palms over her cheekbones, frustration fixing in her shoulders. It's not safe. There's no reason to be concerned. The assertions pulled against each other unevenly. I've been proud of you the whole time. She rubbed at her eyes with back of her hands. "Thanks Soph." She smiled.

“No problem. By the way, Carl said you should play records for your house. Old school. He's compiling a playlist as we speak.” She rolled her eyes after a flash of concern, and Carol laughed lightly.

“For the house?” She felt another pang of guilt, for her happiness at Carl's contribution. “That's sweet.”

“Ugh, no, don't encourage him. The two of you, I swear to god.”

“We like Carl.” Carol smiled.

“Yes. Carl is embarrassing and kind of great.”

***

The engine rattled a little as he neared the familiar bend in the road, and Daryl slowed down, pressing his gloved fingers gently to the brake. He noticed a Sold sticker had gone up over the sign on the property next door and he grunted in surprise, thoughts of the grey haired woman filling his mind. To his knowledge, nobody else had inspected the place in months, but then he could be gone for days at a time, hunting, camping in the nearby woods. He could easily have missed a young family, or another couple. He'd enjoyed the peace and quiet, the lack of interference with his return path, which bordered the back of two properties out of the thicket - the Horvaths and the property next door - when he brought his game back home.

The young couple that had last moved in, had complained of his movements within hours - the proximity of his tans to the property line, his music, his smoke. He'd pictured them laying awake at night trying to think of things to bitch about. A real uptight pair, they'd never waved at him in greeting, nor in passing, held up a hand like Dale and Irma did, keeping their opinions to themselves like ordinary, decent people. They hadn't smiled in a way he'd never seen, like that lady had. He'd been stunned by it, to the point of ignoring her, and then glaring at her. Daryl sighed as he wheeled his bike into his driveway, bumping it down the gentle slope. He'd only needed to give a nod. His head grew heavy as he thought of it and he squeezed the handle of his bike, the ridges in the rubber collapsing beneath his thumb. Daryl looked back over at the cabin, the dappled sun filtering through the maples in his front yard and onto the wooden panels. He realised that he'd never given it much attention before. It was quite a pretty home.

***

The weeks that passed before the house settled were a blur of packing, compiling links of Olivia's recommended knitting tutorials for Sophia, to tease her, and lingering over photos of the lake. Carol had taken some shots of the lake before she'd left Maryville, edging the water with the maple tree closest to her border. The jetty, with an impression of the mountains only visible on that clear day, had been captured too. Carol had felt the quiet stare of her neighbour as she'd trudged back up the sloping rise. She'd turned to him and held his gaze, and he'd tipped his chin back, a half nod as his lower lip vanished into his mouth. Not a smile, but something else endearing, vulnerable, had touched his features. Carol had felt the effort of his simple movements travel to her as though he were shedding a piece of himself. In that flash, he'd reminded her of the fictional characters that as a child, she'd envisioned in some aspect of her future, the gentle, stoic figures who had cradled her shoulders through the fragility of their pages. A lump had formed low in her throat as she'd recalled the younger version of herself, and then she'd remembered the tremble in his voice as he'd found her in the shadows, his insistent warning in the weeks beforehand. Carol had frowned then, at the memory, but nodded back, her arms wrapping her torso, her fingers edging her pockets. She'd considered repeating their argument then, but realised the Sold sticker on the For Sale sign had made her point succinctly. 

Chapter Text

Carol hadn't kept or accrued many belongings since her exit plan from Ed had hit the ground, crashing and splintering into the straws she'd had no choice but to clutch. At that time, she had made it to day three of her extraction, having pawned her grandmother's wedding ring, rented a locker at a storagCarole place, and siphoned the bare necessities, mainly spare clothes and sacred memories from Sophia's childhood, a new cell phone, and copies of the documents she'd been able to get certified, while bussing and walking in the heat. She'd stitched and unstitched the key for the locker into the side of her bra while sitting on a public toilet, a small flashlight balanced in her teeth. The delicate weight of the metal had pressed against her breast through the soft folds of material over the following hours, its hidden significance both a reassurance and a burden to her.

Something inside Carol had compelled her to make prints of Sophia's baby photos rather than to rely on taking the full albums when she left, in case her opportunity to leave occured in the way it eventually transpired. So over three days she'd spent time scanning bubble spit, onesies and first steps, at a Wallmart a county over, then bussed, unstitched, walked, unlocked and locked the storage space, stitching and walking and bussing her way back home in time to start dinner preparations for Ed.

On the third day, Carol had packed her daughter's overnight bag with the girl's devices, birthday gifts and journals, several of her favourite outfits and childhood toys. Sophia had organised a sleepover with her friend Jenny for that evening, with Jenny's parents set to drive the girls home after a mid-year choir concert. Since Ed had refused to attend the event, Carol had been given permission to take the Cherokee, providing she had dinner on the table for him before she departed. But he'd left work early, slamming the door on his way into the house, his mood almost tangible, and he'd operated with a chilling muteness, ignoring Carol, his movements stark, sudden, and loud. He'd refused Carol access to the family car, but allowed her to walk the winding uphill maze to the school grounds, hauling Sophia's green tartan duffle bag, so that in the end she missed the 9th grade performance, and Ed was waiting for her in the school carpark when she arrived.

****

The cabin was small, but the ceiling vaulted and the humble space seemed bare, with only a two seater couch and a small TV on a slightly larger cabinet. The simplicity reminded Carol of the shelter in some ways. Except that here, the walls were still bare, while in her room at the women's refuge, canvasses of blue and purple, flowering yellows and soft lines of grey had taken in her distant stare each night. There, she'd worked on her breathing, willing herself not to call The Beekmans' a second time each night, to check in on Sophia. Here, Carol turned her gaze to the sliding door and beyond the cabin, drew in the depths of the water, the sunlight bright across its surface. She was moving in today and the removalists were in the process of lifting her bed frame and mattress up over the stairs and into the master bedroom. Carol watched, one hand at her throat, thoughts clinging to the woman who had died on the stairs, and who was now, by Carol's imaginings, being trampled under two sets of well scuffed work boots.

Wringing her hands, she went out to step onto the back deck and saw her neighbour crossing the Horvaths' back lawn and her own yard below the property line, his steps resolute across the lower bank. He was carrying a deer across his shoulders and the visual was so unexpected, Carol forgot about the efforts taking place inside. She was surprised to find traces of beauty in the simple movements of her neighbour as he weaved under the maple trees. The man's capable arms, his stride, the gentle nod of the deer, its lifelessness. It was life giving in a circle turned, in its passing. It seemed so natural, and so fitting somehow, as though a hidden part of Carol had been waiting for this man and his kill to return, to illustrate the cycle of life to her when she needed so badly to feel that she was right to be here. That the woods, her lake, could sustain her, in a way she'd always yearned for. She felt warmed by the thought, by life ending and beginning, the beautiful, brutal reality of it, here in this place, even with its broken history. She felt strangely at peace, but the relief was only fleeting. She also felt the sudden urge to run and greet her neighbour, to lure him and his kill up to her deck, for him to lay the deer down before her, on the grass at the foot of the stairs. She wanted him to turn to her. The man's neck craned in her direction and Carol's hand fell down. It angled from her neck to shape her fingers in a wave and her neighbour lifted his chin in a way that she was beginning to understand as he continued on his mission.

Carol nestled into the two seater when the movers finished up inside. She rested her chin on her knees, stared through the opaque tint of the TV screen, and listened to the cabin. It spoke so softly to her that she could only feel the little groans and minute shifts, the wind outside, and the shadows of winged creatures moving to the sky. She felt the basement swelling beneath her somehow, like an ocean filling with archaic creatures she'd never understand and didn't care to. She crept over to the stairs, one foot hovering over the first step.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the space, the air around her, "for all the commotion today."

Then, heading back past her row of boxes, she lifted a blanket out and returned to the two seater, curling herself into the cushions as she waited for her first morning to arrive.

*****

Carol unpacked everything on the ground floor and found homes for her smaller items. Carl had delivered his playlist via text and Carol smiled as she brought out her little record player, carefully rifling through her small collection of vinyls. She set up her portable speaker in the kitchen and waved her index finger over Carl's choices with interest. She'd half expected him to send a collection of songs about ghosts, or something of that nature, and she braced herself a little internally when she initially tapped on his message. Instead he'd found the year the woman had been born, 1993, and sent a mixture of songs that had been popular during her teenage years. Carol cradled the phone against her chest for a moment, moved by his thoughtfulness, and pondered whether Sophia had reigned in any of his decisions. "Thank you Carl." She replied.

Carol set to work making a pie that afternoon, cooling the crust in the refrigerator before filling it with a generous portion of chicken, gravy, and vegetables. As she stood looking at it, she realised that what she really wanted, was to make a second pie, another one for the trapper next door. Not wanting to stretch the ingredients any further, she placed the dish on the top shelf of the refrigerator and headed for the door.

Aaron had handed Carol's new keys to her when she'd popped into his office to collect them the day before. His features had relaxed, as he'd grinned, "they're all yours," and given an impression that he'd expected the return of a relieved or expectant smile from her.

Instead Carol had stared at the ringed metal in her fingers, her eyes dampening at the sudden realisation that she was essentially grasping the conversion of both her grandmother's wedding ring, and her great aunt's lifelong home. Carol had felt the magnitude of the evolution, her fingers curling over the sharp ridges and smooth lines, and she'd repeated in her mind the notion that the two women in her family, sisters, had enabled her get to a place of freedom from beyond their graves. She'd nodded at Aaron and given a sad smile, and his study of concern had flashed momentarily before he'd waved his fingers, remembering something, and left Carol to gather herself while he fetched a modest pink bag.

"I got you a small gift," he'd smiled.

Peering between the matte edges, Carol's free hand had brushed quickly across her face, and she'd laughed and offered her gratitude. She'd lifted the small wooden plaque, a key holder, featuring an image of Lake Sagonige that rested under a layer of resin, and felt tears spring as her fingers looped the key ring over one of the small hooks, which was fixed through the ripples of water.

Carol studied the image of the lake now, as it hung in the entrance of her cabin, and then stepping down her front steps, into the warm summer breeze, she felt the bond of the house release her gently and she climbed into her car.

*****

Carol had taken several jobs in town, as a part-time sales consultant Fridays and Saturdays in a flooring business, and three days rotating at the grocery store at the end of town closest to her. The flooring business was family owned, like most of the businesses in town. The Jones family, Morgan and Jenny, and their son Duane, had opened Jones Family Flooring five years earlier. Carol was hired to work on the floor with Jenny until she was ready to take over, to allow them some time off. Morgan and Duane went out to measure, quote, and fit the materials, and when it was quiet through the week, Morgan brought with him, a quiet intensity into the establishment, which Carol pondered over.

She liked to watch other couples interact, to see how they worked, to search for hidden clues. There was a love between Morgan and Jenny that hurt a little just to be around. They had a special bond, something Carol believed that everyone secretly yearned for. Morgan was a gentle man, serious but kind, with a laugh that seemed to shake up from his knees and pour into Jenny, twisting her lips into smiles that she tried to resist.

Carol had started the week prior, while staying with Sophia. She'd walked the town centre and outskirts in the afternoons, familiarising herself with the town layout and the stores. There was a decadent smelling bakery, a post office, a doctor's surgery, two general stores, a craft store and an old style record store with vinyls and CDs. The latter stocked instruments and paraphernalia, primarily of 70's heavy metal bands, long haired skeletons with axes and swords, the bright colours strangely heightening the dark imagery. Something compelled Carol to wander in on this occasion and she was met with the vocal sting of electric guitar and a few intensely pitched strains of falsetto. The man sitting behind the counter had a slight rigidity to his features and he thoughtfully considered Carol, his dark mullet glistening with a fine sheen of hair gel. His examination of her form was with a scrutiny she found a little unsettling, his eyes, quick and darting, his frown lingering. But as Carol began to settle into the rhythm of the melodies, her hips moving gently as she rifled through the records, her appreciation grew for the energy in the small space.

"You wouldn't have been born when this came out? 1970 .. ?" Carol greeted the shopkeeper.

"26th March, 1976. No ma'am, I was brought into this world three years later. Sad Wings of Destiny, Judas Priest. The only album with drummer Alan Moore, who went on to play for Sundance, although if you were to hold my feet to the fire, I'd have to admit I haven't tracked Alan Moore or Sundance's later musical successes, had they encountered any. Are you looking for anythin' in particular? Because from your body language, I'd assess you as being somewhat relaxed and not concerned about the time gallopin' on ahead of us?”

Carol pressed her lips together in a smile. "I'm Carol," she said, holding out her hand.

"Eugene Porter." Eugene gave her hand a gentle shake. "Are you travelling through or here visiting relatives?"

"No, I'm new to town. I just bought a cabin, over in the valley. Near the lake."

Eugene's lips parted in surprise, a frown emerging. Between his eyebrows, a deep crease fixed, and when he spoke, he seemed to struggle with his words. "The one on Sugar Maple Avenue?"

Carol exhaled nervously, her breath rushing from her as her eyes darted. "Um..."

Eugene's voice rendered a waver, and his eyes changed, a realisation dawning in them that Carol couldn't understand. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry." He trembled. "But there aren't too many cabins up for sale at the moment and I know that one just sold and, h'well, here you are." It shouldn't seem like an accusation, but something in Eugene's expression made it feel that way.

"Oh," Carol's eyes narrowed softly. "I'm sorry, but how do you know that? Mr .. Porter?"

"Friend of mine, woman who used to live there ..is all." His head ducked, a trace of sorrow emanating from him, Eugene shifted out of his seat and moved to the other side of the counter. Carol trailed alongside him, stunned. It felt that Eugene had set up a rope between them with an uneven weight distribution, and Carol was now the one tugging it back.

"Oh, you knew her? The woman who died?" Her face was open, searching Eugene's hooded eyes, which were averting to a stack of CDs, a pile of stickers. "What was her name?"

"Laura." Eugene adjusted the flawless collections in front of him. "Laura Elizabeth Franklin."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Carol swallowed quickly. "It's a beautiful cabin." She studied Eugene carefully as he nodded, not looking at her. "I'm just trying to find some music that.. I haven't really listened to much in awhile, I don't really know where I want to start." She took a hopeful breath. "What um, what kind of music did Laura listen to?"

Eugene looked up then, his eyes shining, and after a moment, he took Carol over to a stack of pristine vinyls, the prices staggering. Eugene considered Carol as her lip twisted into her teeth. "Perhaps I should just write down a list and you could make use of a music streaming service, if you prefer?"

Not wanting to leave without a purchase, Carol bought the Judas Priest album  Eugene was playing. Though his eyes still held a melancholy over memories awash in his recent recollections, a soft smile played over his lips.

"Be well Carol. It was truly a privilege to meet you here today. Look after that place for Laura, would you?"

Carol promised that she would.

*****

Carol knew that her first visit should be to Irma, but she felt such a burgeoning ache at the basic concept of duty, at the reminder of Sophia's misconstrued discomfort, that she couldn't bring herself to do it. After the briefest of assessments, she rationalised that Irma could be out, or resting, and the hedge prevented any indication of the woman's whereabouts anyway. Yet, Carol could see her other neighbour out in his yard, the scent of nicotine drifting as she edged closer. She cleared her throat, remembering their odd interaction on the day of the building inspection, his warning.

"Hello?" She sang out hopefully, and a wave of inky russet locks bobbed up from a nearby chest freezer.

Her neighbour let the lid fall closed behind him as he turned. He seemed to grunt in acknowledgement, but offered nothing more, his eyes drifting from Carol's face to the pie in her hands, and narrowing further.

"I'm your new neighbour, we kinda met a few weeks ago? Not properly. I'm Carol. I brought this pie over for you, just wanted to say hi!" A bright luster, fairly typical for her, swept out in a gust, then quickly waned, under the man's watchful gaze. He scooped up a cigarette from the ashtray resting on the windowsill beside him, his eyes fixing on her face.

"Y'didn't have t'do that," his voice was low, grainy, but not unkind. His head ducked as he leaned back against the freezer, one leg stretching out. "I aint payin' half a'nothin', so.." he shrugged.

"Oh. No, I'm not selling the pie, its just a, it's a gift. I made one for Irma and Dale too." Carol gestured vaguely to her other fence line, another vivid smile reaching her eyes and spilling out of them.

Her neighbour looked stunned for a moment and Carol stood awkwardly, her knees bending, her arms lowering with the weight of the dish.

"Aint talkin' about a damn pie." He said eventually. His gentle tone had taken on a trace that Carol struggled to decipher. "You want me to pay for half a fence too? I'd suggest you go'n take that up with Mr Real Estate. Ain't my problem, lady." He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled slowly, then waved the smoke away from her when it emerged in a cloud between them. "Carol. I'm just rentin'. Land ain't mine."

Carol faltered, her eyes flickering over the containers beside her. "I don't .. no, I don't want a fence. I just .. do you not like pie? It's got chicken and vegetables. I know it's not the best time of year for it."

The man was studying her warily, his gaze settled on her face.

"What's your name?" Carol asked gently.

His eyes shifted then, his gaze falling to her lips, and he lifted himself off the freezer and hooked his thumb into the pocket of his pants. "Daryl." He said quietly.

Carol nodded, her lips briefly turning inward. "It's nice to meet you, Daryl." Her smile was a little strained this time. "I don't want a fence, I promise. I just .. I never really had nice neighbours before, and I kind of ... fucked it up already on the other side. Hence the pie. It's a, a peacemaking pie. That was the plan, anyway."

Daryl's face reached forward, his eyes fixed back on hers intently, but he was gazing at her through strands of fringe, his nearest shoulder jutting forward, as though he was trying to hide the rest of himself. "Irma'n Dale are alright." He mused quietly, a soft inflection cresting in his voice. "Musta done somethin' bad t'piss 'em off."

Carol laughed, a single syllable, then let a sigh thin out before she answered. "I asked Irma if the house was haunted. Apparently she was friends with the woman who died. Maybe, I don't know." The pie bounced as her shoulders inverted.

"A woman died in there?"

"You didn't know? Well then," a frown emerged. "Then, why did you ..?"

"Keep to m'self" Daryl interrupted, waving his hand out. 'Don't care 'bout all that bullshit. Town gossip'n shit."

Carol studied him, still frowning. From the way he spoke, she suspected for a moment that he may have been, or perhaps still was, the subject of Maryville's, or another town's gossip at some stage.

"O'viously didn' stop you neither." His head jerked in the direction of her cabin.

"Yeah," Carol nodded. "About that .. I know you tried to warn me, but I just .. it's just, that the cabin feels I don't know...right to me. I don't expect other people to understand that. But, to be honest, it kind of…," she swallowed quickly. "It startled me a little, when you did that." She finished quietly, her eyes bright.

Daryl grew absolutely still and stared at Carol for a moment. He then drew in a thin scrap of breath and took an ample step forward. "The hell you talkin' about?" He squinted. Carol's breath caught a little at the harsh vibration in his tone, which had pitched lower, until it was barely vocal, just a breath that held between them. She stepped back, wanting their original proximity, and he paused and stepped back too. "When I did what?"

Carol managed to draw in a few breaths. "It doesn't matter," she shook her head and tried to wrap up the exchange with a hollow laugh, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'll just-"

"Hell it doesn't." Daryl exhaled sharply. He paced back and forth, the cigarette waving out in his hand as he pleaded with her quietly. "Thought I was mindin' m'own business, but'f I did somethin' wrong, you should ... should tell me, so I don't do it again. Or so I can a'least enjoy bein' an asshole on purpose. I mean, fuck, the way ya talkin'? Maybe I should be the one givin' you a damn pie."

"You told me not to buy the house," Carol reminded him, her eyebrows pinched toward each other. "You said it wasn't safe."

As Daryl stared at Carol, his lower lip disappeared into his mouth. After a moment, he shook his head, finally lowering his eyes to look her up and down, his lip pushing back out and curling. "Nah," he countered, with a shake of his head. He then lurched forward suddenly, jabbing his finger toward her. "Listen lady, I don' appreciate bein' accused o'shit I didn' do!"

His words were suddenly biting, tumbling out without care or hitch, without a brake in sight, so vehement, that Carol froze in place, her breath stilling, her lips trembling. When she felt her legs again, she turned abruptly and walked back to the cabin without a backward glance, the pie still in hand, while Daryl, seething, trembling, shouted after her. "And don't bother comin' back w'dessert!"

*****

Daryl snatched a beer out of the fridge and pushed the door shut firmly with his boot. He didn't like to drink when he was angry, but that woman next door with her pie and her fear of him, was completely derailing the sense of calm he spent his hours trying to cultivate. He'd been clean for years, with Merle still off in Tuscon or wherever he was now, with the witch, Roxy, the spell caster woman who'd managed to get into some sort of essence of Merle that Daryl hadn't even fathomed could exist, some untapped fragment that only the supernatural, he was convinced, could uncover, and for who knows what reason.

There had been no influences or pressures around him since he'd bought his trailer, he had his customers and trapping clients, Irma and Dale, and the people he had to interact with when he went into town. He hadn't needed to self medicate in any way, not since the ordeal with the couple that had moved in last time. They hadn't stayed long though and then it had been business as usual. But now that Carol had arrived, and just the day before it seemed, she was already getting in his face, and Daryl felt his skin itching for something stronger. It kind of ... startled me a little when you did that. That was her way of saying she'd been terrified. Terrorised. He'd seen it in her face.

Daryl set the bottle on his kitchen counter, an off white plywood and laminate slab, the edges clean but slightly chipped in places. He took a deep breath and returned the bottle to the fridge, moving outside to swoop up his cross bow instead. He headed in a straight line down to the edge of the water and crossed the three properties in the direction of the woods. The water bounced off his boots as he arrived at the far bank and he climbed steadily into the shadows, welcomed by the sounds within the perforated walls that haphazardly lined the winding path. The tracks had only held faint memories of local adolescents meandering when he'd first moved in, and now retained a solid trail due to his regular visits.

You told me not to buy the house. You said it wasn't safe.  Daryl leaned his head back, trying to detect the exact position of the sun through the wispy patches of cloud overhead. Something had happened, one way or another, as far as Carol was concerned. Perhaps another neighbour had bailed her up, someone up the street, a concerned citizen, the sun scorching in her eyes. Or she had dreamed it. Or was crazy. Or, he was crazy. Daryl ducked carefully, his body agile, an entity of the scrub, the lines of his crossbow a beacon, propelling him, as his bustle forward helped unwind the rattle through his ligaments. On and on he walked, over his familiar track, angling for refuge. I don't want a fence. Don't you like pie? And don't bother comin' back!

Daryl watched the shadows lengthen over the scattered netting of maple buds and pine needles until he found a suitable log to draw himself upon. Twisting his weapon away from where it had shifted against his hip, Daryl leaned over his jeans, further trapping the stretched material with the pinch of his elbows, and pushed his forehead into his hands. He thought of Carol's short grey curls with the sun in them, her long, pale neck, and the wave of her tiny hand. Daryl tried to work out if there was some kind of warning, or way of knowing that a person was going to smile at you like that. The mischevious twist of her lips, her eyes the farthest part of the sky before it dipped into the horizon, a blue that was almost clear.

He played her smile over and over, like a song he'd never heard, but one that his body instinctively clung to. He sensed some part of himself reawakening, an urge that had only ever flared in bewilderment, in drunken moments that remained moments, in situations that had seemed to surface out of nowhere, distant memories by the time morning rolled around. In his younger years, he'd been no more hopeful, and less successful, his impulses playing out in his dreams. This was different though, the song brand new. Daryl's hands splayed out on the log, his nails catching the slivers of bark and snapping them into pieces, the soft crunch soothing the endless rattle within him, that he felt would never stop again. He repeated this motion, as the shadows distorted with the light, and willed his thoughts to settle.

*****

Carol fumbled with the back door, edging into the kitchen with a sudden spike of despair and rage. She lifted the pie, embracing an overwhelming urge to dump it into the sink, to destroy the hours spent making it, and punish herself for destroying another acquaintanceship. Instead, the pie slipped from her hands onto the bench and slid out of her reach, before she could get it airborne. A little of the edge snapped off, but the dish came to a rest, more or less in tact. Carol stared at the pie and gripped the bench, startled again, the air frozen around her. Her breath wound out in a cloud of mist. She felt the unmistakable creep of a presence, the hair on her neck twitching, and it seemed to linger all around her. Carol spun, in search of something tangible.

"Laura?" She gasped, and the cold air evaporated. Carol reached for the counter behind her, felt the cool granite, solid beneath her skin. She lowered her head, taking several deep breaths, and was just straightening up, slowly, when she heard a knock at the front door.

Irma stood on the porch with a tray of cheese and crackers, olives and pepperoni. A man with wisps of white hair extending into a trimmed beard, with dark, bushy eyebrows, and a gentle smile, stood beside her.

"I hope we're not imposing," Irma greeted with a warm smile, her eyes glowing delicately. "Carol, this is my Dale," her elbow lifted out beside her and Dale held up a hand in salutation.

"Hi Carol," he greeted amicably.

"We just wanted to drop this off for you, we won't keep you," Irma wore a silk kaftan robe, which swept across her shoulders, a soft wrap embroidered into the hemline with hummingbirds, a pale coral fringe gathering at its ends. Carol's eyes flickered over it and she felt the prosaic facets of her own attire hanging dully on herself, an uninspired red tunic over sable capri pants.

"Oh, thanks. That's very kind of you." Her shoulders were still quaking. "Come in, let's share it." She felt a robotic tilt mar her voice, but couldn't stop it. She stepped back to allow passage, but Irma and Dale didn't follow her.

"Could we sit out here, if it's not too much trouble?" Dale's eyebrows lifted and he gestured to the porch swing, the wooden bench nearby.

"Are you sure we aren't keeping you?" Irma pressed, holding her gentle stance near the door, her robe drifting.

"Actually," Carol remembered the pie. "I have something for you, let me just grab it." She ducked back into the house, leaving the door open. She didn't have wine, and didn't want to ask how they liked their coffee, so she stacked three glasses, nestling them in the crook of one elbow, as she hauled a bottle of water out of the fridge and scooped up a pie with her free hand. Dale stepped forward hurriedly to help her unload when she stepped out onto the porch.

"Made you a pie," she smiled brightly and Irma and Dale murmured in appreciation, inspecting the dish with a grateful nod each, Irma asking where Carol had found the time.

Carol set the glasses down on the end of the bench and poured a drink for each of them, drops of water splashing onto the smooth pine surface.

"How's the unpacking going?" Dale asked. He began to lift the plastic covering from the platter, but his eyes remained on Carol. "Hell of a job." He mused.

Carol sat down on the swing and smiled again, the slightly strained ritual a form of muscle memory. "No, it's fine! Everything is great. The cabin is just beautiful, and the view," she nodded, taking a sip of water, and then drinking more, her throat welcoming the respite of her slope back up the hill, the jolt from the paranormal imposition her mind hadn't been allowed a moment to process.

Dale cleared his throat, his head tilting towards Irma. "We heard Daryl yelling down at his place a little earlier, that's the ... the fellow that lives on your other side, did you happen to...?" Dale's question was left unfolded, his eyes still on Carol's, searching patiently.

Carol gripped the glass in her hand, swirling the shallow layer of liquid left within it. "Oh. Yes," she nodded, looking up. "I took him a pie too. We had a, I think a, a misunderstanding. It's fine." She waved her hand, her nose scrunching.

Dale nodded and lifted an olive from the platter. "He's usually so quiet, Daryl. Keeps to himself."

"Except for that disagreement with the Andersons." Irma added.

"Oh yes. Mick and Lila. They were very fussy," Dale waved his hand, shook his head. "High maintenance folk, if you ask me."

"Is he the reason they ended up moving out? Do you know?"

"No," Dale was adamant. He shook his head. "No, they had a lot of complaints. He's a reasonable sort, Daryl, once you get to know him. Not that we know him well. He's an excellent hunter and tracker, helped clear out a colony of Eastern Cottontails that had taken to Irma's vegetable patch. Didn't have to ask him! He just ... noticed, I guess, and offered to help out. Didn't charge us a thing."

"That was right after the cancer had come back," Irma glanced at her husband as he took her hand in his. "And I was so ill, with the treatment, I would sit on my chair out there in the sun and watch those little bastards. They were brazen, weren't they?" She laughed and Dale nodded. "Gosh it was a relief to have someone take care of something as simple as that. Wouldn't let us pay him!"

"He shot them?" Carol asked.

"No, gosh no, he set some traps," Dale explained. "Said he didn't really deal in rabbits," and he shrugged, his hands fanning out, with the fingertips pressing together. "He relocated them. That's one of his trades. Anyway, someone else out there must have a pretty good collection of cushions or a bedspread.”

"I like to think of them running free, in bright meadows," Irma turned to consider Dale. "Far away. But we haven't seen a lick of them, not since Daryl's been here." Irma studied Carol. "I don't know how he does it, but my lettuce and carrots thank him!"

Dale nodded. "Oh yeah. I think he appreciates us letting him drag his carcasses across the way without any hassle. Even though it's over our border. The Anderson's didn't make it easy for him, let's just say that." He smiled in amusement, remembering.

"Has he ever..?" Carol wasn't sure how to formulate her question, but the Horvaths waited patiently. "Does he live alone, Daryl?" They both nodded and Irma leaned forward, her hand on the armrest.

"Oh, I meant to ask you, will Sophia be staying in town?"

"Ah, yes. Sophia has her own place. It's just me. It's the first time I've lived alone actually, unless you count the.. uh," Carol cleared her throat softly. "It's a nice change."

"Sophia is such an amazing young woman." Irma beamed. "Those children absolutely adore her. I imagine you're very proud."

Irma gave such an emphasis to her appraisal of Sophia, that Carol felt strangely judged by it. She worked to understand Irma's meaning, to detect in her apprehension whether her uncertainty stemmed from the way the older woman spoke, or if there was a hidden meaning within her words. It dawned on Carol that her daughter might have shared with this warm, welcoming woman, stories about Ed and their history.

"She always wanted brothers and sisters," Carol's habitual flash of benevolence ruffled then faded quickly. There were so many dead ends to a simple conversation. She selected a few crackers and snapped them in her fingers, placing a sliver of one on her tongue and swallowing it hurriedly. "She loves teaching and yes, I'm very proud of her."

There was a short silence, as though Dale and Irma sensed the dead ends too, and Carol made a note to ask Sophia exactly what she'd discussed with her neighbours.

"I have to apologise," Carol straightened up slowly, wanting to finally address the issue at the forefront of her mind. "What I said about the house when I first met you, Sophia's concerns."

Irma waved a hand. "It was the talk of the town for a year or so. It's understandable that you, or Sophia, had questions."

"Did you spend much time with her? Laura?" More dead ends appeared to emerge, Carol watched them sweep across the Horvath's faces in unison. "I met Eugene today," Carol explained. "At the record store."

"That was Laura's dream, the record store." Irma smiled sadly. "Eugene was a science teacher over in Ekinston when Laura passed away and he retired almost immediately. He has poured everything into that place, wanting to honour Laura's memory."

"He said they were friends?" Carol wanted to clarify.

Irma and Dale exchanged a look. "They were engaged." Dale's eyebrows gathered.

“Oh. I see. And did he live here too?"

"He had just moved in actually, but this was Laura's baby, as she called it. Dale and I," Irma took a deep breath, and turned toward her husband. He squeezed Irma's hand and considered Carol, sorrow in his eyes.

"Irma and I were headed out of town that weekend, it was our first trip actually," he explained. "Eugene left for work on the Friday, we left shortly after. Laura waved to us, from this very spot," he smiled sadly. "That was the last time we saw her."

Carol's nodded, her eyes damp. "I'm sorry." She said quietly.

"Eugene found her," Irma explained. "He was an absolute mess. Of course." She shook her head. “I just wish...” Dale patted Irma's leg, his chin wobbling.

Carol spoke quietly. "Was it an accident?" she glanced between the couple. "I'm sorry. You don't have to..."

"No. No, we don't think so." Dale's face shifted with a rigidity that muffled a sea of emotion. "I don't know how many times Irma and I have talked about what might’ve happened if we'd ... delayed our trip, if we'd stopped by to talk to Laura, just to see if ... before we left. If we'd visited more, been another pair of ears..."

Carol studied the food platter, her throat dry again. "Do they know who ...?" Her thought trailed off.

Irma shook her head quickly. "No. Laura had an ex, there had been some ... issues, and they … the investigators said they would question him, but nothing ever came of it."

Carol squinted at the portions of feta, stacked over a curved row of pastrami. "He thought I wanted him to pay for half of a fence," she explained, lifting her eyes to meet their bewildered expressions. "Daryl."

"Oh," Dale nodded, frowning. "Yes, that was an ongoing issue of contention for quite a few days there. With the Andersons. Daryl took off for a week or so, if I remember correctly. He does that occasionally. Asked us a couple times, before you moved in, who'd bought the place this time."

"He wasn't around when Laura lived here?" Carol asked.

"No," Irma smiled thinly. "The land values took a bit of a dive after Laura died. Such a fickle thing really, but in any case, I know they were happy to rent that land out, as it didn't sell. Daryl has been here just over two years. Laura died three years ago."

“I guess that would explain,” Carol eyed them both, “the Andersons, maybe, why Daryl was so … on edge. Meeting me." I don't appreciate bein' accused o'shit I didn' do.

The Horvath's nodded, Dale vigorously. He eyed Carol carefully, with what appeared to be concern. “Did you .. are you wanting to put up a fence? Daryl's renting that lot, as Irma said, so you would have to get in contact with the land owner. But you're probably aware of that. If there's anything Irma or I can do, please Carol, let us know."

Carol studied Dale silently. She could see from the way that his eyes widened, that he was the sort of person who not only had the ability to unravel layers and see through them, but actively wanted to. He and Irma were similar in this, but Irma seemed more reserved, waiting in the wings with a perceptive, but serene  composure. Dale's hesitance surrounding life's mysteries seemed bound a little tighter, was willing to find alternative pathways to understanding.

“Thank you both, I appreciate that. And yes, Daryl explained it too,” Carol smiled tiredly. “But I don't need a fence. I told him that.”

Dale and Irma read the exhaustion lining Carol's face and excused themselves shortly after, mentioning afternoon naps of their own, plants calling for refreshment, and various other jobs edging their way onto a never ending list.

Carol wandered back into her cabin, in a relative daze. She set the cheese platter on a shelf in the sparsely filled refrigerator and drifted over to the record player. Sliding onto the floor in front of the two seater, she flipped the Judas Priest album over to study its back cover. As she leaned forward, her index finger following the curve of a black thickened line, the album suddenly swept out of her grasp and across her knees, embedding itself into the wall beside the television. Carol took a shaky breath, her shoulders dropping, and she looked both at her trembling fingers and the exposed half of the new record, and tried to understand.

*****

Daryl crossed back into his yard just on twilight, the amber glow still reaching out for the bend near the edge of the forest. He kept his face fixed ahead but his eyes flicked briefly, finding the warm glow of the sun setting repeatedly in the windows of Carol's cabin. His head ducked as he twisted his way around the sugar maple trees, over the damp earth until he reached the place where he was able to climb up to his back door. He grabbed a glass of water from the sink and drank quickly, several droplets nesting in his beard, which he buried deeper with the back of his hand as he swiped at them. He set the glass down and moved into the dining area, grazed three buck skins draped across the chairs, and picked up his notepad with the online order details he'd scratched out. He carefully unravelled the first pelt across the table, smoothing the material with both hands befire measuring a stretch of soft burlap, preparing it for packaging.

There was a sharp knock on his front door, gentle but insistent. Daryl dropped the roll of fabric and shifted cautiously toward his entry. Swinging the wooden panel open, Daryl leaned out into the dim twilight. At first he saw only his empty porch, but then his gaze travelled over to the cabin and he spotted Carol in the distance, traipsing over the scrub at the side of her property, up and onto her own front deck. She glanced over as she grasped the door handle, and her hand lifted, her fingers fanning perfectly in a wave before she disappeared inside. Daryl's body moved instinctively, to follow her, and his boot gently nudged an object which scraped softly across the boards. Carol had wrapped the chicken and vegetable pie and left it on his doorstop. Daryl scooped it up and inspected the dish, thumbing the top layer of pastry as it crumbled over the edge. Carol was somewhere inside her cabin when he looked back up. She'd switched on several lights, and drawn her curtains. Daryl watched the cabin thoughtfully for a moment before he shut his door behind himself, illuminating his own domain as he headed for the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Carol spent a long time staring at the narrow slit in the wall beside the television. It was a perfect horizontal scar, her first blemish in the cabin. She thought about the blemishes she'd encountered in the time before, the marks that Ed had left all over her, and the ones she had indirectly, left all over the walls. With her head, her shoulders, when she'd moved too quickly in Ed's drunken haze to intercept the things he'd thrown at her, or when they'd ricocheted. Carol had learned to patch walls and not care about her own possessions. She'd learned to patch herself up too. At times there had been an odd camaraderie and despondency with the walls. Sometimes they'd aligned with her bruising, but more often, they'd stood as silent witness. Walls had trapped her in, broken her falls, supported her.

Carol let the evenness of her fingers smooth out along the plaster in front of her. She'd pulled the record out of the wall and dropped it on top of the others without a second thought. It had meant another trip into town, and a fifth thing that she couldn't explain to anyone, starting with the car that had looked like Ed's. She thought of the Daryl-not-Daryl, warning her in the side yard, pies gliding out of her hands, and now, a flying vinyl record. Sophia was due for a visit any day and Carol hadn't moved in upstairs, or unpacked a single box that was designated for the second floor bedrooms. She didn't know if she was warier of the staircase, or what lingered above her. She'd felt arms around her every time she'd put her weight on the bottom step and peered up into the shadowed space in the corridor above.

Immediately following the incident with the record, Carol had taken out the leaflet from the small white box storing her medication and thumbed the page over to highlight the list of side effects, her nail brushing over the tiny words, "changes in vision, including blurred vision, memory problems, Rare: confusion", and stuffed the paper back into the box with a sigh.

Carol decided that she had somehow manifested the eerie events, because of the sleep that had evaded her. Therefore she had summoned them into her dreams, or into sly moments of wakeful distraction. She remembered them differently. Ed's car and the pies, they were flashes spoken into meaning, through her need to deflect, the rumours in the town setting her up, her mind cushioning a reality she'd somehow accepted as inevitable, before things within her grasp had had a chance to actually evolve. The record lifting from her hands, the haunted expression on Daryl's face at their initial meeting, then his insistence that it hadn't happened, because it hadn't happened, were now blurred events, as real to her as sidelined figures in a crowd that faded out of memory the moment they disappeared.

Carol had lingered out of sleep, listening to the cabin, feeling her weight against the cushions, the depth of herself above the floorboards. And she'd prayed, asking for understanding and guidance. She'd given thanks for the lake and the security of the cabin, for the distance she had from Ed. She needed wisdom from her higher power, and so she'd promised patience, and duty, whatever that turned out to be, though she'd reasoned, and she knew it didn't quite work that way, that she didn't know how much she had left in her to offer. She stood now, running her thumb over the crumbling paint in front of her and went hunting for the sandpaper.

-----‐------

"Mom, why haven't you made your bed yet?"

Sophia had opened a box marked 'linen' that hadn't shifted from the living room, before waving a sealed bag containing long silver screws, labelled 'bed'. She peered upstairs with a disquiet that was familiar to Carol. "Where have you been sleeping?" Her long bob swayed lightly, newly washed, and Carol pictured her daughter in front of her classroom, addressing her students in a similar manner. "Or, are you not sleeping?"

"You're not at school, Sophia," Carol reminded her daughter, her eyebrows seemingly determined to pitch higher for the duration of her daughter's visit. "I know, you're worried, but you don't need to be," she soothed, and the unspoken sentiment paused on Sophia's tongue as they both smiled, a little resigned. "I'm fine. I promise." She asserted.

"Do you want me to put the frame together for you Carol?" Carl's neck seemed longer suddenly, as he stretched around from the side of the two-seater. He seemed hopeful a job would allow him to escape the minimally furnished living space that seemed to hold no interest for him.

"No. Thank you Carl, I'm fine to do it."

"That means, "yes please, Carl, but I'll be damned if I ever ask anyone for help"."

Carl's uncertainty flickered between the two, with Sophia seemingly winning the battle. He rubbed his right eye briefly and happily jumped off the sofa, headed for the stairwell.

"Just ... Carl, please be careful on the stairs," Carol called after him.

"Why?" He turned back, his face lined softly with concern.

"They're a little .. uh, fragile."

"Well that's not good, since when?" Carl mused, bracing his body as he took the first few steps, then brought his foot down repeatedly, firmly, to test the durability of each panel, creeping higher slowly.

Carol turned away with her hand at her mouth and Sophia gave her mother a curious glance. "Carl, the stairs." Sophia called out softly. "Someone died on those stairs." She reminded him, her eyebrows arching.

"Oh, shit." His foot suspended instantly and he grimaced, looking back at Sophia. "Sorry ghost," his fingers wriggled out. "I'm sorry. Sorry Laura," he meant the second apology, more with respect to Carol, and he weaved the sentiment into a loud whisper. When he glanced up however, to gather mercy from the women, Carol was looking at him with a question in her eyes. He apologised again and his face set as gripped the banister. "I'm on it! I'll make that bed frame so sturdy, you'll be able to bounce around on it to your heart's content." He reassured Carol firmly and then a thought seemed to dawn on him and blushing, he froze, dropping his head as he shook it, then he mumbled something to himself as he disappeared into the upstairs hallway. Carol turned to Sophia, who was fixedly avoiding her mother's eyes.

"Don't say it." Sophia warned with a delayed snort.

A smile hesitated over Carol's mouth and she returned her attention to the vegetables on the counter, slicing her way through a carrot. "He's your boyfriend." She shrugged, with a faint hint of accusation.

"Yeah, but he's your pet." Sophia rolled her eyes.

"What does that mean?" A quizzical impression passed over Carol's face and she shook her head. When Sophia shrugged and lifted herself up off the floor, Carol tilted her head. "So. You knew about Laura then?"

"Yes, Mom." Sophia shuffled slowly into the kitchen area, her feet bare, her eyes searching Carol's. "Laura Franklin. She was a carpenter, she worked with Carl's team before he started. She was engaged, new relationship. But," her sigh reminded Carol of that old thread again, and she wondered how many unsaid things her daughter felt she had to hold onto. When Sophia spoke, she hesitated, then rushed through the story as though she could erase it as soon as the words left her. "Her ex was … when he found out about the engagement, he broke in and … and he threw her down the stairs, that's the story, it's an unsolved case. Cops couldn't find him apparently."

Carol's grip on the knife knife tightened so subtly that she doubted her daughter would notice it. But she'd stopped chopping and stood motionless at the bench for too long, giving a single nod, and she sensed the young woman eyeing her critically. Sophia announced her presence with a sigh, one careful hand going to Carol's back and rubbing it, a wordless understanding that tried to answer her silence.

"I'm fine," Carol insisted, straightening up, the fingers of her right hand moving deftly to her cheek, and she smiled brightly at her daughter, her eyes set.

"Okay." Sophia spoke quietly, obsequiously, not as the teacher, or the distant teenager, but as the adult daughter, a new woman who was emerging in her own space and time, who was trying to balance undulating moments of patience and insight, and who was starting to stop herself before she spoke. "I thought telling you might ...might make it too real somehow, instead of, if we just...”

As Sophia's thought trailed away, she did too, drifting to the kitchen window, her eyes drawn to the lake, and Carol realised that this was the moment, the impression she had originally hoped for, for Sophia. The calmness seeping through her daughter, her eyes shining, shadowed with the winged paths of sparrows and finches, the clouds moving peacefully overhead. It bothered her, like a burr's constant scrape against her skin, that Ed somehow had a lingering, if distant, presence in it. Carol gathered the chopped vegetables and scraped them into a pot with the other ingredients, lit the gas burner, and moved the stainless steel onto the flame.

"Your neighbour's kinda cute," Sophia mused and Carol felt a cough swell through her without warning. She recovered quickly, without Sophia appearing to notice, or acknowledge it. "Kinda like ... Bear Grylls I guess, but if he lost his barber and stylist, and... wasn't on TV I guess."

"Oh, like real life?" Carol laughed.

"Well I wouldn't go that far. Or maybe that's not going far enough, I dunno. But it could be Into the Wild, the middle aged version."

Bewildered, Carol wondered briefly if Sophia had actually watched any of the programs she had mentioned, as her daughter's interests seemed to range from wildlife documentaries to period pieces. “Oh, Sophia.” She chided, faintly amused.

“Oh, look. He's coming over.”

“Sophia...”

“No really, this is not the girl who cried next door neighbour. Hmm. I can't tell if he's better or worse looking up close. Can't see his … eyes. He's got good arms though. If you like that kinda thing."

Carol sighed loudly. “His name is Daryl.”

She made her way over to the window beside Sophia and watched attentively as Daryl strode across the yard. Her mind instantly flashed to the day he'd brought the deer back, and her longing for him to lay it against her steps. Carol could see that he had the pie dish in his hand, but noted its rise at the middle, covered loosely with a red cloth. She felt a wave of disappointment rise in her as she realised that he was returning the pie to her, and she wished, not for the first time, that she could go back in time and not say what she'd said.

*****

Daryl stared grimly at the cut of venison he'd set in Carol's pie pan. Distantly he remembered the new dish cloths he'd purchased, months earlier, that sat unopened in the bottom drawer, and he fished the packet out, tearing into it, his hands shaking slightly, as he eased the red cloth out to fold over the cut of meat. He shifted restlessly for a moment, glancing through the slats across his kitchen window in the direction of Carol's cabin, before scooping up the pie dish with a sigh, and making his way through his backyard and onto Carol's property.

It was still warm where the sun met the fragmented sections of lawn, but the breeze was cool. The sun dipped onto the water behind him and shone in rows of glass squares lining Carol's cabin. The largest reflection of the lake shifted, doubling over as the soft scrape of the sliding door split the image, the noise sending a soft jolt through Daryl, and his steps slowed.

Carol was walking cautiously toward him, swiftly down the porch steps, her face stretched with a thin smile that didn't touch her eyes, and disappeared before he could study it. She glanced at the pie dish with a frown, her arms crossing to cradle her elbows, and they met at the foot of the stairs, Daryl dipping his head forward in greeting, holding tightly onto Carol's pie dish, as though it were an anchor.

Carol glanced at the dish and her lower lip tucked into her teeth briefly before she sighed in a way that filled Daryl with a sudden panic.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have just assumed that..." she spoke quietly, her eyes shining over the parcel in Daryl's hands, and as she took a deep breath, her eyes lifting to study his, he interrupted, stepping hastily forward.

"Nah," he squinted. "I'm the one s'gotta 'pologise. For yellin'. No excuse, but," he chewed his lower lip briefly. "M'real sorry 'bout that." He repeated the action, colour flooding into his lower lip when he released it. “Brought you some venison. S'fresh and um, the pie was real tasty,” his eyes locked onto Carol's. “Real fillin', gonna do me for lunch', dinner again. So … thanks."

Carol's expression changed then, and Daryl watched, transfixed, as a shadow of confusion touched her features, her eyebrows working as a light almost reached them. Then the wave of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth unevenly, her teeth, pearls between them, as her eyes shone again with the clear blue hope he'd seen on her earlier visits. He felt his heart return to a steadier rhythm, still thudding, and the dish moved a fraction in his timid hands.

"I'm so pleased you enjoyed it. Like I said, it's not the best time of year for it."

“Nah,” his voice was gruff, a slightly obscure, gentle tone. “Was perfec'.” He took a deep breath. “This was the deer I brought home th'other day. Should let you get it inside.” He insisted tenderly and he reached forward, placing the dish carefully in Carol's outstretched hands.

Carol seemed to have anticipated the lighter weight of the pie instead of the bulk of the venison, her arms dipping immediately, and her body falling forward as she tried to recover the load. Daryl's hands captured hers without pause, stretching carefully over her fingers and firmly enclosing them. He realised, too slow, that his face was close enough to hers to take in the honeyed scent of soap, the apple sweet fragrance of her shampoo. He watched her pupils sharpen, fright registering in them, as her mouth locked into a film of terror. Carol gasped and flinched, and stepped back, her gaze stricken, as it lingered on his own. Daryl released his grip on Carol and the dish, stepping back quickly, his hands shaking, and his breath forgotten. He whispered an apology, crestfallen, and his head dipped as he tried to steady his breathing.

Carol seemed to recover quicker, her eyes shutting as she drew in several breaths. She then shook her head, as if to dismiss his apology, and smiled wanly, blaming herself, with the lines of the strained smile from earlier. She curled an arm under the weight of the dish, lifting the red cloth sagely to inspect the slab beneath it. Then she laughed suddenly, a rush of almost soundless joy, so lightly trilled that when she lifted her eyes, they were soft again, smiling, and Daryl felt his own lips curl faintly. The porch door slid open and his eyes flicked up. Carol turned, her forearm still cradling the pie dish, as a young woman wandered out onto the back deck, her smile polite, her eyes searching, then narrowing, as she quietly made her way down the stairs.

"Should let you get that inside," Daryl repeated softly, his eyes flicking between Carol and her visitor.

“This is my daughter, Sophia,” Carol explained, turning warmly.

As Sophia reached the bottom step, her hand lifted in a pleasant wave. She then stepped forward immediately to unload the pie dish from Carol, balancing it in her arms almost as awkwardly as her mother had, before inspecting it quickly, her expression unreadable. She peered up at Daryl with the blank look stilling on her face, her expression open in a way that triggered a layer of restlessness in him. Daryl dipped his head back in greeting, his lower lip disappearing into his mouth for a moment, before he gave his name in introduction, his voice low, his eyes searching. Then his boots turned as he nodded, arching keenly in the direction of home, and his exit.
“S'fresh,” he reminded Carol finally, his eyes falling to the pie. “Should let you get it inside. Have a … have a nice aft'noon.”

Daryl then turned abruptly and eased himself away. Carol sent out a mystified farewell as he left, her voice fading in a quaver of crickets trapped in chorus, and the light seemed warmer suddenly, the grass a brighter green.

Daryl's breath was still erratic though, his hands damp from the encounter. He wiped his palms carelessly across the crease of his hemline and onto his pants before hastily pushing his hair back. As he neared the property line, a gentle roar lifted his eyes to the glaze of his house and he drew to a stop, staring numbly, for seconds, as he took stock of the huge wave of tendrils engulfing his house. Flames of orange and crimson, and bands of black smoke billowed out of his windows, rising into the distorted imprints of cloud coverage above. His heart lurching, Daryl broke into a stumbling canter, his eyes burning with the reflection of the angry flames ahead. His thoughts clung to his kitchen, to the wires, his oven, and ashtrays.

As Daryl stumbled forward, dazed and panicked, his feet kicked over the property line as he crossed into his yard. But as he did, he felt something soft and unyielding lift up before him, catching his shin, and he tripped, his hands diving into uneven blades, clutching them as he fell. He was robbed of his breath, gasping as he stilled. He turned to see what had stopped him on his passage, but there was nothing behind him except grass. The shock had winded him and seconds dragged. He quickly assessed his ability to stand, easing himself back onto his heels as his eyes lifted to the white lines of his home. He stopped again, his breath broken and senseless.

The house was still, appearing to him just as he'd left it. There were no flames abating in broken windows. The smoke had vanished, and in its place, all of his windows, the ones that had shattered as he ran, were still intact. There was no sign of fire at all. Daryl's hands, sweating again, trembling, went up to stroke his jaw as he tried to process the images still pressing inside him. He stood, shaking his head, waiting patiently for oxygen, his breath hitching repeatedly, as he cautiously made his way inside. He headed for the kitchen, for his ashtrays, before he stood, scowling at his television, the light fixtures, and gently smoothed his hands out onto the laminate covering the walls. He sank finally onto his couch, and into memories of a fire extinguished decades earlier, his head in his hands, still quietly heaving, still trembling, and tried to tell himself that there was nothing wrong.

*****

Carol stood in the archway of the sliding door, one hand to her chest as she watched Daryl fall. Part of her wanted to run to him, to take a step in his direction, but she was filled with the terror of responsibility, as though it were somehow her fault that he'd misstepped. She took a shaky breath as waves of memories flowed into her, the times Ed had moved awkwardly, or dropped something, and she had been there to absorb his embarrassment.

Carol stepped quickly over the threshold and closed the door behind her. She watched, her eyes darting cautiously, as Sophia set the pie dish down on the kitchen counter and peeled back the tea towel to reveal the generous serving of venison. Sophia stared at it thoughtfully, little expression registering on her face, apart from a study of curiosity.

"He must save a lot of money, getting his own meat." She commented quietly and Carol nodded, her lips pressing firmly together. "He seems pretty shy, don't you think? Daryl?" She murmured, her eyes studying the grain in the meat, her lower lip twisting slightly. “Isn't this your pie dish, Mom?" There was a pause, and then Sophia's eyes rose. "Did you make him a pie too?”

“Well, yes. Felt ... neighbourly.” Carol chimed, her voice bright, almost song like.

Sophia's snort was a small puff of air. “Look at you go, Mom." Her tone was still low, but gentle, and she looked up cautiously, the expression not so dissimilar to the way in which Daryl had searched her face earlier. "I guess I would be neighbourly too, if he was my neighbour and I was fifty." Her tone had a teasing lilt to it, Sophia's lips had curled. But as Carol waited, the woman's eyes grew narrow, almost vacant, her features taut. It occured to Carol that Sophia's issues with the house had somehow transferred to her neighbour.

Carl was making his way very carefully down the stairs, hugging the railing as he descended, and once grounded, he moved to pick up the box labelled 'linen'. It squeaked sharply on the floorboards as he pulled it toward himself, and he offered a quick, tight lipped smile before hoisting it up to his chest. Both women turned to him.

“I'll give Carl a hand,” Sophia said suddenly and Carol watched her go, her trail swift up the stairs behind her boyfriend, her steps naturally loud on the wooden planks.

Their sound reminded Carol of the day of the first inspection, where she'd moved out to the deck instead, to take in the view of the lake, and the first time she'd seen Daryl. She went to stand at her kitchen window, and saw that his yard was deserted. Carol then moved with a sense of obligation, carefully making her way upstairs in order to offer assistance. She crept up slowly, one hand gripping the banister, her shoulders free of any resistance, in a way they hadn't been before. She felt nothing but the weight of her own body as she made her way to the bedroom. She opened her mouth to announce herself, but stopped at the doorway, as her eyes found her daughter.

Sophia was in Carl's arms, her body loose against his form, and his hands were stroking slow circles on her back, in the same manner that Sophia had comforted Carol in her kitchen. One set of matching sheets was resting in a haphazard pile on the mattress, and Carl's head was tipped towards Sophia's, his eyes closed. Carol stared at them briefly, studying the softness they had with each other, and a wave of mixed emotions settled into her. She turned on her heel and crept out into the hall, out of view, and stopped at the top of the stairs to peer down. The depth to the bottom seemed monstrous, but Carol took each careful step again, with a silent apology, unspoken even in her mind, but still translated somehow in her movements, to the woman she didn't know, as though it were a soothing reparation of the wounds that had been inflicted on her.

Chapter Text

Carol dreamt of Daryl that night. She stretched out in her bed for the first time as moonlight draped itself across her bedroom walls in its dusky oyster glow, and in her mind, Carol set the tray of venison down on the top step of the back deck, and lowered herself to the grass beside the stairs. A young fawn lay resting on the limber grass, its belly rising and falling with each intake of breath. Daryl's gentle hand was resting lightly over its speckled middle, his fingers stroking the soft fur, a budding smile hinting in the crease of his eyes. Carol watched the interaction silently, the warmth of the sun spreading over her shoulders. She reached across the tiny fawn and entwined her fingers with her neighbour's, lifting them, and him, along with herself. She elevated slowly, and Daryl's eyes lifted to hers. Carol felt his gaze through her dream, was trapped in it, as he stepped toward her, and she tugged him effortlessly behind her. There was a contentment between them that felt rare. He drifted in a stream, following her up the stairs in a doting stride, the fawn forgotten behind them, their steps vapor light, and eager.

As soon as they crossed the threshold of the cabin, Daryl's arms were around Carol, and her hands were reaching back in search of him. His touch was light, inching over ribs and cotton, her fingers were keen over his tendons, bending lithe, across them. Carol leaned back, her neck curving as she twisted, and she tried to find him, to locate the warmth of his neck, as his breath shadowed her's, a welcome touch against her cheek. She tried to edge closer, to press herself further into him, wanting to trap him and keep him there, feel every part of him. She turned to face him, and his hands lifted from her ribs, his gaze dragging to her eyes, and Carol basked in his desire, the same want echoing inside her. She watched his tongue dart over his lips, transfixed, as he exhaled, his eyes changing, the tone of them transforming with her image. Daryl's thumb lifted up to graze across her lower lip. He tugged on it gently, his mouth chasing hers, in an eager dive, as he disappeared, his entire form fading like a glitch in a system. An opaque cloud replaced him, a cavern in her vision that merged Daryl with a dense, shadowed field, and engulfed the space he'd inundated.

Carol's hands went out longingly, and still found Daryl's biceps, her fingers stretching over dips and curves as he hovered within her reach. She could hear him, feel his shuddering breaths. She squeezed his arms gently, clawed restlessly at his warmth, his strength unchanging in her grip, his energy folding into her, and aligning with her own. Though she couldn't smell him in the dream, Carol remembered his faint sawdust scent laced with nicotine and peppermint. A cluster of images she'd conjured flashed through her in the fog, sawdust rubbed into the flesh side of a pelt, Daryl's fist over a toothbrush as he bent over his sink, his fingers flicking ash into the evening dim. She felt his hips shift above hers, felt the table force them closer. Her breath hitching, Carol pressed herself against what little of Daryl her hands could find, her back arching, until her breasts were flush against his chest. But she wanted his full embrace again, needed his jawline, his mouth, and she couldn't find it in the shadows.

"Daryl?" She breathed, her fingers searching through the twist of his fingers, the gaps in his breath. She reached constantly, unseeing. She could feel his sighs, and their answer to hers, his breath catching and catching, until for a moment it felt that she would never breathe without him again.

His fingers were diligent, moving again to clutch at her hips, and it occured to Carol faintly, that she'd never been warmer, never felt so tenderly explored or held, by such a devoted touch. The thought was bitter-sweet. She knew she was dreaming, but she clung to the hope, to Daryl, as his hands slid carefully under her hemline, his fingers charged, ambitious, searching. Carol felt some part of herself float in place, felt her body drifting backward, until she was buoyed in her dream state, the surface cradling her. Carol remembered the sensation of the ocean in the basement, felt it rise a story, flooding through her kitchen, in a patient sweep around their legs. Her arms were enveloping Daryl still, and the smooth grain in the table top nestled soft against her spine.

But the haze lifted the moment she felt the pressure of a body drape itself over her, because it wasn't Daryl anymore, his sawdust mint, a world away. The compact structure of the figure pressing down on her was Ed's, his face emerging in her horror. He was an abyss she couldn't escape, a darkness that pulled at everything pure and safe, until it was sucked away. Carol felt her body stiffen, felt time distort in the nightmare, and she tried desperately to scream, Daryl's name forming in her throat as she tried to make her muscles work. She pushed hard against Ed, the heels of her palms digging into the softness of his chest, her elbows fighting to gain traction on the mattress, and she tried to wriggle free. She was back in her bed again and trapped by the sheets at her ankles, her knees shaking violently as she fought her way through the hypanagogic state, the place between conciousness and slumber, until the wall of Ed evaporated, and Carol knew she was finally awake.

Gasping, free of the nightmare, but not of the vile sensations clinging, Carol pulled herself up, and tried to modulate her breathing, to find her bearings in the shadows. She trembled as she recovered herself slowly, her breath spilling out in a frozen mist. Finally, she remembered her bedroom, and she fell back against her pillow, exhaustion settling through her. The feeling in her limbs returned, but only for a moment. The chill in the air triggered a sickening jab of realisation. There was something in the room with her.

Carol's breath thinned again, and she turned, a movement frightening her. There was an eerie light stretching, and she knew without reason, that it extended from an apparition. It was an ethereal glow, arching forward in a somatic shape. She watched as the lustrous cloud eased over her, her chest rising and falling shallowly, small puffs of her breath escaping, as she tried to process the imagery above her. She was trapped still, rattled, and the feeling of terror nestled deep inside her. The image sharpened as she lay frozen, the cold air clinging heavily, and Carol remembered huddling in Ed's shadow, bracing herself against the surfaces beneath her. The shape seemed to strengthen, its centre filling out, and in her stupor, Carol tried to process the features of a young woman, the soft waves of blonde, the full lips and slight nose set under wide, equally terrified eyes. Laura.

She was mouthing something, in obvious panic, and Carol breathed in air that was icy and sharp. Then, suddenly, the blonde waves whipping frantically, Laura's eyes locked onto Carol's as her head moved back and forth. She was glancing over her shoulder, her face pulsing with lines of terror, and the summation of her fear was directed toward the empty hall. Carol thought of the staircase and felt a faint longing to comfort Laura. It was the same protective pang that had emerged during her earliest visits to the cabin, and it transferred now to this solidifying apparition, growing stronger as Carol began to understand. Laura's fingers had curled over the scoop of Carol's singlet, and Carol was certain she felt the cotton shift, the scrape of nails drag against her collarbone. But the fear escaping Laura ignited such empathy in Carol, that her own fear lessened slowly. As it did, Laura's grip loosened, and she grew transparent, her features softened.

Carol took a deep breath and sat up, her jaw fixing as she stared intently into Laura, her own eyes bright and pleading, searching in a way that seemed to spook the spirit at her side. Laura eased back slightly, leaving a trail of glacial air, but she shook her head again, as though she were trying to communicate something, a warning, to Carol. The clear locks bounced, and the eyes grew wider, more fearful, as though she were absorbing Carol's own trepidation. Then the delicate light of her form disappeared and a pulse of colour and warmth took up the space she'd left behind. Carol stared at the chasm for a long moment and shook her head, her eyes lifting skyward as her lips pressed together. She sat in a moment of silent contemplation. Then she drew in a breath and dipped her head, her chin falling into her hands as she nodded once, in apparent assent.

"Okay." She said determinedly.

Carol reached across the mattress to her night stand, lifted her phone, and opened the internet browser. She began a trembling search through a sea of blue links until she found the local paper's site and turned her focus to their archive. The search engine highlighted the page's most viewed articles, and there, she found the images she wanted, page after page of Laura and the cabin. Blonde hair lit in bright winter sun, the sugar maples hazy in the background. An image of Eugene at attention beside Laura, an amused expression hinting as she laughed, her own posture curved as she bent beside him. A work picture, featuring a grainier image of Laura, an orange hard hat adorning the waves of hair she'd threaded into a plait, a cordless drill raised in her hand, and a look of faint amusement touching her features.

This was the ghost who had found Carol in her nightmare, and in quiet moments, as she'd trembled on the grass near Alden, after Dale and Irma's visit, and as she'd stood, reigning in uncertainty at the foot of the stairs on the previous two nights.

"No," Carol whispered, processing Laura's warning, her mind scanning through the events to date, to the stairs, to the intense gaze bearing down on her, so different to the woman's captured moments. "No, what?"

There were other images too, black and white shots of a man with dark brown hair, which he'd half pulled back into a hair tie. His eyes were unseeing, his chin lifted slightly, sculpted with short growth, his nose a sharp line down the centre of his face. Carol studied the images nervously, noting the sharpness of his jawline, her eyes flickering over the emptiness of his own cold stare, scanning numbers outlined in the text surrounding sharp, unsettling features. His height, the last date he'd been seen, the date Laura was found, and then the small lettering of his name emerging from the stark white background. Justin Turner.

"So you're the asshole." Carol breathed, the sound barely escaping her.

Carol set her phone back on the night stand and lowered her feet carefully to the soft, lined carpet. She wandered to the little window overlooking Daryl's yard, her eyes hovering over the tranquil light that touched his grey roof, the shadows dipping into lines that ran vertical to the ground. Her fingers lifted to her bottom lip and lightly trailed its curve, twisting gently in contemplation, as she thought of Daryl asleep in his own bedroom, and that they were sharing the same sweep of moonlight.

-----

In slumber, Daryl's body twisted, trapped in fraying cotton sheets. In his mind he dragged the hose out from the side of the freezers and pulled it with him, sliding it up the back steps and into his living room. Water drenched the floating boards, flooding his boots and his pants in its cascade, and he hauled the never ending band like a life rope, like an anchor, breathless with panic, as his heart thudded in his ears, and he rushed, too slowly, into his mother's room. The flames had blackened the walls beyond recognition, but she was haloed in the fire light, and Daryl was desperate to touch her, to hear his name in her voice again. The water fell upon her form in rainbow beads, a waterfall of futility, her face lit with a smile that was wrenched painfully from somewhere hidden so deeply inside him that he couldn't feel it. And when she exploded, transforming into particles of shadow and despair, Daryl collapsed into the water, his hands grasping through the icy liquid for the anchor, and his knees held him there, as the sobs burned through him like the fire, and he couldn't breathe.

Gasping, in his bed, Daryl's mouth contorted with his anguish, but the dream did not release him. There was a deer on the property border, gentle laps of the lake reaching its hooves. A doe, bleating softly through the winding current, with an urgent, constant plea. Daryl lifted himself out of the water in his mother's bedroom, his cries subsiding as he moved. He dragged the hose with him out into the hallway and found that he was back in his house again, dragging the anchor, and Merle was splayed on his recliner, Roxy straddling his lap. They were undulating, full clothed, and laughing. Daryl averted his eyes, wiping his arm across his face as he took a few more steps, and tried to escape their attention.

“Y'know she a'int here no more little brother," Merle snarled. "When ya gonna get that through y'skull? Ain't never gonna be here again.” Merle hadn't taken his eyes off his girlfriend. “Ain't nothin' here for you, but me and Miss Roxy Queen, all there's ever gonna be, ain't that right darlin'?”

Roxy was the same age as Merle, she had a kind face, and her voice was somehow gravel rolled with honey. There was a charm in her strident intonations, she had perfect teeth, and she directed a devotion towards Merle that puzzled Daryl to no end. In the dream, her red hair was drawn up into a loose bun, the way Daryl had last seen it, the curled strands hanging low. She leaned forward, whispering into Merle's ear, and then they both cackled happily, their bodies shaking in unison. Daryl stared at them blankly and turned on his foot, water still pouring from the hose.

"Hey Darylina, when ya stop splashin' aroun' in that water like a damn mermaid, maybe y'could make yerself useful'n grab a coupl'a beers for me'n Roxy."

Daryl sighed, the water swirling at his knees as he headed for the kitchen. Light glinted off the small hind of the doe out by the water. He had to crane his neck to locate it from the kitchen window, and saw it stretched, limbs still, its head lifting. Daryl could feel its heartbeat from the kitchen, an echoing thunderous reticence.

“She aint gonna wait all day!” Merle's bark vibrated through the tiny space, wrapping firmly around Daryl's left arm, and pulling.

Daryl turned to follow the draw, beers in hand, hose looped loosely under his arm, and he hesitated in the lounge, the sight of Roxy unsettling him. She had turned to Daryl, her eyes wide, and she was gaping like a creature of the water.

“Hey dumbass! Wake up, she ain't gonna wait all day!”

Daryl pushed the bottles through the water. The tide was waist deep now, and with the current strong, he felt the drag of the water as he eased his way slowly toward his sibling. Merle was still yelling at him to hurry up, his face twisting with anger, and when Daryl reached Roxy, his arms went out helplessly. He saw her call his name, her sound muted in the water's sway. The waves were lapping at all sides, echoing in his ears, and he could still hear the doe, its call urgent, but fading. Daryl gazed at Roxy, stunned for a moment, at the picture of terror that was lined on her features, at the tremble of her mouth as it worked uselessly, the image snapping into senseless shapes as the water held him. Then Roxy vanished, along with Merle, beads of water, drenching him and the furniture completely, running down his arms and into the flooded room before he could take another step.

His breath ragged in his ears, Daryl turned toward the back door, half swam down the back steps and grabbed onto the bottom railing. The water gushed past him, flowing into the lake, until the ground was dry again, the house intact. Merle and Roxy emerged in a hazy distant swirl, punctuating their usual forms, sinking down onto the river bank, and resuming their previous fixations.

The deer bleated again, softly, and the sound rhymed with his name. Daryl's footsteps took him over to the shadows beneath the sugar maples, to the smooth exposed roots and the damp earth. There, he found Carol, her body soft, her limbs outstretched and trembling, but her head lifted as she said his name and she whimpered softly, one hand reaching toward the feathers of an arrow that had embedded itself between her ribs.

“He only got me once.” She explained, her head dipping back onto the grass and Daryl tried to breathe, his lips faltering, and he reached beneath her shoulders, scooping his other arm under her knees. He lifted Carol out of the shadows, cradling her and the arrow carefully against his chest. The sun dimmed, pouring itself entirely into that single dart, and he could see or sense little else.

“S'okay.” He promised, feeling the weight of her, limp in his arms, the stream of her breath constant but shallow against his neck. “I got you. I got you, Carol, s'okay.”

Daryl crossed the backyard slowly, feeling the sunset linger, the day creep out of reach. When he reached Carol's back deck, he lay her at the foot of the stairs, the grass soft and thick beneath her hips, her shoulders falling back, her bloodied breasts rising with her gasps. The arrow was shadowed and the light changed, Carol's eyes were fixed on his, and her mouth shaped words that he struggled to follow, their sound frail and unintelligible. Daryl's hand swept up to Carol's face, his thumb tracing the descent of her cheekbone, until it rested delicately on her lower lip, snagging it gently, and her words finally registered.

"Is that your phone?" She whispered.

Then he woke, in anchored sheets, his phone buzzing with texts on the bedside table, the softness of Carol's mouth still humming on his thumb. The memory of her wounded figure pulsed in the middle of everything, but Daryl pushed the images away, and was left with her calm, soft face, the reassuring tone she'd given him. Daryl lifted his thumb to his mouth and licked gently before he realised what he was doing, and when his phone vibrated again, he shifted, reaching across the charging wires to bring the glowing screen up to his face.

There were twenty eight images from Roxy, including a close up of Merle's sleeping face. Daryl grimaced and clicked out of the messages, then opened the thread again, to consider the woman's words.

“Pumpkin you need to get your skinny butt over here! We have located THE PLACE for your trailer and it is divine. Your bro would never tell you this, but he's missing you like crazy! Me too R xxoo.”

Daryl considered the empty Tuscon lot, radiant blues filling the arches of his screen, bright against the contrast of the dirt, the puffs of vegetation and cacti scattered like afterthoughts across taupe trails. Daryl laid his phone down on the sheet beside him and bent his knees, the blanket inverting as he sighed and ran his hands across his face. He listened for the doe again and remembered what he could of the dream, before lifting himself out of his reverie, and taking himself to the shower, thoughts of Carol's bloodied form sending chills through his being, the imprint of her delicate flesh lingering on his fingertips.

Chapter Text

Daryl let the hot water glide over him. Standing in the shower, his palms flat against the glass, he let his forehead rest against the space between his thumbs, the cool air trapped there, as his breath clouded the transparent pane.

He eased his right foot over the drain and watched the water rise in the bottom of his shower base. It curled over his toes and his heels, before he let it drain. There were images of Roxy's gaping mouth within reach, though he tried his best to dispel them. He thought about the vacant lot, the barren, desert oasis she'd found for him. The woman knew that he trapped and hunted for a living, he wondered what exactly she expected him to hunt over there.

He thought about the shadows that had swept over Carol in his dream, leaves that had scattered on the grass, the gentle ripples of the lake. He felt the arrow nestle somewhere beneath his own skin, distorting with its threat. It prickled across his arms so sharply, that no volume of water seemed to wash the sting away. He only got me once, she'd said, as though that made a difference. The thought twisted inside Daryl. Who was he? And why did he shoot her? She'd been shot head on. Why was he dreaming this shit? Why was he imagining fires? Between that and Carol's recollection, her accusation that he'd warned her off the cabin, he was left with no choice but to question his own memory, his sanity, so he did.

Daryl turned the taps off and pulled a large grey towel across his shoulders. He hesitated, looking at the wavy shape of his reflection in the mirror, his chest dimpled and patchy, his eyes caverns in the steam. By the time he'd dressed and made his coffee, and stood looking through his kitchen window, his eyes cast over Carol's cabin, there were other images pressing on his mind. He pictured Carol going out for a leisurely wander in the woods right on dusk. Some rich kid with a new bow from Daddy heading out along the same path to get some target practice in. Daryl set the mug down on the counter, half drunk, mindless of the contents splashing down the sides and onto the smooth surface of the bench. He felt increasingly consumed by a need to warn Carol of every possible scenario his mind could conjure, and he didn't want to wait a second longer.

----

Carol inspected the scratches across the rise of her collar bone in the bathroom mirror. It wasn't the first tangible evidence she had of the paranormal events in the cabin, but it was something she couldn't hide from herself, or pretend away. She couldn't share it with anyone in any useful manner, but she saw it, felt it, and although that only raised more questions, it helped somehow. It was cool in her bathroom, but not cold. She looked around anyway, studying the early morning light and its track across the tiles.

“Laura?” She queried, her lips pursing as she thought of the ghost.

There was no answer and Carol turned back to the mirror. She considered her image, critiqued it for a moment, remembering the way her mind, in her dream, had conjured Daryl's touch. She wondered where she had drawn such gentleness and passion from. M'real sorry 'bout that. And, as she pondered, her eyes blinking uncertainly back at her, she tried to make the images fit.

There was something so unexpectedly soft about Daryl, something hidden in his layers that had risen to the surface. The way he'd reached forward to steady her when she'd tried to take the venison, his searching eyes, that were like a net for her own. She'd reacted to his sudden movement, the jolt rattling her in a way that promised her that even on the best days, Ed's handiwork was still etched permanently. There would always be a part of her that could feel him.

Daryl's voice had changed since their last meeting too, and she didn't understand why. His visit yesterday had brought out a lighter tone, his timbre travelling into her like a breath that nestled deep inside, and settled, where she could feel it. She still felt it.

After the nightmare, as with most nightmares, Carol didn't try to get back to sleep. She crept carefully down the stairs, one hand gripping the banister like a life rope, feeling the chill in the air like a warning, Laura's warning, and started her day in the middle of the night. The dream part of her nightmare lingered, and thoughts of Daryl followed her through her morning ritual. The intensity of it left her feeling bewildered, uncertain. She'd had similar dreams, but with faceless men, before. Random hands, and mouths, sometimes rousing her from the depth of the dream, with an unfathomable, unexplored need she would usually leave on hold, the memories forgotten as the day stretched on. But none had been actual figures in her life, none had ever felt so real, or touched her with such absorption, devotion. She'd never wanted to touch any of them that way either, a way in which, she realised, with arresting comprehension, she wanted to touch Daryl. And though the terror had broken through, followed by the fright of Laura's visit, Daryl's hands pressed their way back into her mind, distracting her in the light of morning, stopping her in her movements, a desire returning to her that was uneasy to temper. The memories unsettled Carol, followed her into her kitchen, where she surveyed the last of the boxes, picking up a pen to add to the list of storage items she needed.

She glanced up occasionally, hoping to catch a glimpse of Laura, but the ghost seemed to have finished with her, and Carol, a little disappointed, didn't know what she was supposed to do about it. She worked through the early hours, arranging her items neatly on the section of the dining table she wasn't using, remembering Daryl's hips pressing into her's, pausing to catch her breath as she remembered the heat in his sighs as his hands wrapped around her. She flattened the pages of newspaper and bubble wrap, stacking them on the bench, before preparing her coffee over the stove.

Sophia called when Carol was gripping her second mug, her daughter's searching voice a comfort through the phone.

"Hey Mom, how'd you sleep?"

Carol nodded, answering brightly without missing a beat. "Oh fine, fine. And you?"

"That good huh?" A twinge of concern seeped through the phone, followed by a careful sigh. "How come you never call me?"

"You were just here yesterday."

"You know what I mean."

Carol smiled wryly, turning the mug in her free hand. "Well, what do you want me to call you?"

There was an exasperated snort on the other end. "Mmhmm. They do an open mic comedy night down at Hungrhee's you know, do you want me to pick you up next time?" There was a tinkling laugh from Carol as she asked for clarification as to what kind of bar her daughter was talking about. "Hey, that laugh sounds really good on you, Mom. Can you just pop Daryl on real quick, I need to ask him something."

"Nice try," Carol mused. "Obviously he's not here."

"I thought you would've taken him some of that soup and he'd be back with something else he found in the woods." Sophia took a deep breath and Carol could hear her daughter getting to the point of the phone call. "Mom, he was ... he was staring at you. Yesterday. Did you notice?"

There was a short silence. "Uh, no? We were just talking sweetheart, he was concerned I think, because I..."

"No, he was staring at you, Mom. He was ... looking at you like nothing else existed."

There was another pause and Carol's tone changed. "Sophia ..."

"I have never seen anyone look at anyone like that before. I don't think Carl even..."

"How is Carl?" Carol interrupted.

"Since yesterday? Probably still Carl-like. How's the cabin going? How's the lake?" Sophia's inflection was sprightly, like her mother's, delivered in a mocking tone to get her point across.

"The lake is beautiful." Carol deflected.

"I'm just saying these things Mom, because … you know why."

"I know. And I'm sorry-"

"No, Mom, please. Don't say sorry. I want you to be happy, you deserve to be happy." Sophia's sentiment hinged on a conjunction, and Carol's fingers went up into her fringe as she considered how Sophia might have slept, wondering if she'd been up all night worrying, and if she told Carl everything, more than she told her. "But you also, you don't need anyone? You know. That's what is so great about your cabin. It's yours. Nobody can take that away from you. And you don't need anyone to make you happy, some people can't ... exist on their own, you know. But you can."

"Yes I can." Carol responded quickly. "Soph, I've got to get to work, do you want to catch up after school?"

Sophia was silent for a moment, her voice quiet when she spoke again. "I have meetings this afternoon. What about dinner? Are you at the store today? Can you bring something?"

"I sure can. What time suits you?"

"After 6? And Mom? You know you can call me, right? I want you to call me."

"I will," Carol smiled hesitantly. "I promise." She wished Sophia well at her meetings, and set the phone down on the counter, staring at it, unsettled, as her coffee went cold.

------

Daryl couldn't think of anything to say to Carol, so he just started digging. He had studied the patch of grass stretching out from the side of Carol's front porch to his property line, his fingers stroking his beard softly, before crossing back over the border to fetch his shovel. He'd wanted to knock at the cabin and ask for his dish cloth back, but he'd hesitated on the grass, the flimsiness of the excuse to talk to her unsettling him. He also lingered over the thought that something of his was sitting in her home, revelled in it, not caring how desperate or ridiculous the thought made him seem. He could see a fair line to the trees along the lake from the spot he'd stopped at, the most obvious walking trail into the thicket, and he thought that if she ventured that way, he would see her and she might see him, or if she was still inside and heard him digging, she'd come out.

At this point, he didn't care if she came out and started yelling, he knew that he probably deserved it, and he'd welcome it. It would be better, having her angry and uninjured, rather than him staying away and not saying anything, without issuing a warning. So, he dug. He stood at the highest rise of the lawn and tried to remember the path of the water flow. The ground was soft and the blade made easy work of the grass just outside of his fence line. He managed to shift several cubic feet of dirt before he heard the front door click, and Carol's soft footsteps started to head in his direction. Her feet were adorned with light pink sneakers, and her pants clung to the shape of her legs, navy with a speckled pattern, a pale tank top dipping in the middle. Her shoulders were bare, glistening in the sunlight, strands of silver hair catching the same glow that softened her other features. Daryl averted his eyes immediately, realising that his body was already reacting to her.

"Daryl?" She frowned and he leaned back, gripping his shovel, finding the blue in her eyes, and losing himself in it.

"Hey." He paused, squinting, his eyes dropping briefly at Carol's mouth, his eyes tracking back to the clumps of dirt that he'd stacked along the side. She seemed to be scanning Daryl's back yard, his peripheral line tracking the rise of her chin, until it flicked back, to study him, her voice uncertain.

"You're digging a trench." Her assertion was wary, a clear hint of disbelief with a question sitting in it.

Daryl bit his lip and nodded.

"Oh. But ... how did you know?"

"Know what?"

"How did you know I need a trench?"

"'Cause I got eyes?" He tried to joke, but he could hear the strain in his voice, and he groaned at himself inwardly, clearing his throat and stepping forward. "Gets real flooded in this area," he pointed out, with a tilt of his head back toward his own yard. "Ends up tracking down t'the freezers. Ain't allowed t'dig up the yard, but. Ain't allowed t'do mucha anythin' without a hassle really. 'Sides, 'f'we getta big downpour, s'gonna make it real difficult for you t'get around out here."

Carol nodded in understanding, a lopsided smile spilling over her lips. "Oh," she said slowly, "and then I won't be able to get any more pies over to you?" She teased.

Daryl stared, shifting his weight to his other foot, and Carol watched him, her eyes dipping. "That ain't why..."

"I know," she rushed to reassure him. "I was kidding. If it floods I'll just take the boat around," she shrugged. "It'll be fine."

Daryl felt stunned to silence, his eyes wavering over the white cloth covering Carol's ribs, where the arrow had protruded in his dream, before he found her eyes again. They were creased with mirth, her chin dimpling.

"Oh god, I'm out of practice," she continued. "But I'm ... I'm trying." She quickly pressed her lips between her teeth. "Sophia doesn't think I'm funny either," she explained, and her laugh was light, her tone, self deprecating. "Carl, her boyfriend, oh, you didn't get to meet him!" Carol's voice lifted as she remembered the detail, "Carl humours me." And Daryl found himself jealous of the absent boy, for making the woman in front of him so happy, and frustrated with himself, for not laughing with her, for not keeping up. "But my last housemate, Olivia, she didn't think I was very funny either. And then my housemate before that, she couldn't hear me. Neecy, she liked to be called. She passed away." Carol smiled softly and her eyes drifted down his body.

Daryl had stopped digging and was resting the ball of his boot on the top of the blade, his forearms overlapped across the handle. He squinted, he was staring at her, he realised, but he didn't care anymore, he just wanted her to continue. He wanted to hear all about the people and their nicknames, the ones who didn't think Carol was funny, he wanted to hear her talk about anything, as long as she kept smiling at him like that, and sharing pieces of herself, forever.

"M'sorry," he said and Carol shrugged, explaining that Neecy had been elderly and had told Carol at least once a day that she was ready for the Lord to take her.

Her laugh, a bittersweet gust of air, hinted at something unspoken that she didn't venture into. Her eyes clouded softly and Daryl let her gloss over it, but he wanted to reach out to her, and she seemed to take note of his expression. She shifted awkwardly, glancing at the space behind her.

"I'll get my shovel," she announced, and before he could protest, she was trailing the path to a little shed against the cabin, and lifting a new spade out of the depths, a spindling tag still attached. She broke the plastic tie and pocketed the glossy paper into a tiny patch of material below a zipper at her side.

"You know, you didn't have to do this," she explained when she returned, measuring the track out with a quick glance around herself.

"Still kinda owe you." Daryl reasoned, his tone careful as watched Carol take a sharp swing, burying her blade into the nearest patch of grass.

There was a pink scar travelling up over her elbow, which he noticed when she dumped the soft earth alongside the pile he'd started. Small, smooth dots were evenly spaced along the sides.

"Y'know for considerin' how rude I was t'ya." He expanded with a murmur.

Carol stopped digging and frowned up at him. "You already apologised for that. And besides..."

"That was jus' words though," he interrupted. "S'easy to..."

"Daryl," she took the thread of the conversation back firmly, though her voice quavered a little as she spoke. "I have not had a man apologise to me the way you did, in..." her eyes were bright, searching his. "Not since I was a ... a teenager. At least."

Daryl nodded after a moment of consideration, pushing the nail of his thumb into his mouth. "Alright." He said.

Carol turned her attention back to the shovel, a determined air about her, and sunk the blade back into the ground, her foot pressing down on the top to drive it deeper. Daryl watched quietly, noting her lack of reservation, the diligence with which she worked, making steady progress with small but constant loads. A sheen soon developed over her neck, and, one forearm, the one with the scarred elbow, went up over her forehead to wipe the moisture away. Daryl tried to focus on his own section, gathering the crumbling edges that fell back into the pit.

When the pile reached a respectable volume, one hand went to rest on Carol's hip as she stepped back to survey their handiwork.

"Is this enough do you think?"

Daryl shrugged a little, slightly breathless, and he tried to get a handle on his tone as he squinted over at her.

"Well how 'bout y'have a little chat with the man upstairs, ask'm if he'll just send you little baby storms from now on? Then yeah, we should be good." He squinted, offering her a hesitant smile, watching cautiously as she rolled her eyes, a lopsided grin winding over her features.

"Oh, shut up," she admonished gently, but looked up a moment later, her face falling as she watched him. When he huffed softly, a small smile dancing across his lips, he realised he was giving her mouth permission to curve up again, which it did, softly, her eyes narrowing as she exhaled. "Baby storms. I bet," she gave Daryl a wry smile and nodded. "That's cute."

He was still revelling in the initial joy that had spread over her features, processing the tumultuous emotions that had followed, that still lingered, relieved that the smile had returned, his chest warming with it, when they heard the screeching tyres of a car whipping by, too fast, around the bend. Carol's smile vanished and a jolt seemed to flip through her at the sound. She stepped backward, unease setting on her face as she scanned the street. The shovel slipped from her grip and her gaze followed the path of the white truck for a long moment after it disappeared. Then she let out a breath she must have been holding onto, her shoulders lowering as she finally regained her composure. When she looked back up at Daryl, she seemed surprised to find him watching her.

"You alright?" He asked softly, and Carol turned away from him, her eyes clouded, but she nodded, and bent down to pick up her shovel. Daryl could see that her hands were trembling, and his own fists clenched over the handle of his shovel. He wondered what had made her react that way. I have not had a man apologise to me the way you did in ...

"Some assholes come tearin' around that corner. Should really .. I dunno. Sit out there with a damn shot gun or put in a speed bump or somethin'," he admonished and Carol nodded, checking her watch.

"Oh, I've got to get to work," she realised, considering the trench that was emerging before them.

Daryl sighed. "Shit, sorry. Shouldn't'a had you out here workin'. If I'd known..."

"Leave this for me," Carol pleaded. "Or at least wait until I'm home from work. It's my responsibility."

"You workin' in town?" Daryl asked. "Don't have to say." He waved a hand.

"Sutton's Food Mart, and Jones' family floors. But I'm at the grocers today, if you need anything? I can drop it back tonight, I'm just having dinner in town with Sophia first."

Daryl shook his head. "Thanks though. Hey um, listen, f'you ever decide to go for a walk'n the woods out there, just .. just b'careful alright? There's kids'n idiots in there, might have bows'n shit, might not be real careful like they should'n might ... might hit someone."

Carol's eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "Okay." She said quietly. "Thanks."

Daryl let out a breath that he'd been holding into since the nightmare and his shoulders slumped with relief. "Yeah, and, I'm gonna go ahead'n finish this up now if that's okay? Last thing y'need is more work waitin' for ya after dealin' with people askin' where the apples are or whatever, complainin', 'bout the cost o'everythin'."

Carol's smile was entrenched in a surprised frown. "Okay. Thank you." She surveyed the grass again and bit her lip. "I guess I'll just have to owe you." Her eyes fixed intently on his, she looked wary.

"Nah." He protested. "Don't owe me nothin'." His head dipped in a nod of reassurance, his gaze serious, and it lingered on hers'. "Never will."

"Well, you don't owe me anything either." Carol's tone was just as solemn. She frowned softly.

"Alright," he relented. "Have a good day at work."

Carol's eyes sparked a little at that, her gaze distorting as it lingered on him. It was almost as though she didn't understand what he was saying. Her bottom lip quivered as she took in a breath, nodding, and her voice was thick when she spoke again, her smile tight. "You too, Daryl, thank you."

-----

Carol stuck her hand out of the car window to wave goodbye to Daryl as she reversed into his line of sight, saw him lift his hand, before she rolled the window back up and shifted the gear into drive. She was halfway down the road when her breath and her thoughts finally caught up with her, her fingers tightening over the steering wheel, as she glanced in the rear view mirror.

"What are you doing, Carol?" She hissed at herself. "What the hell are you doing?"

She let out a bitter huff at the recall of Sophia's misplaced anxiety, the thought of Daryl having any kind of interest in her beyond basic neighbourly aspirations. There was nothing for her daughter to be concerned about. The lingering looks Sophia must have noticed were gazes of captive disturbance, she was sure of it. That would be more obvious now that she'd nearly lost her composure over some domestic fantasy she thought she'd given up on, decades earlier. It was cruel and humiliating to discover that some delicate part of her was still holding onto childish hopes. Instructing her to be careful, telling her to have a good day at work, things she couldn't recall Ed ever doing, not with a tone that didn't hold a consequence behind it. Simple pleasantries were threatening to send her over the edge. She needed to get a grip.

-----

Carol loved Gavin's little grocer at the far end of town, it was a mere ten minute drive from the cabin. It sat parallel to the forest, and Carol took her lunch out in the storeroom where the roller doors opened to the clouds, and a fragmented view through the chain wire fence. It felt that she could still disappear into the woods and end up back at some neighbouring edge of Lake Sagonige. Gavin had given Carol two hours of training the week before she'd moved into the cabin, his monotone explanations had been soothing and precisely articulated. He'd then handed her over to Molly, a gallows humoured woman with sharp eyes and light brown hair, who'd looked Carol up and down with an air of resignation.

Gavin, the owner, a tall man with sandy waves, had recently separated from his wife Nancy. Though he had a full sensory edge to his patience, he didn't carry anything sinister, or threatening in his manner. It was amusing actually, to weather his elongated sighs, the way his eyes shut as his face lifted to the ceiling, as though in a plea to a god she wasn't sure he believed in. She'd bonded with Gavin in those moments, silently, and each time he'd taken a deep breath to explain something to a customer, she'd bitten her lip to keep herself from snorting. After Molly's brief instructions, covering the basics of the register and stock rotation, Carol had worked independently for the rest of her first day, and Gavin had stopped to frown at her several times, surprised by the speed at which she'd picked up various tasks, the fact that she'd asked for more work in the down time. She was relieved to have something to do to pass the time.

The morning passed quickly and Carol was amused to see Morgan, her manager at the flooring showroom, pop in just before her first break. He was picking up supplies for lunch, while his son Duane waited in the car. Morgan seemed to carry a strange guilt as he inspected Carol solemnly, a tenderness resting in his dark brown eyes.

"I wish we had a full time position for you Carol, I really do. I hope Gavin's treating you well?"

"He is," Carol smiled brightly, scanning through Morgan's deli purchases. "Actually, I don't mind it here," her hand went out. "If you had me down at the showroom all week, I wouldn't get to talk to Mrs Oldman about her rose garden. Or hear the gossip about all the drama at the post office," her eyes twinkled and Morgan smiled, chuckling as she regaled him with a story about a postal delivery gone wrong.

"Alright, well you take care, Carol." He picked up the butcher paper wrapped items and pointed them at her. "Did Jenny tell you we're getting the new laminate samples on Thursday?" He chuckled then, his arms fanning out as his head ducked a little. "Flooring is my life," he proclaimed, an unashamed light gleaming in his eyes.

"Well, it's mine too now, I suppose," Carol smiled warmly, her fingers waving in farewell, turning her head as she sensed Molly settle beside her.

"Must be nice workin' up at the 'showroom' at the flooring emporium. Always gets my goat when outta towners are hired for cushy jobs like that," Molly shook her head and Carol pressed her lips together, ignoring Molly's dig at her.

"So Molly," her voice arched with strained tones of saccharine. "I heard there was a murder in town, a few years back. Laura Franklin?"

The redirection set Molly off on a tangent about the whole sordid ordeal, and Carol half listened as she wiped the register down, and checked the stock levels of the display boxes nearest to her. When the woman finally paused for breath, Carol asked her about Justin.

"That tall drink o'water? Used to come in here and chat me up. Laugh all you want, sweetheart, but that man put the moves on anything with two legs'n a'heartbeat. Tryin' to get free shit," she gave a knowing look. "Last I heard, he'd hightailed it up t'Cornwell or Lockhart or somethin'. Got brothers up there, two of 'em," Molly drummed her purple lacquered nails on the short conveyor belt as she tipped her head back to filter through her memories. "Sam and ... Bill? Bryan? No, Bailey. Bailey, I think he said."

Gavin had stopped at the end of the register, a clipboard in hand as he lifted his hands, his eyes popping at Molly, as his chin dipped forward.

"Sorry Gav," Molly shifted her weight with a reluctant urgency and she raised her eyebrows at Carol, before sauntering back to the deli.

Gavin's sigh trailed behind him as he moved around the nearest aisle, and Carol watched him amble away, his head shaking, and she bit her lip.

-----

Carol sat in her car outside Laura's Records for a moment, imagining herself trying to start a conversation with Eugene about Justin. She then passed the police station slowly on her way to the local newspaper office, her eyes scanning the manicured hedges and aged cement.

When she finally reached the Maryville Enquirer Office, a section of the brick building on Main Street that also housed a small law firm and accountant office, she found a park in the side street, and made her way up the front steps. She stepped into the spacious interior, a well lit floor which was visually chaotic, grey dividers lined in A4 paper, whiteboards detailed with maps and markers, and in the corners, a small collection of pot plants, and cardboard boxes, which were stacked neatly.

A woman with an undercut pixie hair style, the long brown bangs swept to one side, khaki pants and a white button shirt, was stretched back in an office chair. She seemed engrossed in the screen of a cell phone, but her eyes flicked up to Carol's immediately, and she leaned forward, her face unchanging, as her eyes roamed quickly over Carol, revealing little of her findings.

"Hi," she greeted casually. "I'm Al, editorial manager. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Carol," another scan of the room failed to turn up other staff members, and Carol inspected Al cautiously, her eyes lingering on the messy desk. "Is it just you here?" She asked.

"There's eight of us on the team," Al's eyebrows flickered. "We're not hiring sorry, if that's why you're here?"

"No, I just brought a cabin. Laura Franklin's place?"

Al seemed duly interested, a wave of enticement registering in her eyes. She considered Carol thoughtfully. "The haunted cabin?" Her eyebrows arched. "Huh. So, is it? Haunted?"

There seemed to be a smile hinting on the woman's lips, but an unmistakable curiosity also flashed in her eyes, and Carol considered the scrutiny, feeling slightly taken aback, flustered, for not anticipating the direct angle of her questioning.

"Why, you believe in ghosts?" Carol chuckled weakly, her chin dimpling as her eyes searched Al's.

"Why not?" Al shrugged, her gaze fixing on Carol's.

Carol frowned a little and shifted her weight. "Actually, I was just hoping you had some ... information. That you might know where I could start looking for Justin Turner? In case the, in case there were any … angles that might be worth looking into again."

The intensity in Al's face deepened, a curious focus that tried to reach across the divide. "What do you want with Justin Turner?" Her eyes scanned Carol again. "Any exchange of information requires a trade," she explained. "You got a story for me?"

Carol frowned, puzzled, her lips twisting, and she shook her head.

Al sighed. "Alright, look. You're new in town, you're staying in the cabin, I assume? So let me offer something. If you sit down with Enid, my freelancer, and let us do a spotlight piece, on you, I'll give you something on Justin. Some readers like that kind of thing. What made you choose Maryville, a nice photo. Are you working in town?"

Carol felt the colour drain from her face at the thought of her image splashed across the glowing pages of the Enquirer website, her name in a search engine, a click away from Ed's coarse fingertips. She backed up a bit, her eyes travelling to the exit, and then she ducked her head, and took a deep breath, resignation settling in her shoulders. Al studied her curiously.

"Wait a sec. Carol," she mused, her chair tilting back. "Are you Sophia Peletier's mother?"

Carol was surprised, her eyebrows gathering, and Al's expression softened. She gestured to the chair beside Carol, motioning for her to sit. Carol glanced at the chair, but didn't take up the offer.

"Sophia told me her mother was moving here, last time I was at the school. I think I know your story," Al spoke carefully, her short nails scratching lightly across an eyebrow. "Sophia is known around town as Miss P, right? Which, all the new students think is hilarious for about a week. Anyway, we've been asked not to put her full name in the paper. And when there are school events, we try not to include any obvious photos of her."

Carol nodded slowly, recalling Sophia's past reassurances, her face taut.

Al was sympathetic. "We did a new teacher piece on her when she first started, but we didn't..."

"You didn't put it online," Carol nodded, a grave smile flashing. "I remember. Sophia told me. And, I really appreciate you ... respecting her wishes. About that."

Al nodded, and reached behind her chair to open the drawers of a filing cabinet. She pulled out a thick binder a moment later.

"We get a few cases like this from time to time, but not with as much mystery. My guys have already chased this creep to the ends of the earth, mainly Maryville and Ekinston," she sounded resigned. "We've also got a paper to get out every week."

She paged through the file and then moved over to a photocopier. She started to run prints through, turning back to Carol as she spoke.

"I want a story, Carol. Recipes and gardening tips aren't gonna cut it. I want a real event. Witnesses, or photos, if you can get them." When the photocopier issued it's last flickering note, Al set the copied pages down in front of Carol, ran a black marker over several sections, then pressed her fingertips over the top. "There's no deadline on the story. Come back to me in a year, five years, I don't care. But it's gotta be real. I want something good. Can you do that?"

Carol nodded and Al released the papers. There were a few statements, first names, some further sections blacked out. Maps, and a list of businesses, black scrawls imprinted over the thin sheets on the desk.

"Why didn't any of this make it into the paper?" Carol gathered the photocopies and met the other the woman's gaze. Al's eyebrows shifted. "Unless I missed it?"

Al shook her head. "Maryville and Ekinston, like I said, a little farther south of the lake. We got statements from the local PD, which you would've seen? Phone call follow ups with family and close contacts. Apparently beyond that, the trail went cold. As far as they're concerned, and as far as our resources stretched, Justin Turner is gone."

-----

Daryl sat waiting, one foot up on the railing of his front porch, feeling like a stalker. Smoke wound up in grey trails around him, he let it curl up, let some of the ash fall onto his pants at the knee before he noticed it. He never sat out here, and a low heat crept over his neck at the knowledge of that. He'd already seen more than he needed to that morning, the best morning of his life so far. He felt pathetic, and creepy, and he stood up, suddenly buoyed by his desire to be neither of those things, just as the flash of Carol's headlights lifted up the hill, and he paused in his doorway, listening for the crunch of gravel, the soft bang of the small car door, and her light steps, quick across the path to the entrance. He waited for the click and the bang of her entry, for the lights to flicker on inside the cabin, wanting to know that she was safe.

He'd fallen into a tumultuous head space that had him rethinking his life choices and imagining he'd be better off trailing after Merle. The thoughts followed him into his house, the dark walnut fixtures making the space around seem hollower. As the dire thoughts crept over him, he finally gave into their pull, discarded the perfect innocence in the expression Carol had given when he'd told her to have a good day at work, her melodic laugh, the song in her stories. Instead, his mind fixed on the shadow of her breasts in her tank top, the material of her pants catching in the sunlight, curving over her ass, her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the shovel, her soft grunts and gasps, as she heaved with the dirt, and he imagined those same dainty fingers, strong but delicate, wrapping around his cock, and the look on her face as she did so.

Breathing shallowly, he fumbled with his zipper, shifting back in his recliner, flashes of Merle and Roxy in it sending him back up and stumbling to his bathroom, to the shower, where this time he didn't stop until his vision gave in to galaxies, pooling in his mind with flashes of Carol's tongue swept lips stretching over him. His legs trembled, and his breath caught, his hand pumping where he wanted Carol's hands, until the pressure found its release and the pulses ripped through him, throwing his rhythm out.

His mouth, desert dry, and stuck open in transient bliss, finally shuddered closed, his ragged breaths easing, slowing, and as he finally began to hear his gasps over the pulse of his heart, he thought about what Carol would think about what he'd just done, and he couldn't drum up anything good. He still wanted her with an ache he couldn't do anything about. He stripped off his shirt and stepped fully out of his pants, kicking them out of the shower stall, and he let the hot water glide over him.

Chapter Text

Irma called in again the next afternoon, by herself this time. Dale was running errands for their next trip, they had planned to head off for a sojourn the next morning.

"We need a new solar panel apparently," Irma explained, hesitating on Carol's doorstep, before smiling brightly and following Carol into the cabin. "Dale's off in Ekinston again, he heard there was a sale on, and if there's one thing that man appreciates, it's a good bargain."

Irma had returned Carol's pie dish with a baked lemon tart, the pan was still cool from the refrigerator in Carol's hands, and this time, Carol boiled the water for two mugs and asked Irma how she liked her coffee. She stopped to take in Irma's reaction as the older woman wandered through the cabin, she'd slowed through the entry, as Carol moved ahead of her into the kitchen, and Carol watched her now, the slightly drooping mouth, Irma's eyes brightening as they crept over the walls, the fixtures, and lingered finally on the staircase. Carol silently watched Irma pace through older times with Laura, through the memories in her mind. She's here she wanted to tell the woman.

"This is Laura's handiwork," Irma declared when she arrived at the kitchen. Her gaze captured the waxed pine cupboards, and she smoothed a hand along the bench, before smiling tightly at Carol. "She was a talented girl."

They went through the sliding door to the back deck, Carol collecting dishes and spoons on the way and settling with Irma at the little table, her eyes scanning the lake, the afternoon light through the maple trees. Carol realised she'd cut a slice of tart for Irma without asking, and the treat lay untouched beside a fork on the small table, the light crumb drying out.

"Sophia told me," Irma murmured suddenly, her gaze on Carol was soft, acute. "About her father, your ex-husband."

Carol's breath caught in her throat as she studied Irma, her mouth split open. Irma had spoken without a trace of pity or curiosity. She spoke as though Carol had asked the question herself, and Carol knew that in a way she had, and she wondered how Irma could possibly have known that.

"There really was no need for the pie, Carol, or the apology. You and I have an appreciation for the truth, shall we say? It might get us into trouble with certain people, who don't carry that same appreciation. I've learned to be diplomatic, but there are times when I, too, know that you must simply say what needs to be said. I felt that when the cancer came back. And when I lost my baby. And I feel that way now, with you." She considered Carol briefly. "I hope I'm not wrong." She said quietly.

Stunned, Carol's eyes fell to the yellow glaze of the lemon tart, and she shook her head, her mouth fastening. But when she looked back up at Irma, her face creased with the burdens of her past, she found Irma's unquestionning gaze reassuring, and shared an understanding with her in their silent search of one another. Carol stirred her coffee slowly and after licking the teaspoon to absorb the trails of liquid, she rested the utensil on the table beside her.

"I thought she might have," Carol said quietly. "Sophia, she's drawn to you and .. I appreciate that she has someone, that she feels she can talk to about ... that." she sighed.

"It wasn't quite like that," Irma explained. "These were passing comments, more things unsaid. And I did some guess work. That's all. I'm glad that you were able to find your way out of that situation."

Carol nodded. "Yes." She said. "How long have you and Dale been married?"

Irma smiled softly, her lips creasing as she processed the abrupt change of subject. "Forty four years next March."

Carol nodded slowly and lifted her mug with both hands. "That's nice." She said quietly, the intent behind her words pure.

Irma neither expanded on the milestone, or tried to brush it off. Her smile was small, her hands were cupped loosely around her own mug, and the sparkle of her engagement ring, and another beside it, perhaps an eternity ring, shifted, as if to serve as the only acknowledgement.

"Does he know where you are?" Irma brought the subject back around, and Carol could see that it pained Irma, that a worry line had been etched in her forehead years earlier, and that Laura was framed in Irma's questions.

"No." Carol said immediately, turning to study the lake, the sun dappling over the blues, producing glaring whites in rhythmic sways. She followed the mellow breeze, the leaves skating across the bank, and she savoured a mouthful of coffee before swallowing. "No, he's about three hours away. I mean, the cost of the petrol alone." She laughed then, a short gust of bitterness that ended in air and lay unrecognised in the space between them.

"But Sophia...?"

Carol shook her head. "They don't have any contact with each other."

Irma considered this, the white mug hovering near her lips. "Good." She said decisively, and took a sip of coffee, then nodded with a sense of satisfaction.

"But," Carol's mouth opened and closed a few times. "I have seen ... I've seen a car that looks like his. It went past, but ... that was weeks ago. Just a coincidence, I'm sure."

Carol heard the doubt in her voice as soon as she uttered the words, the air escaping her in a manner that revealed the extent of her worry not only to herself, but to her neighbour as well. When she met Irma's steely gaze, she knew how potently she'd signalled her unease.

"What kind of car does he have?" Irma asked, her voice low.

"Last I saw, but it was years ago, it was a Jeep Cherokee, a late 90's model. Light blue. Gunmetal grey pearl." Carol enunciated the tint carefully, the words icy on her tongue.

"I might ... do you know the number plate?" Irma started patting herself down, the pockets at her sides, the material over her breasts. "I left my phone at home. And my pen."

"I'll get one."

Carol stood up suddenly, buoyed by an apprehension that was gradually unfurling. She went into the house and lifted a ballpoint pen out of the container on the bench, and she was reaching for the notepad when the pen went flying out of her hand, and tumbled onto the floorboards. It skirted the edge of the room, and Carol gasped and turned to watch it roll to a stop, underneath the staircase.

"Seriously? The pen?" She huffed. "Why?"

There was such exasperation in her final note, that Carol feared for a moment, she might start crying. The tone of frustration echoed through her mind, as her hand hovered over the other pens, and she sighed, lowering her arm in defeat, and headed back to the sliding door, empty handed. When she closed her fingers over the handle and tugged on it, the door didn't budge, and she sighed again, harshly.

"Laura?!"

She tried a few more times to shift the frame of metal. She tried the lock, flicked it on and off, before unease began to swell in her stomach. "Why are you doing this?" She pleaded.

She could see that Irma's attention was cast out onto the lake, one hand was at her chin in thought, and Carol's voice was broken in that moment, her breaths tumbling over each other as they fought to break free. She kicked at the base of the door, leaning back, shifting her weight onto the handle to increase her pressure on its joint. The air was frozen around her. It seeped into her, slowly, until she was shivering, fighting against the shrinking space of the cabin, sensing the walls begin to close in on her. The hairs on the back of her neck were already standing, and another wave of horror pulsed, sweeping into her, through her muscles, as something grazed her neck, and a low chuckle sounded, vibrating at her ear. The tone was harsh, and she felt it, like ice shards, like the roar of a waterfall, the winds howling through the maple trees in the darkness of a storm.

"Stop!"

The voice wasn't hers and it rasped at her neck. She remembered the vision of Laura, shaking her head, and she tried to merge the sinister voice with the image she'd seen after waking from her nightmare. Carol tried to twist, her neck strained, but she was frozen solid in that moment, felt the breath and the raze over her ear, and she sank to the floor, her arm lifting in defence, and she poured everything she could into what little of her voice remained.

"Stop what?" She cried, tears welling in her eyes. "No, what? Stop ... what? Stop what?" She sobbed.

Out on the deck, Irma finally turned to look at Carol, and as she saw her struggling, she called her name, standing up, and shifting quickly to the door. "What is it?"

"The door is stuck," Carol gasped, feeling the chill in the air recede, the voice fade.  She pulled herself up slowly, her eyes wide at Irma, her voice trembling. She tried to straighten her mouth but she sensed it sag, and it quivered as she looked around, turned back to Irma, her heart still racing. "I don't know why."

Irma gripped the door from the other side, urging Carol to let her try, and when she wrenched it open forcefully, the door lurched with such ease, that Irma was pulled violently to the side. She stumbled, her step unsteady, and she issued a cry, looking back at Carol wordlessly.

"Are you alright?" Carol gasped, warmth returning to her slowly, though the tremble in her limbs remained.

"I'm fine," Irma chuckled. She took a few steps to grip her hand on the back of a chair. "Oh, you poor thing. The wood shifts with the change in temperature, the humidity with the lake, it causes all sorts of problems."

Carol nodded mutely, accepting the explanation gladly, for Irma's sake. She stepped back into the cabin and Irma followed her inside.

"Write it down now, Carol, before we get sidetracked. If I don't have something written down in front of me than it ceases to exist."

Irma was watching Carol, her face unreadable, but her eyes darted in a way that revealed her concern, and Carol wished that she could explain what she'd heard, what she'd felt. She let Irma's words filter through her mind, trying to track her memory back to Ed's car, and then she jotted down the plate's number on the notepad in front of her, her eyes flickering over the pens again with uncertainty. She handed the piece of paper to Irma with a thin smile and swept her hand through the silver waves that had gathered over her ear, her fingers falling to rest at her neck.

Irma pocketed the piece of paper without glancing at it. "What a thing to have taking up space in your mind." She said, with sympathy this time, as though in part, it explained Carol's reaction to the door jam. "We'll keep an eye out in town and on the road as well."

Carol nodded her thanks and set the pen back in the pen holder.

"I'll get Dale to look at the door before we go," Irma offered, but Carol shook her head firmly, and tried her best to smile.

"No, it's ... I'll just have to be more careful." She assured Irma. "But I'll let you know if it happens again."

Irma nodded, and made her way back out onto the deck, taking her seat at the table. Carol followed, leaving the door slightly ajar, and her eyes fixed on the ripples of the lake, the reflections of sunlight persistently riding them. She thought of the voice, of Irma's kindness, and of her solitary role in the mysterious behaviours she was being subjected to, wanting to understand it all, but not knowing how to.

-------

Daryl's head felt clearer the next morning. He stirred instant coffee into a mug as his eyes flickered up through his window to the cabin. He hadn't been away from the property in days, and he realised that he needed the earthiness and rugged frailty of the woods. He took his coffee out to the back deck and cast his eyes over Lake Sagonige, watched the sun dipping into the ripples, absorbed the faint motor of a boat he couldn't see. It was headed farther up the body of water, hidden by the fluttering boughs of his treeline. He remembered the dream images of Merle and Roxy at the water's edge, saw Roxy's gaping mouth, and remembered their laughter. Of Carol, he replayed the rippling mirth she'd shared with him the day before, the earnestness with which she'd spoken, and her eyebrows furrowing, and lifting. The many micro expressions that had flashed across her face. His heart warmed as he thought of her.

He started to assemble his pack for a short trip, setting snacks into containers and filling his thermos. He was inspecting his crossbow when he heard a knock on the front door, and a bright voice singing out his name. Daryl recognised the warmth of Irma's tone, and he set his crossbow down quickly, bustling through the house to the front entry, with an urgency propelled by sudden panic. Irma had never visited him before.

"Irma? That you?" He called, as he barrelled through the front entrance. He looked around nervously, scanning the woman up and down, concern registering in his eyes. "You alright?"

"Yes, Daryl, yes of course I'm fine," Irma soothed, a smile folding through her steadily. "Just wondering if you have a minute?"

Daryl nodded. "Dale alright?"

"He's fine, he's gathering supplies. We're set to head out for a few days, that's why I wanted to check in with you."

"You run out of pork?" Daryl exhaled slowly. "I got more in the freezers..."

"Goodness, no," Irma chuckled. "How much do you think we eat? She took a deep breath and a soft frown creased her features.

Daryl watched her warily, his eyes flicking to the driveway, considering the path she must have walked. "Them rabbits pestering you again?" He pressed. "Shouldn' be, but I can take a look at the traps? Was planning on doing that anyway."

"Oh dear, is that the only reason I hail you down? To ask for favours." Irma shook her head, the frown deepening, and she pursed her lips in thought.

"Nah. Never asked a favour, I'm the one who offered."

"We're going away. Dale and I, for a few days," Irma's eyebrows arched. "I ... I shouldn't be asking you this, I know. I just ... were you planning a hunting trip at all? One of your longer ones. If you are that's, thats fine. I just .. well it's just that Dale and I would feel safer if we knew there was someone nearby to keep an eye on Carol."

Daryl's eyes narrowed as he considered Irma's expression, the way her mouth had set, the shadow that appeared in her eyes. "Why?" He asked, the sense of dread returning.

Irma hesitated, her fingers twisting at her stomach. "Well she's on her own. I'm sure she would appreciate having someone look out for her." Irma's sigh elongated and she watched Daryl's face shift minutely with a frown. "I know it hasn't come up in conversation before, Daryl, but, the woman who used to live next door, Laura, she was, uh..."

Irma's face worked, her mouth particularly, her lips curling inward as Daryl shifted awkwardly. One of his hands lifted by way of instinct, as though he was capable of offering any sense of comfort to Irma. But he wasn't, so the limb froze, suspended in mid-air before he lowered it, defeated, and waited with a patience summoned from somewhere unknown, for Irma to finally reach her point.

"Dale and I left on a trip the weekend she was killed. Her ex," Irma explained and Daryl felt the pieces start to fit together. He felt a wave of nausea build as the connection between the old owner, Laura, and Irma's concern over Carol, was made clear. "We weren't here," Irma was saying, and her voice suddenly distant to him. "And, we just .. we would feel better if we knew there was someone close by. But if you do have plans, I understand, I couldn't ask you to-"

"Has Carol got an ex like that?" Daryl interrupted. His voice was low and steady. Steadier than he felt.

Irma's eyes fell and she lifted a piece of paper out of the pocket of her pants. All that registered for Daryl in the moment, was that Irma hadn't answered his question.

"I'd rather have Carol upset with us and safe, than risk not saying anything," Irma explained. Daryl heard his pulse in his ears, as he fidgeted, and shifted restlessly, as Irma passed the piece of paper to him, and he took it. "Now she's not sure if he ... her ex-husband, is still driving the same car, a light blue jeep. That's the number plate, if you see it."

Irma looked up then and Daryl felt her watching him as he stared at his hand. He felt the weight of the paper in his fingers, the letters and numbers were senseless in his gaze. His eyes lifted to find an expression in Irma's eyes that swept a coldness over his bones. But nothing was worse than his own imaginings. The arrow jutting from Carol's ribs. The curve of the scar across her elbow. The way she'd flinched when he'd handed her the venison.

"Where are you'n Dale headed this time?"

He needed to change the subject, but he didn't really listen when Irma spoke about the path she and Dale had mapped out. When her eyes, softened again by this point, fixed on his, she reached one hand out to touch his elbow, to offer her gratitude, and he tensed, an involuntary breath working quickly through his body. Irma let her hand fall, issued a quiet apology, and she smiled kindly, ducking her head, and made her way across to the steps. When Daryl offered to walk her home, Irma declined politely, assuring him that she was having a good day. She thanked him again, her smile able to convey an understanding and a concern that Daryl felt nestle into him, netting the horror he didn't understand yet, and didn't want to, though he needed to.

He went back out to stare at the lake for awhile, his eyes shaded with that same apprehension. When he moved inside to unpack the food from his containers, he took the thermos out to the front porch, his eyes lingering over the newly dug trench, and he sat and watched the shadows filter over Carol's lawn, watched white-throated sparrows hop through the branches of the sugar maples. He felt the piece of paper in his pocket like a mark across his body, a wound that was etching itself somewhere inside him, where it had no right to, and where it might not ever heal.

----

Carol washed the small plates and mugs and set them in the dish drainer, her fingers winding into her hair as she leaned over the sink, leaning on her elbows for support. When she regained her composure, her eyes flickered over the photocopies from Al, and she reached hesitantly for them, straightening up, and gazing cautiously around the dining area.

"I'm trying to help you, you know," she implored Laura. "The least you could is ... is try to see that. I'm not just gonna sit around and let him get away with what he did to you." Her fingers went tentatively over the documents. "I'm gonna find him. For you. If that's what I have to do. Then that's what I'll do."

There was no immediate answer, and Carol released the pages, her hands flattening out on the kitchen bench. But after a moment of silence, during which she scanned the sheets of paper, the cupboard doors began to rattle, and then they started to bang. They opened around her, a chorus of wooden taps and slams, and then a scattering of items flew out of them, crashing onto the floor, some items narrowly avoiding her.

The noise sawed into Carol, the rumbling like thunder in a storm, of gale force winds across an ocean, with Carol anchored to a ship in the great swirls of an electric thrashing. There were only several breakages - melamine bowls and cups, in the midst of the downpour, before the storm quietened as suddenly as it had started, and Carol felt herself taking in short breaths that deepened slowly. And she waited, to be certain. Gripping the bench until she felt that it was over, Carol waded over to the mess on the floor, and picked up a mixing bowl that had survived the fall.

"Stop, you say?" Carol hissed quietly to herself. "I'm the one that needs to stop?"

She could just see the corner of Daryl's house from her position, and then her eyes caught the scarlet thread of the tea towel she'd washed and folded. Frowning thoughtfully over the stitched cloth, she set the mixing bowl down and picked the tea towel up, running her fingers softly along it. She thought of the door sticking, and the rasp in her ear, the way the icy stagnancy in the air around her had disappeared the moment Irma had called out her name. Dropping the tea towel, Carol collected the ingredients for a pizza base and measured the flour out into the bowl. She mixed the dough, rolled it, her eyes lingering on Daryl's house, on the cupboard doors in their hapless state, her lips curving as her mind wandered back to baby clouds, to Daryl's furrowed brows.

When she was finished, she cleaned up the mess she'd made, but left the pile of debris where it still lay on the floor. She considered the dough she'd set in thin round pans. She'd planned to make a pizza for Daryl too, but as she folded the tea towel back into her hands, she found herself mindlessly heading out the back door, leaving it slightly ajar as she passed through it. She crossed the undulating lawn, stepping lightly over the trench Daryl had completed, and stopped as she neared the border. The waft of nicotine was emanating from Daryl's front porch, so she changed her direction and found him nestled on a hard wicker chair, his steely gaze already trained on her.

She tilted her head, a smile easing its way through her. "Hey." She greeted, and she drifted to the steps, feeling Daryl's soft, grunted reply like a lingering touch.

She edged closer, lifting the red cloth in explanation. "Returning this," she said, and she dropped the article over the railing, and leaned against the nearest post. "Thank you for the venison. Made a great soup, I put it in the freezer. I'll bring you some when the weather cools down."

"Alright. Thanks." Daryl nodded, the scruff of his beard shifting slightly, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He was studying her cautiously, waving the smoke away. He put the cigarette out in the ash tray beside him and turned back to look at her.

Carol nodded. "The trench looks great, no need to talk to the man upstairs now. So, thank you."

Daryl's head dipped in acknowledgement, but he remained silent, his head dropping again, as Carol's eyes narrowed.

"Uh, I'm making pizzas for dinner, I was just wondering .. if maybe you wanted to join me? It's nothing fancy, just some pepperoni, mushrooms." Daryl looked up quickly and Carol took that as a positive sign. "It'll be a couple of hours, if you want to pop over, whenever?"

"Alright," Daryl nodded. "Thanks. If y'sure?"

Carol's smile seemed to touch something vulnerable within him, his face softened, his neck flushed, and he nodded again, as Carol gave her affirmation. She felt his eyes linger on her as she wandered back to the cabin, her hand slipping through the gap in the sliding door, as she went off in search of a broom.

Chapter Text

Daryl ate with an urgency and appreciation that warmed Carol down to her toes. Tipping his head back to savour the stretches of cheese, his tongue sweeping out to catch the sauce, his eyes darted to her as he moved the back of his hand over his mouth, dislodging fresh crumbs from his whiskers, and he smiled hesitantly at her. Their eyes were cast out toward the lake periodically, watching the glow of sunset fade to twilight, the birds shape into charcoal silhouettes above them, across pastel clouds. Daryl shared small pieces of information about himself, about his brother Merle, and Merle's girlfriend Roxy. Carol detected a faint bewilderment in his recollection, and she wanted to ask more, but sensed a hesitance from Daryl, and felt didn't know him well enough yet to prod. He explained that Merle hadn't been around when he'd first brought the trailer, but he didn't elaborate on where the man had been. He told Carol about his time out trapping, the areas he'd lingered at, what the hunting had been like before he'd settled at the property next door.

"Rent's cheap here," he shrugged. "Never lived somewhere's nice as this before."

He shared that his Daddy and his Mama had passed on, his Mama when he was just a kid. His attention had been fixed on the treeline at that point, but he'd turned back sharply when Carol mentioned her own father, that he'd passed before she had a chance to mend things between them. And that she should make the same effort with her mother.

"I should," her lips pursed, before disappearing into her mouth, and she laughed, a dry husk of a syllable, and lightly scratched an eyebrow.

She didn't expand on the subject, and though Daryl watched her carefully, his intense gaze sliding down to her lips and then back up again, he didn't ask. He polished off even the slivers of cheese, the crisp shards that had fallen to the edges of his plate, and he leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the maple trees. Carol watched him for a moment, taking in the angles of his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest, and the soft movement of his eyelashes. She had only a moment to study him, because his whole body reacted with a sudden alertness to something that he'd spotted near the treeline.

Carol watched him move, his hand falling to his pockets as he raced across the deck, his steps fast down the steps, down the hill, and into the darkness. There was something down there that she couldn't see. He'd taken off without a word, at a pace that had her scrambling up, one hand at her chest as she stood, staring after him. She stepped carefully down the steps, her heart racing, and by the time she caught up with him, he was crouching in the darkness, where the water had muddied the ground. He had a small flashlight clutched in his fingers, and light skirted over the trembling body of a young buck, not small enough to be a baby, but young.

Daryl was swearing under his breath, and when he sensed her, or heard her footsteps, he looked up, his body tensing, and he raised his voice to call to her. His sound was sharp, breaking the stillness under the trees.

"Stay back."

Carol flinched, her fingers tensing. Daryl's eyes were hidden in the dark, the light in his hand casting a faint glow upwards, barely grazing the shadow of his trembling mouth.

"Sorry," he apologised a moment later, in a timbre that Carol hadn't heard before. "This one's sick," he explained, "Looks..." he took a deep breath. "Looks like … looks like chronic wasting disease. Ain't been any cases in the state yet, but ... I dunno. The state f'it. Way it was movin'... s'just. It ain't right."

He swore again, and Carol imagined his thought process, tracking back to the last kill he'd brought home, the fear of the disease spreading to the rest of the population. There was also in his eyes, a tenderness spilling across his face, that seemed to centre on the fate of the animal he was starting to back away from. Carol had lit the space with the flashlight on her phone, and Daryl's light shifted too, as he leaned back on his haunches. His boots carved a rivet in the mud, and Carol saw a flash of empathy cross over him.

"Should we give it some water?" She asked quietly.

Daryl shook his head and drew in a ragged breath. His eyes lifted up to her. "I don't think so," his gaze softened, and he sighed.

His flashlight swept over the buck's mouth and Carol saw a glint of mucous, trails of saliva leaking a silvery sheen over its' chest as its' head rolled away. The back of the hand gripping Daryl's flashlight rubbed briefly across his mouth and he stood up.

"Gotta let someone know." He exhaled.

The deer rested where it lay. It seemed to have sensed somehow that it had come to the right place. Or perhaps it was too far gone to care.

"There's no reception out here," Carol explained. "I'll go up to the house. Who do you want me to call?"

"Nah, I'll do it, Daryl offered. "Gotta whole list'a numbers in the house, see if anyone answers. Can you stay with it? Y'gotta Mama's touch. Just don't ... actually touch it. Don't get close. If it moves, let it. Kay? Just make sure y'know which direction it goes."

Daryl headed back to his house and Carol watched the buck flop still in front of her. A jarring tremble wound consistently through its extremities. It was painfully thin, the ribs almost poking through its fine coat. She longed to ease its suffering, but she heeded Daryl's words, a lump forming in her throat, and a small spark stung briefly in her eyes. She spoke softly to the buck, a reassuring string of promises, until Daryl returned, his steps quiet on the muddy bank, the rippling of bundled plastic crinkling in her ears. Daryl glanced solemnly at her, his tongue skating over the teeth at one side. He'd brought his crossbow back with him, and a collection of items were trapped under his arm. He'd dragged a large roll of black plastic, he had gloves and ropes, which he set on the ground. He eyed Carol and the deer, and started pulling the gloves on, and he handed a large flashlight to her.

"Can ya hold that up f'me? They're sendin' someone in the mornin'. Lazy assholes."

He began to spread the plastic out, then waved Carol back, his hand flexing out to motion her farther up the hill.

"Way back. Please?" He gently urged, picking up his crossbow, his eyes shifting over the animal between them.

"You have to kill it?" Carol frowned, and there was no judgement in her tone, but Daryl's shoulders lowered, and he nodded solemnly.

"Ain't a cure." He explained, his eyes glinting darkly.

She lifted the beam from the flashlight he'd given her. It filtered a powerful, luminous glare, picking out details in the limbs overhead. Daryl squinted, as Carol adjusted the position, as he gave her guidance, raising his hand, indicating where he needed visibility. Then he stood looking at the buck for a long moment, chewing his lower lip. His frown was almost imperceptible, Carol might have missed it if she wasn't already studying his face.

"Gotta avoid the brain. N'the spine." He explained to her.

He spent another moment considering the animal, took a long look at Carol, his expression pure mystery, and then he took his shot, the arrow whirring faintly before a soft thud, and then a hollow sound, met their silence. The buck lay still, its spasms ceasing. The arrow jutted out from the animal's ribs and Daryl stared at it, long enough for Carol to open her mouth, to take a step forward, before Daryl's hand went up again, and he frowned at her, softly, before lifting the loose bandana at his neck up over his mouth. He leaned forward to collect his dart.

Carol felt a cold breeze sweep over her, and she turned instinctively to find Laura at her side. Startled, a sharp tremor flooded through her at the sight, and Carol turned to look at Daryl, wanting his reaction. He was too focused on his task to notice, and Carol's lips parted. She considered drawing his attention. Instead she craned her neck, her gaze drifting back to the cabin, and then she studied Laura's form in wonder. The apparition had solidified beside her. Laura looked so real, that Carol knew she would be able to reach out and touch her, and her free hand trailed over the marks at her collarbone. In her current form, Laura was nothing like what Carol had ever imagined a ghost could be.

Laura was studying the fallen buck and her eyes lifted, to acknowledge Carol, and as she did, a slow smile spread over her features. Carol noticed for the first, the dark bruises pooled on Laura's neck, the odd tilt to her head, and her thoughts drifted to an image of Laura at the bottom of the stairs. She turned her attention sharply back to Daryl as he worked. She ran the image of Laura's smile, her captive gaze through her mind, and tried to process what it meant. She sensed the energy shift, the space beside her distort, and when she turned back, Laura's vivid form had disappeared.

Carol took in a shallow breath and fixed her attention back on Daryl and the buck, holding the flashlight steady as he hauled the small body swiftly onto the sheet of plastic, his face arching away as he did so. He tucked the animal into the wrapping carefully, reaching underneath the bulk to fasten ties over the ends and across the middle. He worked methodically, easing his fingers out of the gloves, carefully folding them over each other before tying the bag he'd dropped them into, and then he took out a fresh pair, which he struggled with briefly, his tongue working over the back of his teeth as Carol lingered, illuminating the space around him. Daryl sank the star picket into the ground where the body had fallen, waving at Carol to move back again, farther still.

"They'll wanna test the soil." He said.

He then hauled the wrapped carcass over to the property line, letting it rest just inside Carol's border, seeming to struggle with it as he reached that spot. He then carried a stack of bricks and rocks over from a collection near his freezers. He arranged them over the parcel, in an attempt to weigh it down.

"Dogs," he explained. "Rats maybe." He looked up at Carol and he crushed his lower lip between his teeth.

He allowed her to help him with the task, and they worked in silence for a couple of minutes, before his hand waved out, signalling for her to stop. His eyes darkened then, and he wiped his forearm across his head, pulled his gloves off and repeating the process of bagging and sorting his items before standing back up to look at her solemnly. Carol still held the flashlight in her hands and the glow swept across them, splitting their torsos into colour and shadow. Daryl's eyes fixed on Carol's, his hands lay limp at his side, and he released his lower lip, a pained expression spilling over him.

"D'ya eat any of it? The soup?" He asked quietly. "Carol?"

Carol paused, thoughts swirling as she tried to grasp his meaning, his concern.

"No," she lied firmly, her head shaking to appease him.

She'd only sampled the soup, for flavour, but it had been streaked with meaty sediments. Either she had convinced him, or he wanted to believe her so badly, that he nodded, once, his head dropping, and the tension sitting in his body eased as an apology started to spill out of his mouth. He explained how careful he'd been with the meat, how he'd not noticed any signs of illness until now, and Carol's hands had gone out to wrap over his shoulders, to implore him, and he'd stepped back, blanching under her touch, and his eyes had darted as his hands rose gently, and he told her that it was best she stay clear of him.

"Gotta shower." He explained.

"What about you?" She whispered. "You've been eating it. The meat. Haven't you?"

He didn't answer, only offered a small shrug as he considered her apprehension. "Ain't any cases in humans been detected," was all he said. "S'gonna be people here tomorrow, checking the dirt, the track outta the woods. S'why I left the stake in. You just send 'em over here if ya see'm 'fore I do."

Carol nodded and handed Daryl his flashlight. "Thanks Daryl. Thank you."

"You gotta throw that soup out." He pleaded. "All of it. I'll ... I'll pay ya back for th'other ingredients," and Carol shook her head vehemently, argued with him, her hands going up again until he relented, his shoulders sagging.

He nodded and held his hand out, his palm up, a gesture for her to head back up to the cabin. He walked with her a little way, not wanting to track dirt further up her property, and he cautioned her to leave her shoes outside, and wash up well with soap and water.

Carol watched Daryl's house from the deck as she collected the dinner plates. When she went back into the kitchen, her fingers trembled again over the photocopied pages, and she suddenly thought of Al and the promise she'd made, of the story she owed her. Al had scrawled her number across the top of the first sheet and Carol ran her eyes across it. Taking a deep breath, she dialled the number before she could talk herself out of it.

"Al?" She queried. "It's Carol. Up at Laura Franklin's cabin. You said you want a story?" She waited for Al's confirmation as she took another breath. "Well, how does the first case of chronic waste disease in the state of Georgia sound to you?"

Carol could hear Al chuckling lightly, and the sound was strained with a groan of disbelief, and Carol could imagine the woman stretching her fingers over her forehead, a faint look of vexation gracing her features. But when Al spoke, her voice was ridged with unease, and Carol felt warmed by the trace of concern she detected in the editor's voice.

"We've had a lot of false alarms before, Carol. A lot." Al said quietly. "You're sure about this?"

"Well I just had a young buck show up on the border of my property, and it's showing symptoms," Carol briskly explained. "But I don't think anyone's turning up until tomorrow."

"9am okay?" Al asked. "I'll send someone then. And yeah, it's good for a story, Carol. If it is CWD. It's not good for Maryville though. Or Georgia."

----

Representatives from the Department of Natural Resources and local wildlife inspectors started scouring the borders of the three properties leading out into the woods, just after dawn the next day. They worked primarily in the morning, with others returning sporadically across the afternoon, to test the soil, to take photographs. Daryl was questioned repeatedly, and Carol watched as he walked back and forth across the river bank in a pair of rubber boots, his regular work boots still drenched from a thorough scrub the night before. He changed into another pair of work boots at the end of the day, an older set, and the rubber boots joined the first pair, to drip dry.

The trapper had lingered out along the bank, resting in the shadows, chain smoking when he wasn't helping out. He'd bristled at the notion of the Maryville Enquirer doing a story on the discovery, and Carol had reasoned that the Department would be releasing statements anyway. She'd offered to speak to the reporter instead of him, and he'd let her. She could see in his eyes that he hadn't slept the night before. He'd lit a fire at their border, to ward off wild animals, and spent a good half hour watering the embers after he'd put it out. Though his hand had tensed reflexively when she'd reached out to squeeze his arm, he'd relaxed a moment later, let her fingers encircle the muscle above his elbow, let her gaze into his soul with the exact level of scrutiny she'd felt he needed, a comforting search, as she'd urged him to rest.

"You've gone above and beyond Daryl. More than anyone could have asked of you."

She knew that he'd spoken with Irma and Dale in the morning, she'd watched Dale follow Daryl across her backyard, brimming with questions, both men showing signs of bewilderment, through distinctly different expressions. Daryl would nod, his body leaning back, thinking the conversation finally over, and Dale, who would would stop to stare in the direction of the woods, to shake his head, would follow Daryl again, with another question or thought process burning.

Carol met Irma at the Horvath's fence line. She could see the older woman was still keen to head away after they'd delayed their trip by hours, but she was watching her husband with a glow in her eyes, and a warm smile stretched over Carol's features as she approached her at their border.

"Daryl's pretty stressed out," she greeted, her mouth shifting softly as she turned to watch him nod at Dale. "About the meat."

Irma's face was lined with sympathy. "Yes, I know." She exhaled. "Please just keep reassuring him we'll all be fine. There have been no cases of CWD detected in humans. And they haven't tested the animal yet, it could still be fine. Daryl wouldn't have brought back any creature he had any concerns about."

Carol nodded. "Irma, can I ask you something? It's about Laura."

She marvelled at the way Irma's face barely moved, her interest peaked only in the soft shadowing of her eyes, the creases around them shifting minutely.

"Was there anything specific that you think she wanted out of life? You know, besides the record store. If she was here now, considering how things turned out. What do you think she'd want?"

Irma didn't ask Carol why she wanted to know, she just paused before nodding slowly, and she studied Carol as she deliberated. She looked out across the water, her arms resting around the top of a fence post.

"She'd want him to pay." She said immediately. "For what he did, she'd want justice. That's what we all want. She was so happy to be rid of him. So happy with Eugene." Irma's voice was carefully measured. "And I think she'd want this place looked after. She wanted a little apple orchard, and a gazebo, right there."

Irma pointed and Carol followed the direction. She could see the outline of the structure in her mind, a fishing pole resting up against the railing, Irma's lemon pie warming in the afternoon haze. She could picture Laura sitting there with Eugene, and she felt like a ghost herself, like an imposter in their space. Someone who in an ideal world, should never have set foot here in the first place.

-----

Dale and Irma finally headed off a little after lunch, Carol heard the faint squeaks and putters of the RV, the whine as Dale reversed it out of the driveway. The cabin grew distinctly colder after the sound of the tyres faded, and Carol pulled a throw rug over her shoulders, a fresh uneasiness settling over her at the thought of climbing the stairs. Daryl had long since disappeared back to his own place, and she hoped that he was sleeping, his harrowed eyes were still fixed in her mind. The inspectors had finished up for the day, and as a precaution, they'd set up netted fencing to warden off passage through the area. The local team had said it looked like a clear case of chronic waste disease. The state representatives had said they'd be back with a result in the coming days.

Al had sent a reporter, a young guy named Troy, with a photographer, and as Carol had agreed to the interview to spare Daryl the scrutiny, she had to trust that Al would ensure her full name and any photographs would be omitted from the articles.

Then finally, as twilight fell, it grew eerily quiet, dormant inside the cabin, in a way it hadn't been before. Carol eyed the photocopied pages on the kitchen bench, but didn't touch them. She wasn't sure what Laura wanted, the ghost's relieved smile from the night before was still etched upon her psyche. Carol sank into the two seater, drawing one leg up into her arms, and she straightened out the cuticles on her fingertips, as her head rolled back and she stared blankly at the ceiling. She heard the motor of a car draw close, felt the tyres crush over the gravel out the front, and the sound made it feel that each stone was pressing into the curve of her jaw. She pulled herself up and went over to the front window, anticipating another inspector, or a reporter from Ekinston, or from another town, farther out.

Instead, Ed's car sat facing her, the windows blacked out, and the thick numbers and letters of his number plate were stark in the sunset glow. The sight twisted at something irreparable inside her. Puffs from the exhaust evaporated slowly in the space above the sharp blue lines, and Carol was hit with a dazed sense of horror. She felt all sensation leave her body, but she turned somehow, stumbling slightly, and made a desperate bolt toward the back deck.

As she raced past the kitchen, a hand clasped over her elbow, and she withdrew her arm in horror, reeling back as a figure stepped out of the shadows. Daryl stood there silently, with a finger to his lips, and as she peered at him, she saw that his face was twisted with anguish. His expression sent another wave of terror through her. Carol's feet felt like lead in a body of water. She felt anchored, and safe, and devastated, all at once.

"Daryl?" She gasped, her voice rising unnaturally. "Oh my god, it's Ed! My ex-husband..."

"It's not real," Daryl gasped, stepping forward to rest his hands on her shoulders.

His fingers were like blocks of ice across her flesh, and Carol's breath wound out in a mist between them. The house was glacial around her, but Daryl's exhalations were invisible. Carol realised this distantly, as time elongated in her paralysis, under the weight of her terror, as Daryl's hands trapped her.

"Carol, please listen to me, whatever he's making you see, it's not real."

Daryl's tone was sharp and desperate, it didn't sound like him at all. But in Carol's desperation, her mind was processing information a step far too slow, and then two steps ahead. She was running down to Daryl's place, but he was standing right in front of her. The chill in his fingers was cutting her down to her bones. Whatever he's making you see..She was looking for a weapon, for her phone, but in her mind, Ed was already finding a way inside the cabin. Carol shrugged her way out of Daryl's grip and retrieved her cell phone off the bench. She looked at Daryl warily. His eyes were filled with a terror that gripped her, he looked panicked, and when she started to dial in the numbers on her phone, his eyes darted to her fingers, and his hands swiped for her device.

"How did you get in?" She held the phone back, away from him.

Her voice was hollow in her ears, and her heart hammered, carving out a song she knew too well. She was staring at Daryl intently, glancing behind herself, listening out for Ed's chilling tone.

"No, don't be scared!" Daryl pleaded with her suddenly, his voice pitched higher.  "You can't be scared, he likes that. Please."

Carol's felt lighter still, felt that she'd fall if the sliding door opened and a breeze drifted up from the lake. The cell phone loosened in her fingers and abruptly smashed onto the floor beside her.

"What did you say?" She gasped.

Daryl was shaking his head, trembling as he stepped toward her, and Carol was suddenly convinced, with a realisation that numbed her, that it wasn't Daryl standing in front of her. Daryl was all that she wanted.

The figure who looked like him, was reaching out towards Carol's shoulders, and the density of his image distorted, as the broad fingers went up into a perfect replica of Daryl's feathered hair. Carol glanced down at the work boots, the same ones Carol knew were still sopping wet from a thorough clean the night before, but were dry as old bones across the wooden floor in front of her. They morphed slowly into Laura's arched feet and Carol could see straight through to the floorboards.

"No, no, no, no, no," Laura began to wail, taking a step toward Carol as she twisted her hands.

Carol's eyes fell closed, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and her face twisted with confusion, as she eased herself down to pick up her phone.

"Laura, why would you do this?" She hissed, gripping the device in her hand with a strength she tried to ignite further within herself.

"Don't go, please, don't go," the disappearing image was begging. Laura was reaching forward, her hands almost within Carol's grasp. "Don't leave me here with him!"

Carol stood open mouthed as Laura faded into nothing, an ebbing whisper that lingered in the air. She then continued her stride toward the sliding door, unlocking the handle and prepping her muscles to wrench the door open. She heard Laura's voice then, heard her begging Carol to stop. But Carol didn't stop, she threw her weight against the handle, and just like when Irma had visited, the door refused to budge. She felt icy fingers digging into her again, an unyielding grip on her shoulders that crushed her as she tried to turn. She  couldn't move, and a voice she didn't recognise fell over her, and Carol finally understood that it wasn't her that Laura was begging to stop.

Chapter Text

Daryl was exhausted. He shook his boots out and droplets of water fell onto the grass around him. He rested the footwear back on the top of his workbench, upside down, and shook out the last cigarette from his carton. He lit it and leaned over the railing at his back deck, drawing the smoke in slowly while he replayed the day's events.

Irma and Dale had both been painfully understanding. They'd seemed unconcerned about the quality of the meat, wanting to wait until the results came back before disposing of anything they'd stored in their freezers. The guilt that had taken hold of him in the minutes he'd inspected the diseased buck lingered. He couldn't shake it. He replayed the expressions the inspectors had adopted when he'd first unravelled the plastic. They'd gazed upon the infected carcass, staring lengthily at the tiny body, and their grim faces, their communal silence, had made his stomach churn.

They'd been called out to many false alarms before, had arrived with a tired irritability, but left alert, distracted, their movements shifting reflexively. They'd appeared freshly irritated, extremely so, by the presence of the local newspaper team, and he'd tried to understand what had possessed Carol to call them. I had to, Daryl, was all that she'd say.

He stood thinking about her, moodily crushing the last carton in his possession. The local shops were closed now, but he remembered a gas station a few miles shy of Ekinston that stayed open late. He squashed the cigarette butt into the nearest ash tray, pulling the back door closed behind himself, and he picked up his jacket as he walked through the trailer and out the front door. He grabbed his helmet on the short walk to his bike, and he threw a leg over the seat, and started the motor. He sat back, gazing thoughtfully at Carol's cabin, his helmet in his hands, and then he shut the engine off, and listened.

The sound was reticent at first, but the volume seemed to increase as he waited. Then it stopped abruptly, and Daryl tipped his head, straining to hear what he was afraid he'd heard. He pictured a barn owl settling over the border of the property, tried to soothe himself with the thought, as his eyes searched the scattered treeline for a telltale movement. It was a beautiful night, the stars were out. There were so few clouds that the moonlight made a path to Carol's back deck, it made prominent the dark lines highlighting the curvature of the trench. Then he heard again the strangled sharpness of a scream, and he was certain that it lifted from somewhere inside the cabin. Daryl dismounted his bike, nearly knocking it over in his hurry. He crossed the trench and ran past the garden shed, flew up the back steps onto the deck. He skidded to a stop at the sliding door.

"Carol?!" He yelled, his hands closing desperately over the handle.

The door didn't budge, and he slammed his palm against it. The surface was like ice against his hand and he reeled back, taking in the crystallised grain of the faintly frosted surface. Another scream sounded, a garbled trail of terror that felt like wire slicing into him, and somewhere a dog barked, and growled, before it yelped, and silence followed it. Daryl's eyes shifted to the nearest chair, as the cries were suddenly muffled, as though Carol had moved further back into the cabin. Daryl thought only of her ex, assumed that he was inside with Carol now, and that he had his hands on her.

He knew that he was starting to panic, and he tried his best to make himself function. He had his older boots on, the spares, the ones that were sunken with holes and worn pockets. He planted them to the floorboards as he picked up the nearest deck chair and threw it at the sliding door. The glass splintered, but didn't break, so Daryl gripped the chair and took a few steps back. The sounds inside were breaking and warbled, as though Carol were crying, trying to reason with whoever was disturbing her. Daryl threw the chair again, and this time it went clean through the glass and he stepped after it, his boots skidding slightly on the shards, his breath ragged in his ears, as he strode across the door frame.

The darkness inside the cabin was like a blanket engulfing him. Daryl took out his little torch and lit a pathway on the lowest setting, the glow initially trained at his boots. He traced through the kitchen briefly, stopping to grab a butcher knife from the block. He noted that the screaming had stopped, and he started begging the universe let Carol still be breathing, let him find her before anything happened to change that.

He stepped carefully into the lounge area, trying to still his breath as best he could. His boots crunched over something sharp, softer than the pieces of the sliding door. He waved his light quickly over his boots and discovered thin shards of glass splayed out across the floor. His head tipped back as he shone his light over the electrical fixtures, and he saw that numerous bulbs had exploded across the ceiling. The kitchen light had blown as well, and the lamp at the foot of the staircase. He made it as far as the bottom step before he heard a faint whisper, a harrowed sob, and he flicked the button up to the highest setting, before he shifted the brightness of his flashlight up over the staircase.

Carol's eyes shone in the translucence, and she turned her head, her body shrinking away from it. She had wrapped her arms around the top rung of the handrail and he could see from the foot of the stairs that she was shaking. Daryl's heart was in his mouth as he ascended the stairs, the rope of the flashlight wound tight around his wrist

When he reached the top step, he set the function back to its lowest setting. His gaze swept intently across Carol, scanning her body for injury. He noted the wetness of her cheeks, the way a fresh sob rose inside her. Her grip on the railing was pincer tight, her arms wrapped around the banister, and Daryl could see bruises tracing out of her t-shirt, bright indentations marked across the pale flesh of her upper arms. They were thick stripes, like fingermarks, sharp points indented at the ends, and Daryl felt his resolve build and shatter as he studied her.

"Stay here?" He pleaded quietly and Carol shivered as she gazed up at him.

Cursing himself silently for returning her to the darkness, for leaving her where he couldn't see her, Daryl assured Carol he would be right back, and he left to give the bedrooms upstairs a hurried scan. He pulled open the cupboard doors, and leaned down to check under the bed. Then he strode back to the staircase and sank down beside her on the top step, his face reaching close, to study her, as he adjusted the light between them.

"Hey," he greeted quietly, in a tone he hoped disguised his anguish. "S'alright. S'alright now, Carol. S'just me. Daryl."

"Please just go away," Carol sobbed, exhaustion cradling every syllable. "Go away." She cried and Daryl's stomach churned. She seemed to turn further into herself, she was pleading into her arm, as he started to bend his legs to stand. "I only want the real Daryl."

Daryl's eyebrows gathered, and a frown wound its way across his features, as he tried to filter her meaning.

"Is me," he murmured, staring solemnly at the lines of her arms. He sank back down and after a moment, she lifted her head to study him.

"Carol?" He asked, his voice thick, laced with apprehension. "Your ex? Where'd he go? Heard you ... heard ya screamin'. Came over quick's I could." His fingers went out to hover over her bruises and she immediately shrank away from him. "He do this? Y'gotta tell me where he went."

He sounded desperate then, he heard the urgency warping the soothing tone he'd tried to emanate. He ran his tongue over his lips and waited anxiously, as Carol failed to respond.

"He still in the house?"

Carol gazed at Daryl warily. Her arms were still lifted over her head, threaded through the banister, as her fingers gripped the railing, and bars. A fresh wave of tears emerged and spilled into her eyes.

"I think he's gone now." She murmured. "He just wanted me to ... to see it? Made me..." her breath caught suddenly, and then her face crumpled.

Daryl was hovering patiently, his fingers tensing over the handle of the knife, over the flashlight, the glow from which, each tremble that kept Carol pried to the stairs was caught, every shiver was captured against the wooden surfaces.

"Made you what?" He whispered.

"Ed's car out on the driveway." Carol blinked. "He made me see it."

Daryl stood up then, the butcher knife waving in his fist and Carol noticed it, and she reared back in terror, her arms looping tighter still around the bars behind her. Her grip was so intense, the colour in her joints faded. The unwavering fixtures began to crease into her flesh. Her eyes fixed on the sharpness of the blade in Daryl's hand, and he swore at himself, and stepped back, his feet moving carefully across the wooden planks.

"Ain't gonna hurt ya," he soothed, his hands lifting in surrender. "I swear. I promise, Carol. This is f'him."

Carol gazed at Daryl, a frown knitting her eyebrows together, and when she spoke, her voice was flat, devoid of any spark he'd witnessed.

"Well he's gone now." She repeated, her voice steadying for the first time. "I think you scared him away."

Daryl was flooded with relief and frustration. He wanted to get his hands on Ed. He wanted to lift Carol into his arms. She stood up then, carefully, and he wished she hadn't, because her legs bowed inward and her steps were unstable, her eyes moving from the vague shape of the blade, back up to Daryl. He held the knife out toward her, handle first, his fingers gripping the blade, and then he reached carefully between them to set it on the landing. Carol's head twisted attentively, following his movements, her gaze lingering on the weapon, and Daryl could see then, that the left side of her hair was a damp mess, streaked with burgendy hues. When his flashlight illuminated the area, he could see trails of blood merge with crimson down over her ear and into the soft fold of her neck. He found Carol's eyes, and even in the sight of her obvious turmoil, she somehow grounded him, and he knew that he couldn't leave her side. He offered his hand, stretching it out to her, empty and upturned.

"How do I know it's really you?" She whispered, and Daryl shook his head, and shrugged, his lips parting.

When she didn't take his hand, he lowered it.

"Ya seen someone looks like me, but it ain't me?"

Carol nodded and Daryl's frown deepened. His mouth worked uselessly as he stared into the darkness. The flashlight shifted in his grip, sending the edge of the soft glow over Carol's legs, and onto the toe of his work boots.

"Are those your old boots?" Carol asked suddenly. "Your spare ones?" She watched as he sent the light over his feet, further illuminating the details of his footwear.

"Yeah. Regular ones ain't dry yet."

His voice was sombre in the space between them, but when Carol looked up at him, her face was so hopeful that he felt his eyes softening, and his lips curved along with them. Carol glanced down into the darkness, to the abyss at the bottom of the stairs, and then her face eased somewhat, and Daryl drew in a hopeful breath at the change in her demeanour.

"You go first." She pleaded.

Daryl nodded and took a few steps down, twisting back as he went, to light the stairs up behind him. Her eyes were still trained on Daryl warily, and she leaned over the landing to close her hand upon the handle of the knife. Then they both crept down together, Carol clinging to the railing with both hands, Daryl chewing his lip as he watched her move.

"I need my phone," she rasped and Daryl darted to the kitchen, following her instructions, calling out behind himself as he hunted across the floor. "S'glass everywhere." He warned her.

He handed Carol's phone to her. He'd lifted a throw blanket from the couch as he'd passed it, and he held it up tentatively, then wrapped it around her shoulders. She switched the light function on after cradling her phone to her chest. She caught Daryl's shadowed features in the light, the senseless hole in the frame of the sliding door across the living room. She cast her waning light over the glinting shards in their scatter across the floor.

"Had to," Daryl said grimly. "Gonna pay for a replacement though."

Carol shook her head gingerly, but she was in no state to argue. The light wavered in her hand.

"Okay for me t'call the cops now?" His voice lifted, hopeful.

Carol shook her head again, grimacing, and she looked up at him, her mouth set. "No cops," she whispered firmly, and Daryl lowered his head, his sigh sharp and short.

His hand went out to steady her when she tried to take a step. "Where ya shoes at?"

The thin hand clutching her phone lifted weakly in the direction of the entrance and he disappeared briefly, returning a moment later with a pair of flip flops. He set them down at her feet and held his arm out again to steady her. She grabbed onto him, and she was lighter than he anticipated, but her fingers clutched at him urgently, and he thought of the marks on her arms, and his body tensed beside her.

Carol moved over to the front door, tried the light switch and exhaled with relief, her shoulders lowering when she saw light flood across the deck. She stepped out onto the scuffed varnished floorboards, shifted closer to the railing, and she lifted the light of her phone across the section of driveway nearest to her, scanning the gravel, the soft beam stopping at her car. Daryl followed the glow down the steps, his own light meeting hers' until his hand guided his vision beyond. He found the crushed dust edging the curve of the grass.

"Said he wanted you to see his car?" He hesitated. "What kinda car's he got?"

"It's a jeep," Carol said dully. "A Cherokee. It was ... it looked so real, Daryl. Like you."

Daryl turned back to look at her, his eyes hooded in the darkness, and then he swept the light across the area in front of him, spent a few minutes searching, as Carol crept down onto the grass to watch him.

"This where you saw it? 'Cause ... ain't any ... ain't those kinda tracks." He explained, and he gestured to the divots behind her car. "These are yours, right?" He pointed the tracks out to her. "And Sophia? She got a little car like yours? Smaller tyres?" Carol nodded and Daryl dipped his head, humming softly. "Ain't tracks like you'd expect then. All those inspectors were parked up on the road." He took a few paces to the Horvath's border and waved his flashlight over the ground. "Plenty a'footprints headin' down t'the side to the lake here, but ... nothin'," he moved closer to the cabin, his head tilting to the driveway. "Ain't nothin' bigger'n yours. An' now mine."

He looked back up at Carol, lifting his light gently to gauge her reaction. The porch light silhouetted her as she stood in front of it, but Daryl's searching light scoped out the details of her face. She nodded briskly, her eyes watering, and she lifted her spare hand to wipe the tears away. Her shoulders sagged as she drifted over to the bench underneath the front window, and Daryl followed her up the stairs, and stood hovering, watching her carefully, his head ducking as he tried to see the cut on the side of her head.

"Can I take y'down to emergency now? Carol?"

Carol sat silently and he was ready to repeat his question when she finally spoke. "In the morning." She said flatly.

"S'ya ... Carol, y'head." He emphasised quietly, but the blanket over Carol's shoulders lifted and Daryl sighed again.

"In the morning." She repeated.

He sighed, the tension winding up through his shoulders. "Least let me clean it up then," he gently prodded. "Come on back t'my place. You can shower f'ya want. I'll get ya a hot drink or somethin' ."

Carol lifted her eyes to study Daryl. Her nod was so slight, that he wondered for a moment if it was just another tremor still working its way through her. Then she stood up, her face ashen, and followed him over to his house.

--------

Carol walked straight through Daryl's lounge and out his back door, fumbling with the lock as she went, her breaths shallow, as she eased down the back steps and onto the grass. She leaned over, her hands gripping her knees, and her breath wound out in irregular hitches.

"Just need a minute," She gasped as Daryl caught up with her, and she took in the flash of confusion that touched his features. "I'll be fine, I just .. it's, it's beautiful Daryl, really," she wheezed. "I just, it feels a little ... small, right now, and I just, I'm not good with, with low ceilings, and ... it's a lot all at once. That's all."

Daryl nodded, his face solemn. He helped her settle onto a log at the far end of his backyard, starting a new fire where the ground was dry. He worked methodically, silently, in the same way she'd watched him manage the buck the night before. Exhaustion was lined on his face, worry reflected in his eyes, trembling lightly in his voice. He rolled a short log over to the space beside her, twisted it so that the sharp edge snagged in the dirt, and then he brought out a bowl with warm water and a washer, and sat beside her, wringing the damp cloth in his hands. Carol was reminded of his tenderness with the fawn in her dream, saw the figure of him blurring into a fading figure of Laura. Her eyes welled up.

"I don't know what's real anymore." She whispered.

Daryl squinted at her, his eyebrows drawing together, and his mouth curved upward gently. "This is real." He said firmly. "You'n me. The fire. 'N the lake."

He hesitated a moment longer, and then leaned toward her, lifting the washer. Her hands lifted defensively, and he paused, his gaze softening. His voice was steady as his face reached forward.

"Ain't gonna hurt ya." He stated and Carol nodded, sniffing softly.

"I know," she whispered. "I can't help it."

Daryl's head dipped, and he tried again, and though Carol's hands jerked lightly, she let him ease the cloth over the cut above her ear.

"Sorry." He murmured, and Carol's eyes squeezed shut as she adjusted to the delicate scrape of the cloth.

The texture was soft, warm, and Daryl's hands trembled slightly as he slowly increased the pressure. He worked silently, his breaths uneven, as he smoothed away the trails that had run down onto Carol's neck. He squinted at her wound for a moment, patted it dry, and then carefully smoothed a dressing over it. Carol murmured her thanks and he grunted in acknowledgement, offered a gentle nod, before disappearing into the kitchen. He returned with two steaming mugs. He set his down and handed one to her with both hands hovering until she had clasped her fingers securely around the china. Then they sat, watching the flames flicker shadows over them, across the grass and the fallen leaves, and Daryl watched Carol cautiously, patiently, until she sighed, and took a breath, and then another, as she tried to work out how to explain what had happened.

"It's haunted," she said finally, in a quiet tone, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "The cabin."

She turned to look at Daryl, saw a faint line emerge in his forehead, and she sighed again, the fingers of her free hand gingerly tracing the edges of the dressing at her temple.

"S'a ghost?" Daryl asked.

His voice was endearing, curious, his face strangely open, and neither was tainted with a trace of doubt. It was as though he just believed her, and Carol frowned as she took in the tone of his question, his gentle prod, and she nodded. The motion was gentle, but pain flashed across her face,. Daryl patted his pocket, withdrawing a foil packet, and he pressed several painkillers into her hand.

"There's two ghosts." She frowned. "Or, she wanted me to see two ghosts." Carol sighed suddenly, massaging her uninjured temple with the fingers of her free hand. "I don't expect you to believe me."

Daryl took in the information, mulled over it, drained a mouthful of his coffee as leaned over the log, his eyebrows still knitted together. He shrugged as he looked up at her.

"'F'ya say there's ghost, then there's a ghost." He stated simply. "That how the light bulbs exploded?" And when Carol nodded, eyeing him warily, he continued. "Y'trip?" His hand waved up over his ear, referencing the wound on her temple. "Y'get surprised'n fall? Hurt y'self?" His gaze fell to her arms, and he frowned over the bruises that were forming there, staring as he waited.

Carol shook her head and looked down at the mug in her hands. Daryl had made her tea and she remembered now, him asking her what she wanted, how she'd tracked his eyes, his question unfurling too slowly in her mind. Y'fall? Y'hurt y'self? Her thoughts travelled back to the icy fingers, to the strength of the arms pulling her away from the sliding door. Laura's screams still rang clear in her mind, and she remembered being suddenly released, felt again the warmth that had hovered at the edge of her, as she'd turned to take in Justin's form, his threatening snarl, his vacant stare. She'd assumed he was human, his bulk was like a wall. His arms were strong, like Ed's had been, like Daryl's were, but icy, chilling her bones as they'd found their way back around her. Carol had struggled in his grasp, her fingers working fruitlessly to push into his ribs, to scratch him, to try to stop him, but she couldn't hurt him the way she'd hurt Ed once.

He'd almost knocked her out on his mission past the kitchen, her head finding the corner of the bench as he'd thrown her off balance. Then he'd dragged her as though she weighed nothing, so easily it hurt to remember, toward the stairs, and up to the landing above them. The light bulbs had exploded above her as she scraped by underneath, as she heard a dog barking incessantly, the noise crashing in her ears, as Laura had screamed and screamed, until everything went black.

"Carol?"

Carol looked up, disoriented, and she slowly reacquainted herself with Daryl and the fire. They were at the edge of the lake, a flutter of wings from the trees was surrounding them, and the rustling startled her.

"He wanted to hurt me," Carol explained. Her voice had flattened again, and Daryl swallowed, his face unchanging, as her eyes welled up. "He said if I don't get out of the house, he'll make me, and ... I don't know what to do, Daryl, I don't..." she took a shuddering breath and Daryl set his mug down.

He reached forward to wrap his hands around hers, easing her mug away. Then his thumbs stroked gentle laps across her knuckles, over the back of her hands, as her head dipped, and her chin quavered.

"We'll figure somethin' out," he assured her, and his voice was so comforting, she was afraid to believe him. "Promise. But f'now at least, ya don't hafta be over there."

He waited for her to nod, hesitantly lifting one hand, and then gathered a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"It wasn't him," Carol said quietly. "Ed, he was ... he was never here."

Daryl nodded as he took that in, and she thought of him scouring the driveway, looking for tracks that didn't exist.

"Saw a fire," he murmured suddenly and her gaze lifted to study him.

He leaned back on his log, the distance opening up between them, but the expression on his face was still reaching out to steady her.

"Here," he gestured to the house. "Th'other day, when Sophia was vistin' you. I was walking back here and I looked up," he took a deep breath and then let it out in a great rush. "Looked real. But it wasn'. Thought I was goin' nuts. Y'said he wanted you to see the car? The ghost?" Daryl shrugged. "Well maybe he wanted me to see that fire. Somethin' tripped me, but it was gone when I looked up."

Carol frowned as she recalled the afternoon she'd seen Daryl fall on his way back over their property line.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Daryl shrugged. "Didn' make sense before."

"And it does now?" She tried to laugh and Daryl nodded, her smile vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe." He studied her silently. "Carol? He um, the ghost, you ... said y'seen somethin' that looks like me? It was one'a them, wasn' it?"

Carol nodded solemnly. "Laura," she explained, and Daryl's eyes narrowed gently. "And it was her, I think, that day. The building inspection. I think she's the one who warned me," a bitter laugh escaped, "that the cabin wasn't safe."

Daryl face distorted with confusion. "Laura, she the woman who was killed in there? By her ex?" Carol took in his words and nodded reluctantly. "She, uh ... Laura. When she was .. when she looked like me, did she ... as me, try to...," he took a deep breath, his eyes pleading with her earnestly. "Was it like I was hurtin' you?"

Carol stared at him wordlessly and slowly shook her head. "No, Daryl." She finally reassured him and he released his breath in a wave of relief, his lips trembling briefly as he turned his attention to the fire.

He left her for a moment, to rifle through the items on his deck. He had a roll of memory foam, which he stretched out across the lawn, where the heat of the fire reached its flickering strains. He lay sheets out across the surface, ones he'd grabbed from the house, along with a blanket. He stopped to absorb Carol's questioning gaze and he peered up into the sky.

"Can sleep under the stars, if y'want," Daryl offered. “'S'safe near the fire”

His eyes shone with a sombre light, and Carol smiled gratefully, feeling certain that sleep would evade her. But as she lay down on one edge of the makeshift bed, urging Daryl to leave his place at the fire to rest alongside her, had him shifting until he was an outstretched arm's length away, then assured him with a tiny smile that she wouldn't bite, that there were ghosts in the cabin, not vampires, she felt herself drifting, felt anchored, but loosened, from the horror of the evening, with Daryl at her side. She stretched her fingers out to find his, and he enveloped her hand with a warmth she was afraid to trust was real. His fingers gently squeezed hers, and he didn't let go, not until her limb grew sleep heavy in his grasp as the night stretched on. Until then, she savoured Daryl's gentle pressure, his laboured breaths, delivered as though he was afraid that breathing beside her was a grave imposition. They gazed up at the sky and savoured the soft calls of nature, the flicker of flames, the stars, and each other.

Chapter Text

Kingfishers danced at the edge of the lake, imprinting dozens of forked steps across the muddied rise. Glossy leaves from the sugar maples lifted in the tepid breeze. Some came unstuck and tumbled flippantly. Their steps complimented the kingfishers' choreography, designs of a majesty unspoken, with the riparian of the lake their awarded stage.

In Daryl's dream, Carol had folded the blanket back and her hip arched toward him, curving in his hand. She'd dragged his forearm eagerly over her stomach, and he pushed down gently on the bone, until she folded underneath him. He swung himself over her, nestling his face above her shoulder, and then he gratefully tongued the rise and dip, across and into the hollow above the line of her collarbone. His mouth brushed her throat as his fingers found her ribs, then the swell of her breasts, and the softness, and then the hardness, of her nipples. His mouth latched onto one, his tongue flattening broadly over the tip as he softly moaned into the delicate skin. Carol's fingers wound into his hair, and when she sighed, he felt the sound of her breath, nestled into the warmth of it.

Her voice left a wet trail that hovered at his temple, a promise in his ears of longing, of plaintiff affirmation. And elsewhere, in another land, his legs were fighting the blanket between them, and he was growing hard against her hipbone, or a divot in the mattress, or her belly, and he thrust slowly against it, distracted by her movement.

Carol was saying something, and as she did, her voice wrapped itself around her fingers, buried itself into the pulses building steadily into a rhythm, and igniting the vivid surges that flared irregularly alongside them, deep within him. She'd grasped him over his sweatpants, further intensifying the heat between them, stroking with a need that he matched fluently, as she whispered, her fingers shifting to find his drawstring and pulling, her fingers restlessly sliding, her touch ice where his flesh ended, and fire when her fingers met him.

With a gasp, Daryl found her eyes, the morning sky. Carol's mouth opened fully, her eyes widening. There were shades of distress pooling in them, and he frowned as he held his head back, studying her attentively, and he stopped moving. From sleep, he stirred lightly, half shifted off the mattress, hugging the ground, almost waking, but he couldn't lift himself from the dream, from Carol's turmoil. Under the dawn sky, she was moving restlessly beside him, but in his dream, she was trying to say something.

Daryl noticed the arrow then, his eyes fell to the bolt that was nestled snugly in Carol's ribs. The point farthest from the feathers was fixed below her breasts, the earthly plumage wavered where it hadn't a moment earlier. And Carol's cry was a shaking breath of disbelief, as Daryl stopped rocking above her, as he leaned back on his knees, watching as blood pooled thinly at her side. He only got me once, she'd said, and Daryl remembered the other dream now, her comforting words a fresh nightmare within this one. And with a slow, bright sensation, he remembered that Carol hadn't been hit, it had been the buck, and the inspectors had taken the carcass. He saw the grass stretching out in front of him then, vacant and scentless. The draw of Carol's body lingered all around him, and though he could no longer see her, her absence pulled at something inside him.

He wandered out along the edge of the lake until he found her. She was clinging to the trunk of a tree, her arms wrapped around its base in deathly ardour, and her head wound had freshly opened, streaking blood onto her cheekbone. Water from the lake was rising around them. Waves were crashing in the near distance, skidding foam up to their ankles. Daryl sensed the shape of his boots pressing against his heels and he realised with vague despair that he didn't have a dry pair in his collection. In the dream, he knew that the hospital wouldn't let him in with Carol because of that. He watched the water swirl, he watched Carol's mouth gape like it was hinged with a drawstring, in the same way Roxy's had, watched her words form in an obscure silence, as her eyes widened, and the sky opened up, as the grain of Merle's voice hovered she ain't gonna wait all day.

Daryl awoke with a jolt that trembled through him and didn't deliquesce until he grew used to it. He ached for a cigarette, spent a few tired moments contemplating how he would manage a trip out to the store. He was disoriented, his throat was dry, and his back ached. The sunrise was peaking over the Horvath's roof and sun splintered through the rifts on the tiles. Daryl heard Carol moaning softly beside him, her lips were moving in a whispered plea as her head flopped back and forth. The events of the night before splintered gracelessly through his mind and Daryl twisted to shake Carol awake, stopping only when her words resounded, the meaning slicing into him.

"I'm sorry Ed, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please," a harrowed sob slashed through her cries, and through the centre of his being, "I won't go, I won't go," and Daryl completed his roll toward her, his hands urgently reaching out to rouse her from her slumber.

Carol woke up with a gasp, her hands lifting defensively, and Daryl drew back, his voice crackling with sleep. He tried to fill the space with his words in an effort to reassure her.

"You were dreamin'." His eyes glinted in the morning light, concern filtering from him in waves.

------

Some part of Carol's consciousness was still threaded faintly in the nightmare, Ed had found his way into the cabin and he held her out over the top step like she was a penny over a fountain, and he wanted to make a terrible wish. The gleam in his eyes in her dream had been the same as it had been, when he'd sat glaring at her from behind his steering wheel.

"He ain't here." Daryl reminded her, and his soothing tone vibrated softly inside her.

She nodded, her eyes falling, and her fingers clutched the blanket to her chest, her breath shallow and disjointed. Slowly, she lifted herself up onto her elbows and gazed around at the shadowed landscape, taking in the hazy glow of morning, the chill of the lake, the flutter of wings, and the soft morning calls of the birds. Daryl's soothing presence was like a protective barrier, set between her body and the cabin. Ed's grip on her lingered momentarily, and then wave after wave of memory of the night before replaced his fixed jaw, the shape of his fists.

"I'll get coffee." Daryl's voice was thick with sleep and worry, and his knees creaked as he lifted himself up off the ground.

Carol remembered the sound of Daryl sinking down beside her on the staircase hours earlier, his expression when she'd rushed out of his trailer. A wave of guilt swept over her. She remembered the light bulbs, and the glass door, and the clean up, Justin's ghost trying to kill her, and she sat up suddenly, a wave of nausea rolling through her as the ache in her head pulsed freshly. Visions of Sophia entered her mind, the light fading from her daughter's eyes when she saw the bruises on her mother's arms, the gaping hole in the back door.

Carol fumbled for her pockets and her hands swept out across the sheet beside her, until she found her phone and opened it, a wave of despair hitting her when she found the screen black and unresponsive. She lifted herself carefully and made her way up to Daryl's back deck, noting the low hum of the pump issuing twitches, indicating that Daryl had turned the taps on inside. She stepped cautiously over the threshold, her gaze catching on various details of the space within. The morning light cast a peaceful glow over the dark walnut walls, and Carol gasped reflexively as she absorbed the rich colour of the wood. Darkly soothing, they offset the toned down furnishings Daryl had chosen for the space, simple items like the forest green corduroy armchair, an enamelled standing lamp, a braided rug, and framed photographs of various landscapes. Carol remembered Daryl's recollections of the places he'd visited before settling here, and she pondered whether he had captured the images on his phone camera. The effect of all was a little grainy and authentic. When she'd entered the space last night, the crush of the walls had enveloped her with a vice-like restraint. But now, with the light of morning, and sleep taken, despite the events of last night, which had fractured her dreams, she could pick out the details of the wood, the loft bed pitched over the kitchen.

The button on the electric kettle flicked up noisily, and steam filled the small space. Somewhere in the trailer, she heard the faint squeak of taps being turned, and water from the shower stopped running. Carol's neck warmed as she imagined Daryl drying himself, pulling fresh clothes on. She went into the kitchen to pour two cups of coffee, and left them on the bench when she heard the bathroom door open. Stepping back out into the living room, she took note of the boxed steps winding down from Daryl's bedroom, each section hollowed out for drawers, with indented handles detailing the walnut squares.

Three taxidermy birds hung from the ceiling in various positions of suspended flight. They didn't feel as intrusive in the swell of morning light, and Carol remembered for the first time Aaron's spiel about taxidermy, Daryl's craft and the various receptions to it. The birds had all been captured in active flight, and Carol felt awed by the realism and beauty in their static forms.

A barred owl was fixed under the kitchen divide, its striped wings lifted in an arch, the mottled softness over its head so alike the details in the soft grain of the walnut, that it felt as though the two elements of nature, the fauna and flora, had each been reborn from the woods into this fabricated habitat.

There was an American crow captured pre-landing, set higher on the opposite wall, over a small bookcase. Its shades were so dark it almost blended with the shadowed walnut, and it was only that Carol moved, as the light shifted through the window, that she saw it. It too, hovered in time suspended, in a way that made Daryl's cabin feel like a slice of the woods has been imprinted in the space.

Finally, a yellow shafted flicker caught Carol's gaze. The smaller bird's wings were also spread, the yellowed underside, warm as the morning light that was stretching through the gap in the living room curtain. Carol shifted to the window to open the covering further and the sun seemed to acknowledge her need for it, finding its way into the little space, and illuminating the small black dots speckled over the bird's breast, the dark necklace dividing the bright gold and soft brown of its plumage.

Carol jumped when Daryl murmured, his footsteps sending a vibrating current through the floating timber floorboards.

"Found 'em," he explained softly, in reference to the birds. He handed the warm mug to her carefully, with a murmured thanks, before lifting his own mug to his mouth. "The birds," he pointed at each one as he described their origin. "Sally got clipped by a Toyota, was goin' slow so she barely lost any feathers." His eyebrows arched. "Musta had a death wish, usually too smart t'get taken out by cars."

"Sally?" Carol smiled, her chin dipping as her eyes widened.

She didn't realise it was her first proper smile since Daryl had found her on the staircase. She watched with interest as his face relaxed, moving with lines so similar to hers, she found them comforting.

"Always name 'em," he shrugged. "Don't hunt 'em," he captured her gaze as though he needed to emphasise that the detail was important. "This one's Billy," he tipped his finger toward the owl. "And Molly." He drank a mouthful of coffee as his eyes shifted up toward the little flicker over the window. "Got a 'ends in 'y' theme', I guess. Billy's m'favourite."

"Why?" Carol stepped closer to the barred owl, finding the glossy darkness of its' artificial eyes.

Daryl was shrugging behind her. "Somethin' about owls. My Mama liked 'em. Said owls know what to do. 'S'all."

Carol whirled around to study Daryl and he was reaching for her phone, his eyes flicking up to hers, his lips pressed together as she let him lift the device out of her hand.

"Lemme charge that for ya?"

"Thanks. I should really call Sophia." Carol breathed. She turned in the space slowly, taking in the elements. "It feels like we're in the woods," her eyes lit up with wonder. "Do you do this a lot? With the birds?" She indicated. "Are there other animals?"

Daryl reached over the kitchen bench and connected Carol's phone to his charger. "Did some work with a guy named Daniel just outta Newnan. S'real good money. Mainly memorial stuff, people's pets. Which is ... feels kinda messed up in a way, I guess. But, grief is messed up, right?

"Yeah. I suppose it is," Carol nodded.

She studied Daryl as he set his mug down on the little table. His hands waved out across the living room window, his arms stretching as Carol watched his shirt pull across his shoulders.

"This whole wall lifts up and out," he explained, turning to ensure Carol was tracking his movement. "Can lift it right out, 'n'see the water. Just have to move all that stuff off the deck. And I got netting, and tarps, can seal it up at night." His hand flicked toward his loft bed. "Same as the roof over there. Can see the stars, or the clouds, or whatever. S'glass top, just slides right over."

Carol's smile grew as her eyes radiated, shining brighter as they shifted from the imprint in the ceiling above Daryl's bed, back to him.

"You really love it don't you? The woods. Nature. It's like being in the middle of the forest in here."

Daryl nodded, his lips curving inward. His shoulders lowered, and she thought he seemed relieved. "Yeah, was always somewhere I could go." He shrugged. "If I needed to get away."

There seemed a lot unspoken in Daryl's statement, in his tone. She watched his eyes drift, his jaw loosen, and perhaps a distant memory flashed quickly. He picked up his mug, drained a few mouthfuls, then jerked his head in her direction.

"Let's go get that looked at now, alright?" His eyes swept over the bandage on her head.

"Thank you Daryl, but I've got to ask Sophia to take me." Carol's face shifted carefully, her eyes fixing on Daryl's. "She wants me to need her. It's why I'm here in the first place, so she can ... keep an eye on me. Visit." Carol's voice was low. "But, thank you Daryl. So much. Thank you for everything."

Daryl nodded slowly, his eyes lowering to inspect his cup. "She know? 'Bout all this?" He asked. "Cabin bein' ... haunted. Sophia?"

Carol shook her head, her eyes drifting to the kitchen window. "You're the only one who knows about it. I don't ... think I should tell her about ... Laura. Or Justin. I don't want her in there. At all, right now. But, I also can't lie to her." Her gaze fixed intently back on his'. "But I can tell her that I got a scare and, I fell. And hit my head. And you ... you heard a scream and you had to break the door to get in. Because you were worried."

She seemed to be waiting for his approval, or confirmation, So, frowning, Daryl nodded, but his eyes fell to her arms. The finger marks had purpled, the tips had darkened, and Carol withered under his gaze, setting her mug on the table, where his had rested moments earlier.

"I've got to get changed anyway." She murmured, her eyes climbing the buttons on his shirt to his neckline.

Daryl looked as though he wanted to argue the point with her, but he didn't. He stiffened minutely, his fingers tensing over the handle of his cup, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot briefly before he sighed and set his mug beside hers'.

"You need anything from your place, I'll come with you." He said.

---------

Carol called Sophia from Daryl's phone before they left, saying all she needed was a lift into Ekinston, as she didn't feel up to driving herself to the clinic. Sophia had been more than willing to change her Sunday plans, the urgency in her voice wounding Carol slightly. Carol had called ahead to Jenny, apologising profusely, explaining that she needed stitches and might be in late. Jenny had sounded genuinely concerned and insisted Carol take the entire day off. Carol had watched the tension in Daryl's face ease as she'd rung off, holding his phone back out to him.

She paused at her front door, peering over her shoulder to check that Daryl was still behind her. He gave a nod of reassurance and she shifted into the foyer, stepping lightly over the floorboards to avoid the broken glass where she could see it. Daryl rested his fingers on the dip of her spine and trailed carefully behind her, as she climbed up the stairs and through the doorway of her bedroom. He waited on the landing while she changed, and it was only a few minutes later that he heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway.

Carol opened her door and smiled thinly. She'd heard Sophia's car too. She took his arm as they descended the stairs together, Carol gripping the railing as tightly as his limb. She'd changed into a blouse with sleeves that covered her bruising, and she eyed the light fixtures across the ceiling as she moved to open the front door. She smiled brightly at Sophia, who had her hand lifted to knock. The young woman's face was flushed with concern, and she frowned deeply as Carol blocked her entance to the cabin.

"Hi sweetheart," Carol greeted her daughter casually, softly rattling her keys in her hand. "There's glass everywhere, watch your step."

"Mom? Are you okay?"

Sophia's neck arched as she tried to see behind her mother to cast her eyes on Daryl. He'd tipped his head back in greeting, his eyes scanning Sophia's anxiously before he shifted his gaze back to Carol.

Sophia's hands went up to hover at her mother's head. "You fell? Why? You said something scared you, what scared you?" Her voice had lowered to a whisper, just for the two of them, tinged with decades old worry.

Carol took the bony arm and wrapped her arms around it. "The light bulbs exploded." Carol explained. "Three of them!"

"Four." Daryl interjected softly.

"Four," Carol sighed. "Scared the hell out of me."

"But, why would that happen?" Sophia took a step back, drawing Carol with her as she moved. "And why didn't you call me when it happened?"

Carol sighed. "It was so late Sophia, and I didn't think it was that bad. Daryl wanted to take me to emergency and I insisted on waiting until this morning. There's no need to be out on those roads in the dead of night." She frowned over the words, then brightened a moment later. "Anyway, should we go?"

Sophia frowned, then nodded slowly, turning so Carol could follow her down the front steps.

Carol twisted at the railing, her eyes lingering on Daryl. "Please do not lift a finger in this cabin until I get back. I don't want you in there on your own."

Her eyebrows arched, and she stared fixedly at the trapper, making Sophia wait, until he stepped out onto the porch, nodding as he pulled the front door closed behind himself. Carol exhaled gratefully, her shoulders lowering, and she smiled warmly at Daryl as she eased into Sophia's car. Sophia's expression was childlike, her eyes open, her lips parted, as she shifted the gears and reversed carefully onto the road.

-------

Daryl stood on the driveway, watching Sophia's car disappear down the hill, before he headed around the corner of the cabin, over the trench and up to Carol's back deck. He made a few calls there, his fingers going out to test the stability of the shards still wedged in the frame of the sliding door. He called a glass repairman, and an old client he'd sold a couple of birds to, a woman he hadn't spoken to in almost a year.

Then he ducked through the jagged void of the sliding door, taking care as he navigated the shards of glass still scattered across the floorboards.

His eyes swept over the glinting array as he edged closer to the kitchen. Near the island bench, he noticed a scattered trail of red. Tiny droplets of blood were gathered just a few feet away, barely noticeable, and he followed the tiny splatters past the lounge and over to the stairs. An unchecked rage that he'd buried the night before, swelled suddenly inside him and he stood, trembling with it, his chest heaving as he turned to address the space around him, the cause of the blood spill, and the reason Carol had sobbed beside him when she wouldn't let him touch her.

"Hey asshole!" He yelled, his jaw fixing as his head tilted. His voice grew deathly quiet as he recalled Carol's injuries. "'F'ya touch her again, I swear to God, y'gonna wish you crossed over to hell when y'had the chance. I will burn this cabin down to the ground, if I have to." He eyed the walls, the broken light fixtures. "Then you'll know what it's really like to have nothin'."

He stood trembling, listening to the silence as the flickers stilled within his fingers. Nothing happened immediately following his outburst, and Daryl wondered if he felt any better afterward, realising numbly that he didn't. The silence enveloped him like a glove, he felt the air go out of the room, and then he felt himself gasp involuntarily. But he was determined to clean up the glass, so he crunched over it on his way to the laundry, testing the doors until he found a broom and dustpan. When he returned to the kitchen, and set the pan down on the floor by his foot, he noticed that all around him on the floor, slivers of glass were flipping like fish out of water, trapped on dry surfaces. Hopping and sliding, and then slowly lifting. He watched, transfixed, as hundreds, if not thousands of transparent, reflective fragments slid over the floorboards, from the staircase, from the sliding door, until they had lifted in a tunnel around him, and he was encased within walls of the shards.

"Shoulda," his chest heaved as his breath hitched. "Shoulda cleaned this up 'fore I said that, huh?"

As if in slow motion, the glass starting moving again, a kaleidoscopic tunnel of light and shadow, rainbow expressions of Carol's furnishings, of him and the light, and the lake in vast turmoil. Daryl felt his knees weaken and his arms went up over his head in anticipation. But before he squeezed his eyes shut, the glowing form of Dale appeared in front of him, as though a portal had opened suddenly, and Daryl and the cabin were being sucked slowly inside.

Dale was throwing his arms around Daryl, his eyes wide, as he screamed and screamed, his voice distorting in Daryl's mind.

"Get down!" Dale cried as his chilling form beared down on the trapper. "Get down, Daryl, get down."

Daryl sank underneath Dale's frozen form, felt the unclear shape of the older man's limbs reach over him as glass began to shatter outside of their embrace. The sharp elements hit every piece of board and metal, until it felt like a bitter thunderstorm, like nature had taken hold of every weapon it could get its hands on, and was throwing them in retribution. Daryl felt some of the shards rip into him, stinging barbs slicing any exposed surface Dale hadn't been able to cover. Dale's form was glacial and Daryl trembled in the cold, huddling underneath the pressure of a gale force, noting somewhat absently, that it wasn't Dale pressing his weight on him. He remembered Carol's recounting of his own doppelganger, and he wondered if this was Laura, her firm gusts shielding him from the glassing, her layers merging as Dale's, in what he could only guess was an effort to placate him.

"Don't be scared," the voice was whispering above him. "Don't be scared Daryl, please don't be scared."

Daryl breathed, the motion robotic. The strange pressure shifted above him, losing its form, as the tinny sound of glass continued its rain around them.

"Ain't scared," he assured the peculiar figure. "M'kinda pissed off, but nah. Ain't scared o'him."

He then felt the soft pressure of the frozen entity shift and relax, heard, slowly, the tinkling of glass hitting the floorboards from the sliding door to the staircase. Then, after another moment, he heard nothing, and he eased his eyes open, still shielding them with one of his hands. Cautiously he lifted his head and saw Dale's shape fading, as it eased up off him, and as it did, a sheet of splintered glass slid off his back and tumbled lightly onto the floor. As Dale's form faded, Laura's emerged within the distortion, a transparent shape of wavy hair and bright eyes, narrow shoulders and trembling hands.

Daryl tried to catch his breath as he shifted carefully onto his knees. He quickly brushed the shards of glass out of the way, easing his weight forward, and then lifted himself until he was almost eye level with the ghost in front of him.

"Laura?" He asked, his eyes searching her warily. “Thanks.” His lips curved, and his chin dipped forward to convey his appreciation.

It was difficult to tell, because her form had starting fading, but Daryl thought he caught a sliver of a smile, thought he saw Laura's lips curving skyward too. Daryl's head lowered, he ran his fingers through the front of his shaggy mane, and then he leaned back, wiping his hands across his face. There was glass everywhere. He found shards sticking out of the apples in the fruit bowl, it had punctured Carol's throw cushions, and pieces of it were scattered across every surface he could see. Some shards had caught in the creases of his work pants, but he was injury free, apart from a few scrapes across his hands and elbows. His sigh elongated, as he remembered Carol's parting words, as he gazed around himself to assess the process of cleaning up. He scratched his head, finding slivers of glass threaded in the strands over the curve of his right ear, and he shook them out, and swept his shirt, then picked up the broom to start sweeping.

Chapter Text

Carol and Sophia drove in silence until the road evened out into double lanes. It was a fractured silence, the scatter of small talk fizzling into monosyllabic murmurs of acknowledgement, muted observations edging the ride. Sophia took the winding drive down Carol's street and onto the shortcut to Ekinston, one of the scenic drives out of town. The track itself was so beautiful that Carol had to remind herself it really was the quickest route to Ekinston, and that it wasn't pure indulgence to take it. Carol felt her heart beat slowing, and her breathing ease. She lost her focus in the scrub stretching out into the endless shadows, promising both fairy tales and horror stories. She knew she'd left her own horror story, the fact folded itself into something silken in her mind. Fragile and organic, the truth a similar beat to steps she'd danced in another life time, one she'd just barely managed to escape.

The terrain around them was patchy in places. Carol imagined Daryl out in the thick of it, hunting, trapping. Then she remembered the infected buck and she turned her attention back to the road ahead.

Although the silence was a little strained, at best, Carol didn't try to fill it. Instead, she waited until the road widened and the sound of it became a muted companion, not the groaning roar of rock and hardened mud that it had been before. Sophia took in a proper breath, and loosened her fingers over the steering wheel. Carol's breathing changed, and she felt the tension spread through her face again.

"So what really happened?" Sophia asked, in a voice that was so carefully measured, it reminded Carol of the few times they'd left Ed, before the last time.

Carol started nodding as though she'd been expecting the question. Her lips pressed together without thought, she tried to keep herself intact, and stem the unease that continued to sprout deep within her. Somewhere along the line she'd made a promise to herself, for Sophia, that she would stop lying. And somehow, Sophia had heard that vow, and she wasn't going to let Carol forget it. Withholding whatever was suspicious or painful, was no longer going to be accepted, by either of them. But as she turned to watch Sophia's profile, a nagging lump forming high in her throat, Carol struggled with the habit of trying to protect this creature she'd spent almost half of her life trying to keep alive.

"That is what happened," she said quietly. "Sophia. What, do you think I'm making the whole thing up?"

Carol hadn't intended the edge of her voice to impart so sharply. Sophia didn't flinch, she kept her focus on the road ahead, but her shoulders tensed, noticeably. Everything about her was tense.

"No." Her tone was neutral, unbinding. "Just. I think you're not ... telling me everything. The way you don't." Sophia glanced at her mother. But I don't know if... I don't know if that matters."

Carol folded her bottom lip carefully between her teeth. When Sophia spoke again, her voice had changed, it was pitched higher, and it broke as the words flowed into the small space, as the tyres kept momentum, kept them moving up the road, bit by bit, away from the cabin.

"It just feels like ... those times he would," Sophia stopped herself, her voice wobbling unsteadily. Carol tensed further beside her. "When he hurt you really badly and you knew you couldn't hide it from me." The young woman's arms trembled as the road surface worsened in patches. "Maybe it's just always going to feel like that."

Sophia was whispering by then, as a memory that Carol wasn't sure of, unfolded inside her. Sophia tried to take a few deep breaths, but they were fragmented, stumbling into each other, loaded with emotion.

"I don't know why it feel like that, it just does. And I don't want it ... Mom, I don't want you to end up ... gone, or in the hospital again, because ... I didn't..."

Carol reached over to rest her hand on Sophia's elbow, her fingers light as air, but grounding. "Pull over." She said gently.

The car skidded over the rocky edge of the asphalt and into the nearest clearing. Sophia lifted the handbrake and swept the heel of her palms across her cheekbones, where her face was already tracked with tears, her nostrils flaring, the edges shaped with crimson. It was a gesture so similar to her own, that Carol looked away, her eyes stinging painfully, and she tried to clear her throat, to fix her jaw. Everything felt broken.

"That's not going to happen." She told Sophia firmly. "We have been over this. And we can go over it as many times as you need to. There was no way either of us could've known he was going to do that. In the way he ... Sophia. This isn't ..."

Carol studied her daughter, the thin fingers clenched around the steering wheel, the pale face trying to stabilise, as the young woman braced herself for her mother's impending rationalisation. She had a look about her that she adopted whenever she didn't like what Carol was saying. A slightly disconnected gaze spilled across her face when she didn't argue, and didn't believe or accept what her mother was telling her. Carol had been in this position many times before, with Sophia begging her just tell me, and wanting to shoulder Carol's burdens, but Carol had always done everything in her power not to let her. Whether it was exhaustion, or pangs of self doubt, revived in earnest, Carol felt her resolve crumbling, and her gaze drifted helplessly. Her thoughts fragmented, latched on habitual distrust, of herself, on her anguish.

She'd thought only of Justin's brutal fingers, her own thin arms, and Sophia's tender figure being swallowed in the darkness. She hadn't considered the possibility that Sophia had fallen into a state of panic, pacing her own living room floor, laying awake at night, taking a weary drive to collect her mother, as she replayed the evening of her choir concert again and again, familiar traumas manifesting in this absence of certainty.

Carol exhaled slowly, deflating piece by piece. "If I tell you this, I don't expect you to believe me," she warned Sophia. Her manner was determined, but her voice trembled. She swallowed quickly, and took a deep breath. "And that's okay. You don't ... have to. But its ... it's going to sound ... a little crazy. Okay?"

Sophia's jaw realigned. She didn't acknowledge her mother's warning, or express her belief either way, but when she turned to Carol, her eyes were so bright, so innocent and doubtful, that Carol felt something wrench inside her.

"Laura," she started slowly, watching a frown distort Sophia's features. "I saw her. Saw her ghost."

She waited for Sophia to process the revelation gradually, and her head dipped as she tracked her daughter's gaze, wanting to retain her attention.

"I'm not sure if it was her, or if it was another ghost, but there is something, some being or presence, in the cabin."

Carol had considered telling Sophia, twice before, about Laura. In the first of her imaginings, Sophia had rolled her eyes and reminded Carol about the open mic comedy night. In the second, she'd eyed Carol warily, then started asking about her mother's medication, grilled her on the quality of her sleep. She'd suggested that Carol resume her therapy. Sophia's expression now was closer to Carol's second vision, only worse. She looked scared. She studied Carol fiercely, to ensure she wasn't joking, and then she turned away, and didn't speak for minutes, that Carol let pass in silence, so that the revelation could sit and be processed, in whatever length of time was needed. Carol's hands folded into her lap as Sophia turned slowly, dazed, to watch the road, and she felt all of her good intentions come crashing down around her. When she finally spoke, Sophia's voice was small and tender.

"Did Daryl see her?" She asked quietly and Carol felt her heart sink further.

The tone was so quiet, so insecure, that it took Carol straight back to the house they'd shared with Ed. The police aren't going to come and get Daddy, are they Mama?

"No," Carol shook her head briskly, her voice wavering despite her best efforts. "No, he saw something else."

Sophia's hair flared out as she whipped around to face Carol. "What did he see?"

"It's not for me to say." Carol held her hands up in surrender. "If you like, you can ask him when we get back."

"Well, what did she look like? Laura?"

"She looked ... transparent, sometimes, and, and real as well, just like ... a human. Like us. Physical. And I think," Carol stole a glance at her daughter, her voice lowering as she delved further into her memories. Sophia's eyes were enormous, the pupils absorbing and bending reflections of Carol in their depth. "I think maybe if I get scared, it ... it makes her stronger. I'm not sure."

Sophia's eyes darted across Carol's. Her frown deepened, and her mouth gaped open. "What?" She exhaled, the colour draining from her face. It was a devastating sound, and Carol flinched, and forced what she hoped was a picture of reassurance across her face. "That doesn't sound good? So, what, you think she's trying to, to scare you, so she can ... what? What does she want? Does she want you gone?"

Carol faltered at that remark and she watched Sophia clock it. "I don't know, sweetheart. That's what I've been trying to figure out."

"For how long?"

"A few days."

Sophia turned away, her eyes back on the road. "And has Daryl been trying to figure it out with you?"

"He only just found out about it last night." Carol swallowed again.

"And how did he find out, did you tell him?" Sophia's tone was careful, but accusatory, a low murmur that hovered in the air between them.

"Yes." Carol's head dipped slowly. She waited patiently for Sophia to turn back to her. "I told him." She felt a rush of empathy for her daughter, pangs of hope, and uncertainty.

After a moment Sophia leaned forward slightly and turned the key in the ignition. "Okay." She nodded slowly, doubt threading through each syllable, into the strain that was positioning itself securely between her shoulder blades. "So can I tell Carl then? It's just me you're trying to protect, right?"

Carol sighed. "It's up to you what you want to tell Carl. And I will always try to protect you. The same way you did, when you didn't tell me how Laura died."

"You kind of knew that already." Sophia said flatly, but Carol watched the woman's shoulders lower, saw her head dip slightly, and she knew that they'd finally found some equal standing. "Carl is going to be ..."

"Excited?" Carol asked dryly, at the same time Sophia said, "A freak."

Carol smiled a little, thinly, and her eyebrows straightened as she brushed her fingers over the crease of an eyelid. "There's something else. I thought maybe she, Laura, wanted me find Justin, but..." Carol scratched her eyebrow. "I think he's dead, and ... I think he's in the house too."

"Who's Justin?"

"Her ex." Carol frowned. "The one who ... he killed her."

Sophia froze, her hands on the wheel. "What are you saying?"

Carol glanced out the window, picturing Daryl again. This time the trapper had rabbits strung over his shoulders, his stride was brisk, and the curls of wind found loose tendrils folded against the nape of his neck. "I'm saying that ... I saw him too. Saw his ghost."

Sophia stared at her. "So now there's two ghosts?"

Carol cleared her throat. "I think so. Yes."

"Okay and how is that possible."

"I'm not sure. He, obviously, Justin, died. Near the house, maybe? I'm not sure how it works. But since there was no body, I'm assuming. The police didn't find anything. I don't know, I'm not sure."

Sophia sat, her hands tensed over the steering wheel. Carol wanted to reach across and squeeze the delicate fingers. The wound on her head pulsed faintly, and her fingers crept up to where the edge of the bandage had caught several of her hairs, and she gently tugged them loose.

Sophia shook her head, the movement insignificant. "I don't know what to do." She whispered.

"You don't have to do anything." Carol reassured her. "It will be fine, we'll work something out."

She attempted a smile, it was easier than she anticipated, her face softening as the tension eased with the revelation of implausible things that were supposed to have remained unsaid. But she watched Sophia unwaveringly.

"That's what you say when you run out of sausages for a barbecue." Sophia spoke in monotone.

"Do you want me to drive? I'll drive." Carol unclicked her seat belt and reached forward gently to open her door.

"No," Sophia said vacantly, her fingers lifting in a gesture that stopped her mother's motion. "No, that's why I'm here. To drive."

"Well, actually, you're here because I knew you'd see this cut on my head and be upset that I didn't call you when it happened." Carol smiled gently. "Also, I like seeing you."

Sophia nodded. "Okay, that's probably enough honesty for today. I'm fine, I promise." She seemed to have shaken herself out of her reverie. "There's no sausages for the barbecue, so, we'll ... do a salad bar instead." She glanced at Carol for confirmation, before easing the car back out onto the road.

"That sounds good. Salads are great. You can turn almost anything into a salad."

"Well. You can." Sophia's eyebrows flickered, and for a second, Carol thought she detected a trace of pride in the sentiment. "Mom?" She continued warily. "That way you spoke to Daryl when we left..."

Carol felt her heart jump into her mouth. What way? She ran the morning's events through her mind quickly, trying to find an error in her judgement, as Sophia took in a careful breath, and attempted a genuine smile.

"The way you told him not to lift a finger. That you didn't want him alone in the house, it was ... kind of assertive of you. And it was nice. To see that."

"Do you think I was ... was I too...?" Carol bit her lip, looking out the window as Sophia's long limb shot out briefly, to clasp her mother's hand.

"No. No, Mom, it was perfect." Sophia smiled, this time in ease, full of encouragement. "I just haven't ... seen that before. You, being like that. It was nice." She repeated.

Carol nodded gently, her hand returning to her ear, to check on her bandage. "Oh," she said. "Well, that's ... thank you, sweetheart."

Sophia nodded and they returned to their silence for the next few miles. By then it wasn't so stilted, and Carol breathed a little easier.

-----------

Daryl planned to take a trip into town as soon as he finished cleaning up the rest of the glass. Remnants of his dream still lingered, aspects of it that felt more vivid than reality ever had. He'd never experienced anything like Carol's touch before, not the illusion of it, not passion or desire in actual waves of reality, or hunger muddled with substances, marred by time and apathy. He couldn't recall ever wanting to touch someone in the way he wanted to touch her now. It made him feel like someone else, like he'd been another person caught up in imaginary blankets with her, like someone else had brushed their lips across her skin. The strangeness of it lingered, and the restless pangs settled into him, with flashes of Carol's breath and her hair, soft and silky in his fingertips. He had to remind himself he'd never really touched it.

He'd felt her hand in his though, her palms on his shoulders, the closeness of her, and revelled in it. He didn't understand it. It was unnerving. The entire weekend had unnerved him. He'd found his release in the middle of the dream, somewhere between Carol's hands and the edge of the mattress, woken groggy and limper than usual, in need of a shower, hoping he hadn't done anything in his slumber to trigger her nightmare.

He tried to bury the memory of Carol's distress, the presence of Ed, throughout the day. Thoughts of her trembling figure from the night before, the way she'd flinched when he'd woken her from her nightmare, hit him relentlessly, and his anger swelled again.

He'd cut his hands up multiple times, sweeping loose shards across the kitchen bench, distracted by the flashbacks, fabricated images of Carol's hip, her mouth, both inviting and terrifying, and pressing into the space where his focus failed to override them.

He'd thrown out the contents of the fruit basket, held the throw cushions over the floorboards, running his flashlight over the material. He'd vacuumed the couch cushions, and run a wet cloth over every surface he could think of, inspecting the perforated substance carefully. It had taken all morning, and he'd seen no further sign of either ghost. The glass repairer was due in the afternoon, and Carol and Sophia would be back any minute.

Please do not lift a finger in this cabin until I get back. I don't want you in there on your own.

Carol's words returned to Daryl with a sudden jolt of unease, a sharp blow, as though he'd fallen suddenly, winded himself in the lull of her kitchen. The memory sounded vastly different to the teasing mockery she'd impressed upon him when she'd left. It triggered an unexpected stab of panic in Daryl, and he stopped, cold, as the dread of realisation hit him.

He had thought he'd be able to grab some of Carol's clothes, her shampoo, finish any tasks that might need doing, so she didn't have to step foot back inside the cabin, not until they figured out how to get rid of the ghosts, until they knew how to get Carol's cabin back to being only hers'. It hadn't occurred to him that Carol might have actually meant what she'd said. She'd had that wry smile about her, like the day they'd dug the trench. Hadn't she? Or had he decided for her? Had he made things so much worse in the process, when he wasn't even supposed to be there?

The surge of panic left him breathless. He pictured Carol returning, discovering he'd straight up ignored her wishes. A vivid image materialised in Daryl's mind, of Carol, with her head freshly stitched up, frowning in that delicate way she had about her, waves of disappointment and disgust building, the clarity of it geared toward him. It was too much.

The feeling faded from his arms in seconds, he felt ice cold, and his heartbeat quickened. All he could hear was the rush of his blood, and Laura's voice begging, don't be scared, please don't be scared. The panic attack was acute and it lingered, clawing devotedly into him without reprieve. In the haze of it, he set his eyes and his mind on the back deck, and tried to hasten his body toward it. He knew that he had to get out of the cabin. He knew that this energy was toxic, spellbinding, for the bad ghost. He left without a backward glance, stepping over the broken edges of the glass door frame, so that he didn't have to risk the mechanics of his fingers on the handle. He stopped at the railing, his eyes drawn to the lake before he shut them urgently, drawing focus from within. He fought for the breaths he needed, gripping the railing to keep himself upright, until something soft and wet nudged up against his side.

The sensation rattled Daryl, and he turned to scan his work boots, noticing a German shepherd leaning faithfully against his leg. Daryl gave a cursory look around to see where the dog might have come from, wondered if the contractor was early, and the dog belonged to him. He reached down and ran his fingers through the shaggy coat, found the strands saturated and icy, spreading dark pools around their feet.

"Hey buddy, Daryl greeted, with a murmur of wonder, his distress faintly idling. "Where'd you come from? Been swimmin'?"

The dog shuffled back a little and barked at Daryl twice. Its focus was trained in his direction, and it barked again, backing up, its tongue lolling like an afterthought. Daryl watched it curiously, as it ran down the stairs, turned in several circles, and then, eyes lifted up toward him, gazed at Daryl readily.

"Someone down a well?" Daryl mused softly, a tingling sensation spreading slowly through his arms.

Shrugging, he followed the dog down onto the grass, trailed it up over the trench and across to his property line. Then the dog lay down in a small patch of sunlight, stretched itself out, rolling its tongue between its sharp, milky teeth. It seemed to have lost interest in Daryl as suddenly as it had found it. Daryl felt underwhelmed, unsettled, with no explanation to assuage him. Then a force picked up around him and pushed him gently towards his bike. It wasn't the soft density of whatever had tripped him when he'd envisioned his house on fire. This was a gentler pressure, like Laura's gusts, so he gave into it, in pursuit of further insight, and ended up back on his side of the property line. When he looked back, the dog was gone, but Sophia's little red car was murmuring softly up the hill.

--------

Carol hadn't waited long to be seen by a doctor, but she'd fainted on the way out to the carpark, thankfully into a garden bed, and for a moment she thought she'd woken up in the forest. She'd actually called out for Daryl, thinking he was close by, that somehow she must have gone hunting with him. But it was Sophia calling out to her, helping her to her feet, anxiously brushing her off, as her eyes cradled the same distant horror they'd held when she had arrived earlier that morning. Carol had to sit through a few more tests, eat a meal, small ham sandwich triangles arched in a line across a bread and butter plate, with a white napkin, also triangled underneath.

As far as Carol could decipher, Sophia hadn't texted Carl, or he would have made it to the cabin before them. Sophia turned, somewhat inattentively, as though she'd heard her mother's thoughts.

"I'd better ring Carl and let him know you've lost the plot." She smiled, tilting her head so that Carol knew she was joking. Then she looked up properly, and said the words, "I'm just joking, Mom," as her eyes widened in apology, until Carol's lips curved, the gentle angle of her mouth giving slack to a rope it felt they'd been tugging all morning.

Carol knew that Sophia's head was spinning. Hers was too. She knew that she hadn't explained near as well as she'd wanted to, the situation with Laura and Justin, the snare that she'd submitted to the moment she took up residence in the cabin. Sophia had given a cursory glance across the structure as she'd pulled her car into Carol's driveway. Her eyes had shadowed over Daryl's bending figure, fixing on his hesitant gait.

Carol, if she'd wanted to, couldn't shake the comforting sensation that swept into her when her eyes locked on Daryl's face. He was making his way over the gravel toward her, his head inclined slightly, as he glanced cautiously around. Carol felt a twinge of guilt snap through her as she propped the car door open. Daryl's steps hastened as he drew closer, his hands tensing as he scanned her head, his eyes hovering over her arms as he watched her straighten up. His face was unusually pale. He hadn't asked for any of this, she remembered.

"Y'alright?" The timbre of his voice flowed through her, the husk pillowing a morning of medical scans, memory tests, sterile surroundings. "How's y'head?" He murmured.

"I'm fine. Thanks Daryl," Carol breathed, shutting the car door with a twist of her hip. She pushed two parcels gratefully into his hands.

They'd stopped on the way back, so that Carol could pick up a meatball sub and a carton of Morley's. Daryl deflated with what looked like gratitude and disbelief, his fingers closing over the carton with a sigh that caused Carol's smile to swell in her eyes. His entire torso seemed to shrink with relief, and he started to mumble something about having cash back at his place, a thought that Carol waved away with a twist of indignance that pulled at her eyebrows, and he ripped into the carton, fumbling for his lighter, his sub tucked securely under an arm, before Carol wrangled it back with a smile. She tried to guide him up the steps and over to the seat at the bench beneath the laundry window. He stopped on the landing, having lit a smoke halfway up the stairs, and his head tipped back as he exhaled. He was fidgety in a way that he hadn't been for a few weeks, his arms resting lightly over the railing, as one boot twisted behind him. He took a few more breaths, stepping back, as he turned to face Carol, his eyes wide and uncertain, his body twisting away from her.

"Ran out yesterday." He waved the smoke away. He seemed unable to meet her eyes, his gaze lingered at her chin, her shoulders, and rested on her mouth.

"I um ..." he braved the climb to Carol's eyes again, then immediately glanced away.

He looked over at Sophia, still nestled in the cab of her Corolla, one elbow propped against the window as she leaned into her hand.

"I know y'said not to, but I ... just ... I fucked up, and went inside. M'sorry, Carol."

He looked distraught, his eyes were dark, and glittering in a way that made her want to catch his gaze, because he kept looking away, looking down, and her name was so fragile in his voice that Carol made her way instinctively over to him. They began an awkward dance, of checking each other over for injury, each it seemed, though Daryl was more hesitant, needing to know the exact state of the other.

"What happened?" Carol gasped, her fingers nimble on his biceps, smoothing the skin over his neck, where her trail uncovered minute scratches.

Daryl leaned into her touch, for the first time, his tongue darting out over his lips as his eyes locked, transfixed, on hers'. She could feel his gaze as her inspection of him unfolded. The cuts on his hands were easier to spot, they looked like defensive wounds, fresh ones, and she frowned softly, her eyebrows twisting, until Daryl tensed suddenly in her grasp, his nostrils flaring, as he broke away. She remembered the way he'd reared up at her, that first day down at his freezers, I don' appreciate bein' accused o'shit I didn' do. He paced a little, in the same way he had that day, drew in another breath, and held it, before he shook his mane, the tension vanishing a moment later, and his head hung as he took a breath, and looked back up at her.

"Was sweepin' up the glass'n he just ... Justin? He the dick ghost?"

Carol felt herself trying to frown over a sudden spark of mirth. Daryl still looked so forlorn, her expression readjusted immediately.

"Went everywhere," Daryl was saying, his hands lifting to illustrate the event he'd witnessed, to help her understand. "The glass."

"That's why I didn't want you to go in there." Carol murmured, not to badger him, though she saw his face twist at her words, and she tried to backpedal, to emphasise her worry, not her blame. "It's not safe and I don't want you to get hurt."

She felt a lump form as she said that, her voice trailing off in a whisper. Her eyes stung a little and her throat burned. Daryl shouldn't have to be saying these things to her. He shouldn't have to look as though his chest was constricting with guilt, or unease, or resentment. She watched as he swallowed, his eyes drifting over to Sophia, to the fence line, his bike.

"M'sorry." He whispered. "Thought you were ... just..." He shook his head. "Shoulda listened." He squashed the end of the cigarette between his fingers, and glancing around, noticed a small dish on the outdoor table to drop it in.

The discomfort around Carol's eyes sharpened. "Well, you're okay," she said, frowning, watching as he straightened up. "That's all that matters."

She leaned forward to touch him again, stepped closer so that she could fold herself around him. It was an embrace that he immediately tensed within, so she pulled back a little, apologising, and he was shaking his head, his hands lifting gently to her elbows. She rested her head against his, and she felt his arms lift gingerly around her, felt his hands press over her shoulder blades, then slide down to her ribs as he drew her closer, or himself closer, his forearms snug, and warm, his breath uncertain. She felt Daryl's heartbeat then, felt it race in a way that made her heart yearn for something beyond the mess of the cabin and their injuries. She almost lost track of the gallop of it, trying to measure her own against the rhythm. The cabin was silent beside them, and a spark of anger toward Justin flared inside her, at the thought of Daryl cowering against the shards.

"She helped me," Daryl murmured, as though he'd sensed the shift in Carol, and she pulled back a little, to study his expression.

"Laura," he explained, "she ... stopped the glass. Most of it. She was ... Dale, and ... she threw her ... Dale self on top of me. F'that makes sense."

It didn't make sense, none of this made any sense, but Carol could visualise the scene, she could picture how it must have unfolded, but she didn't know why.

"Did she say anything?"

Daryl shrugged, hesitating as he twisted out of the embrace, his hand at her back guiding her over to the porch swing, and he sat down beside her, his face arching closer.

"Told me not t'be scared."

Carol almost gasped at that, and then she nodded, briskly, before picking his sub up off the table and handing it to him, and urging him to eat.

"She said the same thing to me." She reminded him.

They heard the click of the car door, and Daryl glanced over, watching as Sophia made her way up the stairs, her eyes scanning the structure of the porch, lingering over the front door. She sat at the bench adjacent to them, without a word, and Carol brushed her hand over Daryl's arm. He froze, just as he'd taken a mouthful of the sandwich, so she let her hand drop, and turned to her daughter, watched as Sophia tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear.

"How'd it go with Carl?" She asked.

Sophia nodded. "Good. He's on his way over." She turned to watch Daryl eat, and the trapper stopped chewing and lifted the back of his hand awkwardly to his mouth.

Carol took in a deep breath. "Alright. Well. It'll be nice to see him." She eyed Sophia cautiously. "Would you both like to stay for dinner?"

Sophia looked confused. "Mom, we're gonna stay over. Sleep over."

Daryl, who had taken another cautious bite, frowned slightly, before he resumed chewing, his movements slow, almost mechanical.

Carol's eyes narrowed. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said firmly, and as Sophia began to protest, she lifted her hands and shook her head, her eyes closing briefly. "Everyone is sleeping in their own houses tonight."

There was a short silence, she felt Daryl tense beside her. He set the uneaten half of his sub down on the table, and she turned to look at him, but he was watching Sophia, who was glancing at him, her eyes pooled with the same worry she'd weathered all morning. She looked exhausted, and that only strengthened Carol's resolve.

"Mom," Sophia tried again. She watched Carol helplessly, her hands clutching the keys in her hand with an iron grip. "You said that Laura doesn't want you in the house. Or ... is it Justin?"

There was a sharp twist of Daryl's head toward Carol, as he must have realised she'd told Sophia more than she'd said she would. He frowned a little, silently trailing the conversation, his eyes shifting to the table, his face still tilted slightly in Carol's direction. She knew that he wanted to hear her thoughts, that he'd let her speak, that he'd consider what she wanted in that mindful way he had about him, but she still felt a spark of unease as she rested beside him, a familiar sense of dread that had emerged whenever she'd tried to voice her opinion in the past.

"I didn't ... say that," Carol spoke slowly, running the conversation with Sophia carefully through her mind does she want you gone? "But that's not what he wants," Carol said decisively, sounding more confident than she felt. "He just wants me scared." Her jaw set.

The silence that followed was grim. Sophia looked away, her face twisting as Daryl leaned back in his seat, pushing his fingers through his hair. He leaned forward, over his knees again, and began chewing on his thumbnail. Carol's unease stagnated, but she pushed on despite it, wanting to find her own way in this madness, to remedy her faith in her own instincts, and take back some control.

"Last night?" Carol continued. "I was not ... expecting that, fair enough. But now I ... I know now, so..." She glanced between Daryl and Sophia again. "I'm not going to be scared anymore."

"I don't think it..." Daryl's voice was strained suddenly, tinged with panic.

He seemed to be looking to Sophia for guidance, but the woman suddenly had a soft, peaceful look about her, like Carol had given a reflection of her time out by the lake, the sunset after a clear day. It was an expression that seemed to confuse him. I don't think it works like that is what he seemed to want to say, and Sophia wasn't saying that. She wasn't saying anything. Instead she started nodding slowly, oblivious to Daryl, her eyes only on Carol.

"Alright," She said. "Good."

Her pitch was high, but not harsh, lowering a little at the end before cutting off. It was her way of signalling that she was finished with the conversation, but she hadn't grown tired or exasperated, as was often the case when Carol tried to push an issue. She was looking at her mother with that same hint of pride she'd signalled in the car that morning, and Carol felt the warmth spill into her. She watched Sophia's face light up. Her daughter looked relieved in a way that was difficult to temper. Sophia hadn't yet seen the worst of what the cabin had to offer, but she'd seen enough horror in her young life to know what her mother was capable of overcoming.

Daryl's expression was haunted. He turned to Carol, looking so helpless, that she smiled softly, and reached out to briefly squeeze his hand. Sophia watched the interaction quietly, her eyes settling on her mother's.

"Sounds like you've got it all sorted." She murmured, and Carol studied her daughter's bright eyes curiously.

Sophia locked eyes with her mother, her face creasing with a genuine smile, and Carol smiled back, the tension easing from her gradually. She leaned back beside Daryl, resisting an urge to run her hand up over his arm, to capture ever scrap of tension she could still sense lingering within him. The sun was shifting over the East side of the cabin, the shadows around them were distorting, and Carol wanted to savour the moment, the stillness, the peace between herself and her daughter, for as long as the cabin would allow her.

---------

Sophia and Carl chose not to stay for dinner. Sophia had a backlog of schoolwork to do, and Daryl watched attentively, as Carol's body reacted to the that revelation, a spark of guilt seeming to work its way from her eyes down to her shoulders.

The contractor had taken the frame of the sliding door with him, and would be returning it, mended, in a few days time. Daryl and Carl had worked to seal what was left behind with tarp and tape. Their introduction had been a little awkward, lopsided. Carl had surprised Daryl when he'd been staring out toward the woods, lost in thought. He'd stuck his hand out in greeting, and Daryl had stared at it in confusion, for a beat too long, before gripping the bony hand firmly in his own.

He'd stepped in despite his reservations, when Carl had rattled off a string of questions about Laura and Justin, who killed him, where's the body, how is he here? Things Carol couldn't answer. Sophia had watched curiously, had seemed restless suddenly, distracted, as though whatever conviction she'd adopted out on the porch had been shelved, or was fading away.

She doesn't believe me, Carol had whispered to him, her strained smile tugging at the nagging feeling inside him, that she was putting up a wall he didn't see a need for. One that would prevent him from being able to help her.

"Alright," he had eased himself closer to Carol, watching, concerned, as her face shifted with overwhelm.

Sophia was staring out the kitchen window. She seemed lost in the stillness of the lake, the sunset over the water.

"That prob'bly, enough ghost talk?"

Carol had pressed a hand to his chest, light as air, but he'd felt it like an anchor. He'd almost lost count of the number of times she'd touched him that day. "Hey uh, Carl? Can y'gimme a hand with the ... gonna put up a tarp 'til that door comes back fixed."

Laura and Justin had been particularly quiet. There'd been no movement in the house at all, although Carl had stopped each time the house creaked, or the wind swelled, as though Laura or Justin were speaking to him. Daryl wondered if there was some way to summon patience, because his had abandoned him long ago, and he had to think of Carol to keep his focus, his resolve, as the afternoon wore slowly on.

He couldn't understand what had happened between Carol and Sophia, but he was certain the girl didn't have the full scope of understanding, didn't know that her mother had been dragged through her cabin by an entity that shouldn't exist. He felt a sharp sense of guilt as he watched Carl and Sophia's cars pull out of Carol's driveway, that he should have explained things in more detail, that he'd committed to a lie by allowing them to think that Carol would be safe. Yet, some part of Daryl hoped they knew that he wouldn't allow anything to happen to her, that he'd camp out on the porch swing for the rest of his life, keep paying for and copping broken glass if he had to, would endure Carol's wrath and her disappointment in him, just to retain any chance he could, to keep her safe.

He joined her on the front porch for the second time that day. The shadows had lengthened into an endless body of haze, and Carol smiled at him, a genuine image of peace, like the kind he'd seen her build with Sophia, only this was different somehow, as though she felt a sense of bliss that was tailored just for him.

He offered her a smoke and she accepted, twirled it thoughtfully in her hands before Daryl lit it for her, and he watched her lips pucker over the end, feeling a pull somewhere inside himself. He shifted uncomfortably, moved forward on the bench, and as Carol stretched back against the corner of the porch swing, he wished he'd had the courage to sit beside her.

She was exhaling slowly, holding the cigarette up in front of her face. "You know, I used to think that one day these things would end up killing you. But in a weird way, they actually saved my life."

There was something about the way she said it that sent a trickle of ice through Daryl's veins. A long pause stretched out between them, before he remembered how to breathe, fighting a cough as he tried to remember if it was supposed to be in or out this time. The silence continued, with a sense of abandon, and Daryl watched Carol intently, wondering if she wanted him to pick up her train of thought or leave it hanging.

"Stop ya from goin' on a rampage?" He murmured and Carol exhaled in amusement, her grin lopsided, her eyes dark.

"Rampage," she took her time with the word, her eyebrows lifting as her lips hesitated around the syllables. A breath of amusement, or disbelief, was expelled from her. "You have no idea how close to the mark you are. Well, not me, but yeah. Rampage," her lips twisted inward as she nodded. "That's exactly what it was."

Daryl felt his stomach drop.

"He hit me with his car," she shrugged and Daryl froze as the words resounded, a loud scrape across the space between them, uttered too casually to be real. "Ed," she clarified.

"H-he what?"

Daryl's voice sounded distant in his ears, as though some clear partition had descended between himself and Carol, and his words, between any chance he had of ever understanding this. He thought of the scar over Carol's elbow, remembered the expression on her face when the truck had been driven too fast around the bend. He pictured the moment of impact, before he could stop himself, and he glanced up at Carol to try to ground himself, as he tried to catch up with whatever she was saying now. She was halfway through her cigarette, and she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were cast out across the driveway, the road, now pitched in almost total darkness.

"He found out I'd rented a locker." Her chin dimpled, in the early markings of another shrug, her words spoken as though it was reason enough for whatever had followed. "A storage locker and I ... there was a woman, Melina, who worked in the office with ... with Ed. And she saw me there one day. She must have been .. I don't know. Sitting in her car or, or else I was just too stupid to notice."

The last part of her sentence trailed off and Daryl wanted to jump in, argue the last point with her, but his head was swimming, and he was suddenly back in the cabin, on the stairs with Carol the night before, his flashlight winding a beam of light across her wound, asking her to tell him where Ed was.

"She was very apologetic," Carol continued, and Daryl tried to track who she might be talking about. "She came to visit me in the hospital and..."

He needed Carol to backtrack, he needed to know when and how this had happened, and his mouth worked fruitlessly a few times before his hand went out, and he finally managed to break through the screen that had descended.

"Carol."

Carol turned to him then, and she seemed to understand his turmoil. She studied the cigarette in her fingers and then leaned forward to press it into the small dish on the table. It sat beside the remnants of Daryl's earlier smoke, and something flashed over her face that he didn't understand. Her face was open, her eyes clear and bright when she looked up at him.

"There was a guy, another Dad there," she explained. "Sophia's school choir concert. He should have been inside, watching his daughter sing, but instead, lucky me," her eyebrows shifted and Daryl wondered faintly how anything in this situation could possibly be lucky. "He was outside taking a smoke break, so he was already in the carpark, and he saw what was going to happen. He," Carol glanced up at him then, and Daryl froze, afraid that any movement would stop Carol from speaking.

But she looked at him for so long, he had no choice but to falter. He was terrified to hear what she had to say, but he knew that she needed to say it.

"He what?" Daryl managed, the partition still hovering. It was the same question he'd asked of Ed, it was somehow the other side of the same coin, a darkness and a lightness, to something awful.

Carol shrugged. "He didn't get there in time, you know, to stop Ed, the first time. But, when Ed was backing up, he," Daryl felt another surge of horror flood through him. "He, you know, he stood over me, in front of me, so Ed couldn't ... so he only got me once."

Daryl remembered suddenly, his dreams, the arrow nestled in Carol's ribs as he lay her down across the grass beside the stairs leading to her back deck. She'd looked up at him, a smile edging her face, her eyes sparking with an unsettling reasurance. He only got me once, she'd said.

"And obviously that just pissed Ed off, because. He wanted to kill me. So. He ended up going home and setting the house on fire." Carol's eyes widened and her voice lifted, almost as though she were telling a story to a child and she needed to amplify the voice of some eccentric character.

Daryl hadn't tapped the ash off his cigarette and it had burned down to his fingers. Startling, he dropped the butt into the dish beside Carol's, beside his other one, his hands shaking as he thought about his mother, her room aflame, and he wondered how Ed had gone about setting fire to Carol and Sophia's home.

I will burn this cabin down to the ground, if I have to, then you'll know what it's really like to have nothin'. Daryl thought about his threat to Justin, how he had no intention of actually following through with it. It had been the only thing he could think of at the time. He'd had no cards, no leg to stand on.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." Carol was whispering, drawing her legs up underneath herself.

She rubbed her hands across her eyes and Daryl fought a sudden urge to kick himself for not reassuring her, for not responding in time, so that now she felt some need to apologise for speaking.

"Ain't gotta apologise f'talkin' 'bout shit that happened." He looked up at her earnestly. "Ever." She smiled a little, briefly and laughed, the sound hollow, paper thin around its edge. "Y'go ahead n'say whatever you wanna say." He took a deep breath and watched her sadly for a moment. "He get time for it?"

Carol nodded and when Daryl confirmed that the sentence was over, that Ed was out now, her nod was the same, and the feeling was the same, like Ed had gotten away with it somehow, but Carol was still here, reliving the night of the concert.

"M'sorry he didn't get longer." Daryl was pulling at his hands, running his nails over and over the creases on his fingers. "Carol? Can y'please. Please I know ya ... I know y'ain't scared, or .. I know y'can do anything, whatever y'want, but please don't stay here by y'self. Let me camp out here or, y'can come back to mine, I can make up the bed again? Just ... until we figure out what to do."

Carol nodded, her eyes misty as her gaze shifted back to the road, now completely cloaked in darkness. "This isn't your problem you know. Daryl. You didn't ask for any of this."

"Neither did you." He watched her carefully, watched her shoulders shift, as she swallowed, and turned back to him. "So ... whaddya say?"

A smile hinted faintly in the crease of her eyes. She nodded slowly, a gentle motion, and her lips curled further upward. "Okay." Her chin dimpled as a spark ignited in her eyes, and when she smiled again, her lips curved strangely, and he knew that she was teasing him. "But only if you hold my hand again."

He huffed, and smiled, relief winding through his shoulders. "Stop." He chided playfully, but he reached across their divide to take her hand in his, and he squeezed it gently, and didn't let it go.

Chapter Text

Daryl's hands shook for the rest of the night. They trembled as he made his bed with fresh sheets, as he popped open the cover exposing the skylight above his bed, and as he lit another cigarette. Carol had prepared dinner for both of them in his small kitchen, they'd brought items back with them from her fridge and pantry, several changes of clothes, which she'd hesitated over as she'd stood despondently at the foot of her bed.

This is my house. And Laura's house, she'd insisted quietly, and Daryl hadn't been sure if it was him or Justin she'd been speaking to.

After dinner, they'd sat over the stairs on his back deck, listening to the lull in the movement of the lake, and he'd tried to keep his breathing normal. It had been easier when they'd been busy, when Daryl's mind had been too active for the facts to flood into him, for the horror of Carol's story to settle, for it to be real. The simmering rage that had manifested early on, the powerless fury he felt towards Ed, wrestled inflexibly into him, and he'd been forced to accept it. And as they sat, the narrowness between himself and Carol started to swell up like an ocean, his resolve caving as the waves inside him became so tumultuous, he feared they might swallow him. All the while, Carol's eyes, whole and endless, searched him in quick sweeps that started at the beginning of time and ended at some other beginning he didn't understand. All he could hear clearly in the space around them, was his laboured breaths, harsh in his ears, and the dull thud of his heartbeat. Carol's voice was on the other side of his struggle, another version of the screen, a timid sound as her chin wobbled tiredly. Daryl waited patiently for her words to finally reach him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

He shook his head quickly. "Said y'can say whatever, didn't I?" He stared at his hands as his nails smoothed out the imperfections, created new ones.

For a moment, he wondered if he'd spoken too harshly. Something about the way Carol sighed, burrowed into him. His eyes must have retained some darkness, a soullessness, because his attempt to reassure her didn't seem successful. He hadn't alleviated anything.

He wasn't going that fast...hairline fracture ... femur ... the arm was worse, the angle, because I tried to...

Daryl fumbled for another cigarette, his fingers shaking over the lighter, he was snapping the starter over and over again, his thumb slipping, until Carol eased the contraption out of his hands and lit the cigarette for him, handing it back, lit, without a word. He exhaled, the smoke pooling between his fingers, and then he held the stick back out toward her. Carol's hand waved out, her smile was strained.

She'd stretched herself beyond her means somehow, the sensation of it wove into him alongside everything else. She sat beside him, cradling her upper arms. She stayed a little longer, absorbing his disquiet, before she finally lifted herself up off the stairs and said goodnight. She went up into the loft and nestled into his bed. Daryl followed her in a few minutes later, hovering at the foot of the stairs, listening to her rustling, heard her yawn and sigh, her body dip faintly across his mattress. He felt the covers stretch tight across his chest as he listened to the movement of them, settling over Carol, as he remembered her insistence, earlier in the evening, that he join her.

It's not like I'll take up the whole thing. She'd pressed gently.

She'd smiled, a crooked picture of grace and light, and Daryl had known immediately that she was teasing him. He'd nodded soberly, not picking up her bait.

He locked the back door and went striding out into the shadows that fell by the edge of the lake. Glimpses of sparkling sky snaked its way through to him from the gaps in the treeline. Daryl wondered if Carol had found the same patch of stars, the faintest matte of navy highlighting their brightness in the humble tone. She'd grown quiet as the evening wore on, and Daryl knew that he had made her that way. She'd developed an abandon, or resignation, or exhaustion, something that seemed able to bind her now to rest, and Daryl hoped that slumber found her soon, and that it clung to her. He doubted sleep would find him, he was cradling the images of the last few days, of Carol's distress, of the fragments of story she'd given him in careful measure.

He carried the images with him as he walked out along the bank of the lake, under the maples, absorbing their whispering sways, until he reached a tree that looked like the one from his dream, the one in which Carol had clung to the trunk and stared up at him. His flashlight picked out the scribbled details now, and he looked back, his eyes on the rise of his roof, on the window of his loft, where he hoped again that Carol was sleeping. He made his way up to the back deck of the cabin, and watched the tarp breathing gently in the cool, damp breeze. He studied the patch of grass, near where he'd set Carol down in the first of his dreams, and he crouched down to run his hand over the soft spikes of grass, remembering the way she'd felt in his arms. Then he headed back, a flute of leaves seeming to trail him on his path, brief ripples of the lake reminding him of his bearings, the echoes of them framing the restlessness of his solitude.

He could hear the faintest rise and fall of Carol's breathing as he strained over the top step of his staircase to listen for it. Her sleep sounded deep and restful, he took comfort in that, and he eased himself carefully into his recliner, the faded leather covering warping underneath his weight.

He dreamed the same dream again of Carol, the warning she issued, as an arrow jutted from her ribs. But this time she was laid out in a school parking lot, and it was the squeal of tyres, not the arrow, that was gripping him. Carol's mouth gaped silently, as water swept into his work boots, as Ed revved the engine, and Daryl tried to get his arms around her broken bones.

He awoke suddenly, his neck shifting back in the chair, his limbs cast in an awkward sprawl, as Carol removed one of her hands from his shoulder, and the other from his face. His startled gasp filled the lonely space between them, and he tried to swallow, his mouth dry, as the early light illuminated the space around them. Carol looked angelic in the softness of it and Daryl's heart stirred faintly.

"Daryl? Sorry. A car just pulled up."

-------

Al had her phone in her hand, and she was holding it out at an odd angle in front of her face, speaking into it as though she was recording herself. Carol briefly explained to Daryl that she was the editor from the local newspaper, and she pondered to herself whether the unannounced visit stemmed from a follow up on cases of chronic wasting disease in the area. Daryl had bristled at the mention of the paper, and Carol had shot him a flash of a smile, before she felt the tension shift in her own eyes, and face. She tried to wrangle her expression into one of ease as they stepped onto the gravel and made their way toward the editor.

"... is the question many will be asking. So, why would such a vision capture the unwavering belief of multiple reliable sources? Is it all just a hoax? And if so, who or what is behind it? And why?"

"You forgot how." Carol smiled brightly, her elbows fanning out as she buried her hands into her pockets.

The editor turned to both of them, her thought seeming to reach its tail end, and an expression of disquiet spread slowly across her face. She looked amused, concerned, intrigued, her gaze flickered curiously between them both, and she stepped forward casually, holding her phone out in their direction.

"Speaking now with the owner, Carol P, and ..." her eyebrows quirked as she turned to Daryl. Carol felt him tense fractionally beside her.

"Don't speak to reporters." He said quietly, his voice edged with something Carol didn't understand.

Al's eyes shifted marginally, she turned to look at Carol. "I assume you haven't heard from any of the official sources yet?" Her tongue swept out across her lower lip. "Yeah. Well, I've got a friend down at the DNR." Her chin jutted forward as her free hand moved to rest upon her hip. "The buck? It's not infected. Poisoned, is what they're going with."

Carol turned to watch Daryl's face shift, expecting to see a wave of relief curse through him. Nothing changed in him for a moment, but when it did, he began to shake his head, his legs shifted restlessly, and he began to pace as he glanced at Al's phone, which the editor had lifted to capture his reaction.

"Said I don't speak t'media." He huffed. "Ain't y'supposed t'ask before y'do that?" He waved his hand in a gesture, indicating to Al's usage of her phone.

"This is in the public interest." Al declared quietly, and Daryl's hands tensed at his sides as Carol reminded the woman she was on private property. Al considered Carol's words, and turned back to Daryl, her stance unchanged. "Can I record you? Carol?" Her eyes darted back.

Daryl studied Al briefly, his thumb nail finding its way into his teeth, before he turned to look at Carol, a question forming on his face. Carol shook her head at Al and the editor swiped her finger across her screen, holding her hands up in surrender before she pocketed the device. Daryl leaned closer to Carol, his stance shifting slightly ahead of hers', as though he felt the need to shield her from mere words.

Carol was studying Al. "Is that true, the deer, not having chronic wasting disease?"

Al nodded, a look of bemusement flashing faintly as she readjusted her stance. Her eyes fixed on Daryl. "I assume he's the guy that found it? Killed it?"

Daryl bristled, his expression unchanging.

"He did what needed to be done." Carol heard herself say.

"Why did an entire team of qualified health inspectors, not to mention our local guys, and," her eyes drifted to Daryl's boots, "an experienced hunter, all get it wrong?" Her eyes lifted to Carol's.

"And why did the composition of the corpse look so different when they got it back to the lab?"

The soft wail of tyres ascended the hill, drowning out Carol's sounds of surprise. She took an unsteady breath when she recognised the movement of Sophia's car. It was early, well before school started, and Sophia hadn't texted. Carol felt an unease build in her as Al's words took shape. They all turned to watch Sophia pull her Corolla into Carol's driveway.

Al's voice drifted over as the small car rolled to a stop and finally rested. "I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with the reason you wanted information about Justin."

Sophia's door popped open and the young woman emerged, clutching a fold of papers and a bundle of sage in one fist, the pale leaves pressed beneath twists of white thread, catching slightly on the soft material of her blouse. Al's eyes sparked at the sight, her gaze unchanging as she considered Sophia's movements with an interest that mingled with Carol's growing unease.

"Hey Soph," Al greeted happily, a smile hinting around her mouth, while her eyes retained their curious linger.

Sophia glanced quizzically at her mother, she also seemed to have picked up on the shift in Daryl's demeanour, her brow furrowed as she considered his stance. He was restless in general, still eyeing Al warily, but there was an uncertainty shadowing him, that Carol doubted her daughter would have noticed. He had the same hollow gaze he'd developed in the aftermath of what she'd relayed to him the night before. He held the tension in his eyes, and in his brows. Sophia looked slightly wounded when her polite wave did nothing to alter it, although Daryl tipped his head in greeting, it was barely noticeable. Carol offered her daughter a comforting squeeze, gripping the narrow shoulder as she nestled into the space beside her.

"Al?" Sophia's frown deepened. "What are you doing here?"

"I go where the stories are," Al explained with a shadowed smile, her voice jovial and light, her gaze still reaching across the divide between them.

"I thought you had everything you needed." Carol frowned and she heard Daryl's huff, a loud expiration beside her.

"Well I think it's safe to stay that that story's fallen apart now." Al's lips twisted thoughtfully and she fixed her gaze on Carol.

"What story?" Sophia asked quietly.

"The deer," Carol explained, her hand lifting again to clasp Sophia's arm above her elbow. It had been a good distraction the morning before, while they'd been sitting in the waiting room, anticipating Carol's medical care. "It's not infected."

Carol considered the cabin and turned back to Al. "I've got to get to work soon, and I was hoping to spend some time with Sophia before she has to head off too. But if you want to make a time to talk about ... Justin, is that what you were saying? I don't know about any connection to the deer, exactly, but, I mean, I just don't think it's fair that he gets away with what he did to Laura. Somebody out there has to know where he is."

Al nodded briefly, her lips pressed together. "What about the cabin? Noticed anything ... strange going on?" Her eyes lingered on the small bundle trapped against Sophia's chest.

"Define strange." Carol frowned.

Al sighed, a hint of frustration escaping her, while a thinly veiled line of amusement lingered around her mouth. "Strange ... noises. Strange ... things happening."

Carol shrugged. "I know where all the noises are coming from. If I see something strange would you ... like me to call you?"

Al didn't look impressed, but she held a patience about her, and an interest in Carol that was a little unsettling. She briefly considered Sophia and Daryl, and tossed her head back, her long fringe sweeping softly to the side.

"How about you just let me know when you find something on Justin? Or, if you see any more not infected deer." She turned to Daryl, watching as his face tensed further.

Al withdrew a set of keys from her pocket and waved them in farewell. She took a few steps away and then twisted back to look at Carol.

"There is a story here," her eyes narrowed. "And I don't know exactly what it is. But I want it. You still owe me, Carol."

"She don't owe y'nothin'," Daryl's voice was low, the resentment on his breath almost flattening his words into one endless haze of peppered sound. He only managed one step forward, Carol's free hand went out to rest upon his chest.

Al didn't acknowledge Daryl, she didn't turn until Carol nodded, briskly, and then she tipped her head in Sophia's direction and climbed into her truck, easing it around Sophia's vehicle, and out onto the road.

“'S'her problem?” Daryl growled, pacing in agitated strides across the gravel, twisting away, as Sophia watched him warily.

"Mom? What does she mean you owe her?"

Carol turned to her daughter, realising somewhat distantly that Sophia had had to ask the question twice. Carol briefly explained her deal with Al, the information she'd been given about Justin, as Daryl's face shifted with bewilderment. Carol remembered how agitated he'd been on Saturday with the presence of the reporter and the photographer, when the investigators had attended.

"Why didn' y'just tell me?" He asked quietly, his tone lifting with shades of curiosity, and what sounded like a touch of despondency.

Carol shrugged. "You didn't know then. About..." She glanced at the cabin and then studied him hesitantly, unaware that Sophia was watching their exchange with interest.

"She doesn't have to tell you anything, Daryl. If she doesn't want to." Sophia's eyes were stony, but her voice was gentle when she spoke, and the rest of her face opened in a way that caused Daryl's to lift. He nodded, briefly, as Carol said her daughter's name. "And why are you looking at me like that?"

Sophia's face had tilted, her eyes were glinting, but she held onto her tender expression, only emphasising her question with a slight surge of intensity, in an effort to prompt the answer she was looking for from Daryl.

"Sophia." Carol repeated.

Carol's warning seemed to trigger a reaction in her daughter, and a sliver of resentment flashed across Sophia's face. "No, he's been looking at me like that since I got here. Like .. I don't know, his puppy drowned? Or something. What happened?"

Carol's left hand stretched out across her stomach, twisting to cradle the elbow at her other side. "I told Daryl what your father did."

Sophia released her breath in a way that tore through Carol, embedding itself somewhere inside her, too easily. Carol's eyes fell closed for a moment, and when she looked back up, Sophia's gaze had fixed on the papers in her hands. She was rolling the sage gently in her fingers, restlessly bopping her head.

"Well, I have to be at school before nine, so. Let's get this over with."

"Wait, what are we doing?" Carol asked in a puzzled tone.

"It's a cleanse." Sophia explained. "We're supposed to open all the doors and windows, and we burn this, and," she waved the bound strips of chalky leaves, glancing briefly at Daryl. "Sage. We should've done this when you moved in." The last part was murmured to herself, with flickers of irritation threading through her expression. "And, I know you wanted a minister to do a blessing, but, I ... I have a prayer?" Sophia looked hopefully at Carol. "I thought maybe, we could try that."

A wave of emotion hit Carol then, stemming from the effort she knew Sophia had put into gathering supplies, her thoughtfulness amid her own strains of vulnerability. Carol smiled, her chin dimpling, her eyes already lined with tears, and she laughed a little and nodded, exuding gratitude to her daughter.

"That sounds .. lovely," she cleared her throat. "Where did you get the sage on such short notice?"

Sophia was already forging a path to the front door. "Mom, there's a Wiccan and a crystal healer on your street alone. But they sell it at the hardware store too." Her eyebrows flickered. "Ryan's daughter has her own section."

Although Daryl had hung back since Sophia had spoken to him, he edged closer to both women as they made their way up to the cabin door. He seemed to have found a neutral screen in his facial expression, but he avoided looking at Sophia directly, and when she spoke, he studied Carol, as though she could tell him everything he needed to know. He'd nodded a few times, but not spoken again. He attempted a smile when Carol turned to him, and the softening of his features was as comforting to her as his touch. Sophia huffed as she waited on the doorstep for them to catch up with her.

"Let's open the windows as we go," she suggested, and they moved about inside in that manner, pushing the small panels out, leaving the front door open.

They met in the centre of Carol's living room, when all the awnings and doors within the area had been opened to the outside and its stillness.

Carol smiled brightly at Sophia, studying the items in her hand. "Alright. What next?"

A series of loud bangs answered Carol's harmless query. Every door and window that had been opened, slammed shut, in slow, deliberate succession. Sophia's eyes widened as the papers trembled in her fingers. Her eyes darted to follow the noises, as Daryl paced, his shoulders squaring, as Carol leaned closer to her, one arm going up over the quivering shoulders.

"Don't be scared." Carol whispered.

But Sophia was already breathing shallowly, loudly, her chest constricting with the motion. Her eyes widened further, shifted warily from Daryl to her mother.

"Are you ready for the prayer?" Carol whispered, and Sophia nodded and lifted the paper in her hand.

"Ain't gonna let nothin' happen t'ya, Sophia," Daryl soothed, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace, and surrender.

His voice was like a beacon, a steady comfort that Carol had already grown to seek in the short time they'd spent together. But Sophia flinched at his promise, and her breathing sharpened. Carol saw the confusion register in her daughter's eyes, emotion building steadily within her, as she tried to shield it from her eyes.

"Or y'Mom." Daryl continued, his voice measured and calm, the flickers of agitation he'd paraded out on the driveway, gone. "Promise." He nodded once, in affirmation, imploring her, and Carol, with his gaze.

Sophia considered him warily, her fingers gripping the sage, and the paper in her hands.

"'Sides," Daryl turned to look up at the ceiling, his eyes shifting across to the windows. "Laura wants us here," his eyed Carol again, his chin dipping as he sought her confirmation, and she nodded back, her smile still strained, "And she ain't gonna let nothin' happen t'us, f'she can help it."

Although she didn't acknowledge Daryl, Sophia took a deeper breath and her shoulders lowered. They formed a curve behind the two seater, and Carol captured Daryl's hand, so they were all three entwined in a band across the floorboards. Sophia looped her arm with Carol's so that she could hold the printout in her fingers of the same hand, freeing up her other limb. Then she seemed to hesitate, her body bending in a rhythm of her own, as she glanced at Daryl.

"Daryl?"

The young woman's voice barely lifted above a whisper, and when Daryl looked at Sophia, Carol could see her daughter's small hand extending out toward him. He studied it for a moment, a hint of uncertainty seeming to press upon him, then he took the tiny fingers in his, and pressed his lips together. Now they were linked in a triangle, the paper capturing their focus, and Daryl tried to keep from fidgeting, his features strained as Sophia began to speak.

"On this blessed day of spring
we welcome new beginnings
we pray in Jesus' name
please cleanse this space
of all who dwell within it
whom do not share our vow
of good intention."

Carol squeezed Sophia's hand and let her voice trail out alongside her daughters', and they finished the last verse together.

"Dear Father
please bless this house
and all whom dwell within it
keep us safe under your care
and watch over our kin."

Carol had already breathed many a prayer into the space around her, but bound in this way, to Sophia and Daryl, in this moment, she felt a surge of hope, and faith renewed, and she leaned into it, hoping Sophia felt it too. She sensed doubt clouding Daryl's features, she'd felt a reluctance from him from the moment they'd started, but a sense of devotion seemed to also radiate from him, and along with their bond, it formed something new, and powerful. She leaned into that as well, and held it tight within her as they waited.

Sophia released Daryl's hand and his thumb nail went immediately into his teeth. He nodded briskly, letting his other hand fall slowly to his side when Carol let go of it. Then he shook his head and took his lighter out of his pocket, and held it out toward Sophia. He ignited the tiny flame, held it steady as Sophia lifted the sage and let him light the end of it. They let it burn over a bowl as they moved to open the windows, Sophia cradling the small dish as she first fanned the smoke upwards and over her mother, and Daryl.

They moved from room to room, with Carol opening the doors and windows, and Daryl trailing behind, taking the rear as they ascended the stairs. He captured Carol's gaze with a frequent intensity, a look that distorted with an intentional smile, the softening of his features whenever Sophia's eyes met his. Sophia waved the bowl purposefully, her lips moving with remnants of the prayer, and Carol watched her proudly, her head ducking with emotion.

When they reached the doorway to the basement, the light bulb overhead exploded, and Sophia screamed. Carol took her in her arms and whispered gently into her ear, her hands stroking carefully the trembling arms, as Daryl took his key chain flashlight out of his pocket and tested it, before lighting up the tiny hallway. The hall was dark, but not completely devoid of sunlight. Carol fished a piece of glass out of Sophia's hair as the girl eased herself carefully out of her mother's grip.

"I'm fine," Sophia sighed.

Daryl cast his light over both of the women, pointing out the locations of various specks of glass, so they could help each other brush fragments of the bulb onto the floor.

"Lemme do this next part," he offered, his left shoulder lifting in the direction of the basement door. "Y'can wait outside."

Sophia and Carol gave him an identical expression, of bewilderment, that would likely have made him snort if the situation wasn't so extreme.

"Alright, I'mma dumbass," he sighed, holding his hands up in defeat.

"You're not a ... dumbass," Carol huffed, and she stepped past him to close her hand over the basement door handle.

Carol tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge. She turned to Daryl in defeat and he shrugged and called out Laura's name, in a tone that was so gentle, Carol's heart lurched.

"Just wanna wave this stick around. S'all." He murmured, his eyes fixing on the bowl of sage. He dipped his head to Carol and she tried the handle again. The door opened.

They eased themselves down the stairs, Sophia's breaths louder, rapid, but easing with each step. She seemed soothed by the presence of both her mother and Daryl, who took equal turns in murmuring reassurances. Daryl's flashlight led them all the way down to the centre of the basement floor. They caught a lingering impression of the boxes Carol had stacked when she had first moved in. There was a small window, high on the wall, the bottom of it level with the ground outside. Carol took a step toward it as the light bulb exploded above her. Daryl hurried over to the window to push the glass open, and Sophia quickly waved the bowl containing the sage around, smudging the space as she trembled, until she let Daryl take the bowl from her into the farthest, darkest corners where she'd hesitated. He kept an eye on both women, his strides swift and brief, until he was turning back to usher them over to the foot of the small staircase.

Carol had only made it down to the basement once in her short time in the cabin. It was an area mainly used for storage, it had a chill and a mildewy feel to it, and she'd remembered the instruments Aaron had spoken of. What do you mean, like a torture chamber? But she sensed that they all felt the dread permeating the space, she and Daryl, and Sophia, the lightness of the prayer seeming suspended in the space above them. Carol felt the roar of the ocean suddenly, the sweep of waves and the chill of the salt air, and it sliced into her bones. She shivered as Daryl's hand closed over hers. It was the same hand, her left hand, in his left hand, so that he could press his right hand against her back as she followed Sophia up the steps. They were a band joined again, alighting the smaller staircase. The door stuck as Sophia tested the handle, and Daryl released Carol to squeeze himself through the space between them all, to get his shoulder up against the frame, and his hand clamped roughly over the handle.

"Laura!" He shouted.

Carol started to wheeze softly, and Sophia grasped her mother's arm, her fingers tightening over it. The chill in the air plummeted several degrees lower.

"Can you feel that?" Sophia whispered.

The door gave way with Daryl stumbling heavily through it, and they headed for the front door, as the walls turned to ice, the haunting effect crackling across the walls around them.

"Can you hear that?" Sophia cried.

They made their way out through the front door with no resistance, and onto the driveway, turning to look only when their feet hit the gravel. Then, they saw the cabin immersed in what could only be described as a targeted monsoon, walls of icy waves lurching over the virtuous panels, shards of ice and water twisting over the structure, lightning streaking through blackening clouds, the sky dark and menacing, apocalyptic in its threat.

"S'not real!" Daryl gasped, and he tugged Carol with him. She was gripping Sophia with the brittle strength she'd managed to retain. They made their way over to the fence line, turning and stumbling, half backwards, as the cabin disappeared into a reticent haze, the waves of it completely devouring the structure in its wake.

"C'mon," Daryl pleaded, and they took the last few steps, stopping to rest finally on his side of the property line.

Their eyes searched the structure of the cabin for the storm that had consumed it, and Sophia sank to her knees, her head shaking in disbelief, as Carol's eyes flicked incredulously from the shape of her daughter head, back to her cabin. From Daryl's side of the property line, the cabin was picture perfect, not a raindrop could be seen.

"Holy shit." Sophia breathed.

"Yeah, is now, I guess," Daryl rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. "Y'know, all that prayin'n ... n'all."

Carol exhaled in amusement, and then her eyes welled up. She cleared her throat a moment later, the heels of her palms pressing lightly against her cheekbones. "I'll follow you to work," she reassured Sophia, leaning forward to help her daughter up.

"Well, how do we get to our cars?"

"We'll be able to take them," Carol reassured her. "Give him a minute, he'll calm down."

Carol tipped her head in the direction of the cabin, so that Sophia knew she was talking about Justin. Sophia stared at her mother for a long moment and then stalked off in the direction of the street. Carol clenched her teeth.

"I used to say that about Ed," she explained, her eyes gleaming. "Wasn't always ... true." She watched Sophia for a moment and then offered Daryl a terse smile. "I'm going to get changed," she informed him, and he nodded, his eyes darting briefly to Sophia. Carol felt his eyes linger on her as she made her way over to his house.

---------

Daryl watched Carol walk away, and the days events spun through him dimly. He stared at the cabin for a moment, and then stepped over the property line, back into the raging storm. It wasn't as fierce by then, but a sharp chill still crept over his arms. He stepped back and the image adjusted again, stealing his breath as the structure re-emerged intact before his eyes. After a few minutes, he sensed Sophia settle into the space beside him, mirroring his movements, testing out the sight and feel of her mother's property, sighting it from both angles.

"God, we must look like a couple of dorks."

A wry smile swept over her as Sophia snorted, but her voice was still shaking, and Daryl was terrified for a moment that she was going to cry. He watched her intently, sending out a desperate, muted plea, for Carol to hurry. He patted his pockets for his carton and wondered whether he should go and fetch her.

"I didn't ... mean for this to happen," Sophia was saying. "I didn't ... I didn't mean to get scared."

"Hey," Daryl shook his head, issuing a note of challenge from deep in his throat. "Nah. Y'think it makes a difference us being scared or not?"

"Mom said," Sophia fidgeted beside him, and Daryl's head lowered. He knew he didn't have the answers she needed. "She said he wants us ... her ... scared."

Daryl's fingers went up into his hair and he scratched his head. "'Kay, but listen. That asshole's gonna do whatever he wants. Ain't got nothin' to do with you or y'Mom. Alright?"

His hand waved out in frustration, and Sophia looked at him as though she was ready to dart away at any moment. He took a few breaths, his posture collapsing inward somewhat, and he attempted a smile.

"Was real nice what y'did for y'Mama." He nodded.

Sophia took a shaky breath as she watched Daryl cautiously, her eyes shining, larger than he'd noticed before. "I didn't believe her, you know." She whispered.

"Hard to believe something y'a'int seen." He shrugged. "S'what y'Mom said. A'int y'fault," he tipped his head toward the cabin. "None o'this."

Sophie nodded slowly. "It wasn't just the car, you know. Or the fire," she turned back to the cabin, and Daryl's head tipped back, as he tried to follow her thought process. "It was ... it was their whole marriage. Did she tell you that?"

Daryl took a shaky breath and shook his head, the movement miniscule. Sophia's sigh was harsh as she turned her attention back to the cabin.

"If this doesn't work," she whispered, shaking her head as she studied a path of sunlight winding its way over the white panels, the shadowed indentations further defining them. "Then I don't know what to do."

Daryl gave himself a moment to process Sophia's second rapid change of direction. "Got a friend comin' over later. When y'Mom's off work. She's a ... like a psychic? Might,” he shrugged. “She might have some ideas for us. Hope."

Sophia studied the cabin for a moment, and nodded slowly in response. When Carol reappeared, Daryl felt his entire form relax. She was a vision in the morning light, striding purposefully toward them, a mystified shake of her head as she took in the cabin, a tight smile stretching as her eyes fell on Sophia, then Daryl.

She'd been right about Justin, about the storm. The atmosphere eased as they stepped back over the gravel, Carol eyeing her daughter carefully, her head tilting to look deep into her eyes.

"You're sure you're okay to drive?"

Sophia nodded and Carol's mouth twisted carefully. She released her daughter, stepping back to watch Sophia climb into her car, and she turned to Daryl, her eyes bright and searching.

"Are you going out today?"

Daryl shook his head, folding his fingers over the top of his right ear. He pressed the strands of hair there hastily behind the ridge. "Guess I'm waiting for a phone call." He informed her.

Carol glanced up at the cabin and shivered. "Can we leave everything open while I'm gone, do you think? Let it ... air out."

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, 'course." He shrugged. "S'your house. N'Laura's house."

Carol turned sharply then, her form twisting with emotion as Daryl stepped forward, his hands flailing at his sides. When Carol's smile formed fully, she exhaled, and the pearl of her teeth flashed hopefully. Daryl wanted to touch her, but he wasn't sure how to.

"Have a good day at work." He murmured, nodding slowly, his lips flattening into a smile.

Carol's eyes softened in a way that made his right hand lift gently to rest around her arm, and then he let it fall as suddenly, the warmth of her flesh lingering over his fingertips. Her smile settled into his mind, replacing all of the images from the morning, the night before, and everything dire that he'd imagined before that. He watched Carol and Sophia drive away before he turned to glare at the cabin, then his eyes softened as he remembered Laura, and he made his way back over to his own house to await the phone call, his mind lingering on Carol's touch, replaying her smile as he walked.

Chapter Text

Princess arrived not long after Carol got home from work.

The department of natural resources had phoned Daryl almost to the minute of 9 o'clock. The school bell must have still been ringing, Carol had pondered that as her own phone vibrated in her pocket, as she'd smiled brightly at Gavin. She'd hurried out to the storage room on her lunch break to listen to the message, her heart thudding with unease.

Yes hello this is Ingrid Whitman from the Department of Natural Resources with a message for Carol Peletier. The animal that was brought in with suspected chronic wasting disease has tested negative. You are free to resume any hunting related activities under the usual guidelines, which you can find on the department website. Thank you for contacting the department.

Carol's shoulders had lowered with relief, with happiness, and she'd texted Daryl immediately, Great news about the deer!

His response had arrived not a minute later. Yep, he'd replied. Don't work too hard.

When she arrived home, Carol found Daryl hovering down by his freezers, busy with his crossbow. He was inspecting darts, but had the bow in one hand, and he set it down and gave her a faint nod when he sensed her approaching. His fingers ran over the edges of the bow, he still had several darts in his fist. She stopped him, her hands going cautiously onto his shoulders, so that he was forced to cease his movement, and look at her properly.

"I'm so relieved," Carol smiled, with such a hopeful burst of gratitude, that tears sprang into her eyes, and Daryl's forehead shifted into lines of concern.

She pressed herself against him, trying to comfort him, herself, with the embrace, and though it was a moment before he relaxed entirely, his shoulders eventually drooped, and he let some of his weight rest against her.

Carol had spent three long nights picturing Daryl unknowingly tearing into infected meat, terrified that the prions had already worked their way into him, through the blood splatters, as he'd bit into every meal he'd cooked, as he'd hauled every kill back home. Her mind had rotated around invented snapshots of Daryl in a hospital bed, with her fingers wearing away the markings on the bed control, the thread of the hospital blankets as she sat at his side, his face drawn and thin, the intensity in his eyes waning. She'd been able to push the thoughts away with the distraction of the house, the ghosts, and Sophia. She'd tried to fixate on the mystery. But only here, being cradled in Daryl's arms, being allowed to let her face rest against his neck and somehow absorb the mood of his day, to let it ease into her slowly, was she truly able to let her trepidation go.

Princess drove a red softtop Jeep Wrangler, which she pulled to a stop on Carol's driveway with a quick, jerking motion. She fumbled with something over the passenger seat, the vehicle idling patiently as she twisted back up, grinning and waving, before turning the ignition off, climbing out, and pulling a black fabric satchel with a sparkling silver design out behind her.

“DD!” Princess squealed immediately, expelling a level of enthusiasm Carol hadn't anticipated.

The woman beamed at Daryl, her full, dark eyes growing larger as she turned them on Carol. Princess was wearing a thin, mauve coat, edged with white lace, and adorned with velvet aster flowers. She had pulled her dark hair, split in sections with stripes of cobalt and peacock blues, back into a spiky bun, her dark eyebrows arching underneath jagged bangs. There was a sheer radiance exuding from her that was mirrored in the stretch of her lips. Her elation rattled Carol slightly, until she realised that Princess was looking at her in the same manner in which she was surveying Daryl.

“And you must be Carol?” Princess exhaled with wonder, reaching her hand forward to grasp Carol's fingers in hers. “Juanita was my birth name, but I like to go by Princess. You know how when you grow up, you can be whoever you want to be? So, I had it legally changed and all, but sometimes people still look at me weird, like, what are you doing calling yourself Princess, do you think you're royalty or something? So, I just like to say, no, I don't think I'm royalty," she shrugged. "I just like it.”

As she turned her attention back to Daryl and took a step in his direction, he seemed to edge his body slightly behind Carol's, and Princess's hands waved out, her face contorting.

“Oh! No, it's alright DD, I'm not gonna hug you,” her hands were splayed out in front of her, and she pushed them down, as though she was trying to marry her thoughts with her actions. “You're not a hugger, I remember from last time." She turned to Carol, “I'm a hugger. But, I'm not like a pushy hugger, you know. Everyone's got a bubble, I get it." She took a moment to glance between them, and her energy seemed to build again. "But DD, I am so excited!” She squealed a little and turned to Carol. “DD is my favourite birdman." She waved a hand out to emphasise her statement. "He's shown you his birds, right?”

Carol, a little dazed, glanced at Daryl, who tilted his head slightly, but didn't turn to meet her gaze. She nodded and smiled, and Princess bopped her head along, a movement of happiness working its way though her torso, her arms coursing in a silent rhythm, as her eyes widened further.

"Oh, yes," Carol smiled, a sense of pride in Daryl's abilities flooding her suddenly. She turned to look at him properly, smiling as she nodded. "They are beautiful."

“Did he tell you how he only picks up birds that already died? 'Cause he can't stand to take 'em outta the sky before they're ready, and he don't eat'em. So, that's why I only ever got like, one bird outta him. But it was the most beautiful peafowl,” Princess took a deep breath as she shook her head at Daryl. She seemed to relax a little, her words slowing down as she reminisced about the bird, and Carol sensed some tension easing from Daryl as well. “Those colours are still as beautiful today as they were two years ago. DD's work is stunning. Stunning. People ask me all the time, where do I get me a bird like that? And I say, hey, you better get in line, 'cause I've been asking DD for another one since forever!” She grinned and Carol felt herself smiling along with her, her chin dimpling warmly.

She nodded at Princess and glanced behind herself, at Daryl. “Uh, Daryl, said that you're a … a psychic?” She sensed Daryl shifting uncomfortably beside her, but he looked up at Princess, the same question in his eyes.

“Oh,” Princess sounded surprised. “Well, medium, I guess. You know, labels are … whatever, but, yes, I am a medium, and I kinda, feel people's energies and, try to get a picture of what they're trying to say.”

As Princess spoke, she glanced between Carol and Daryl, and her features distorted slightly. She lifted her index fingers, leaning back as she did so, then waved them erratically between her companions, her mouth drooping slightly as her eyebrows lifted.

“Oh, okay! Wait, don't tell me,” She exhaled, and turned to Daryl. “DD? When did this happen?!”

There was a streak of laughter in her voice as Daryl peered uncertainly at Carol, his face unchanged, but the light in his eyes shifting strangely, in a way she couldn't follow. Carol knew suddenly that Princess wasn't talking about the cabin. The gestures directed between herself and Daryl unsettled something in her, and she watched as Daryl swallowed, his eyes shadowing again as they danced away from her.

“When did … what happen?” She asked quietly.

Princess's delighted grin fixed in place. “You, the two of you,” her mouth twisted a little. “This,” she made the sweeping shape of a love heart with her hands. “This bond. This is,” she laughed again, glancing between them both, her hand flexing purposefully. “This is soulmate stuff right here. Are you not …?” When neither of them answered Princess, she bit her lip, and her eyes flickered down to her satchel, her tone grew serious. “Have you not figured that out yet? Am I … please tell me I didn't jump in before the chickens hatched?”

Princess started to chew on her lower lip, and when Carol turned to Daryl, she saw that he was doing the same, except his gaze was caught between Carol and her shoes, his stance shifting rhymically as he cleared his throat, his thumbnail finding its' way into the mangled gnash of skin and teeth. Carol squinted at him. The sunlight was reaching through the gaps in the maples to warm her face, an odd static finding its way through the rumination of Princess's words, as they fixed and filtered through her mind.

Princess shook her head. “Well, I'm sorry, but I don't see,” her fingers fanned out again, “this, this kinda connection, between people who have been married for twenty years, very often. And when I do,” she shivered a little and waved her hands up expectantly, her face growing serious, her eyes wide as she stared at them. “You see that? Chills.”

Daryl was still shifting restlessly, pausing and unpausing the motion as he checked on Carol. He cleared his throat again, but didn't move to add anything.

Carol smiled politely. "Well, that is ... nice to hear. Thank you. Um. I was going to suggest a cup of coffee?” She felt her chin jut out as she tried to keep her face neutral, she avoided looking at Daryl as Princess's eyes narrowed slightly, her body arching back again, seeming to wait for Carol's words to register, before she swallowed and glanced at Daryl.

“Uh, yeah.” She nodded seriously. ""Kay, lemme just grab my shades, it's still kinda bright out here.” She headed back to her jeep and leaned through the compartment to fish around amongst the seats for her sunglasses.

Carol's smile stretched in a soft curve as she turned to look at Daryl. He glanced up at her, holding her stare with an intensity he'd imparted many times before.

“DD?” She mocked gently, her eyes sparkling as her lips tugged lightly over her teeth.

“Stop.” He exhaled, and shook his head, but he was smiling up at her a moment later.

--------

They sat out by Daryl's back deck, cradling mugs of coffee in their hands while Daryl and Carol shared pieces of the story, from the sensation of hands on the back of Carol's shoulders to Daryl being tripped, the shapeshifting confusion, the lightbulbs exploding, and the walls draped in sheets of ice in the midst of a typhoon. They shared the telling of the story, finishing each other's sentences as it evolved. Princess had a look about her, a smile she tried to hide, that caused Daryl to shake his head, to stand up and find his focus on the lake, his hands trembling over the new carton Carol had picked up for him on her way home.

“Tell me more about the deer. And the fire,” Princess prompted gently, and Daryl relayed the intensity of the flames that had engulfed his mobile home in his vision.

“Was sick,” Daryl nodded, his tongue darting out over his bottom lip as he glanced at Carol. “The buck, it was … all the inspectors said so.”

Carol nodded. "And the ... impersonating,” she added, her hands fanning out as her eyes enlarged slightly. “Taking on our form? The first time I thought I was meeting Daryl, he told me it wasn't safe to buy the place, but," she gestured, her fingers splayed out. "He swears black and blue it wasn't him.”

“Wasn't.” Daryl said, assuredly, and Princess nodded, her expression grave.

“It sounds like you're dealing with a very powerful spirit,” she mused. Her sigh elongated as she turned towards the lake. “It's a shame, it's so beautiful out here. Really peaceful.”

“What we don't know,” Carol continued. “Is why he's here. Justin. We know Laura was killed in the house, but,” she glanced at Daryl. “is there a reason a ghost could hang around a place it ... the person didn't die? And why? Or did he die here? That's what we need to find out. That's where we're at.” She shrugged slightly, her look imploring the woman beside her.

“Well,” Princess swallowed slowly. “The way it usually works is, a person, once they pass over, is drawn to their final resting place. Meaning, specifically, their remains.” She looked up at them, watching as their faces drew inward, their torsos angled toward her. Princess nodded. “Whether it's ashes, or their bones still intact, that's usually what keeps them bound to a location. From what I've seen anyway.” She shifted her sunglasses up onto her head, her eyes narrowing slightly over Carol's. “Laura wasn't buried here, right? So then she had to have been cremated. So, maybe ... maybe someone sprinkled her ashes over the lake? Eugene? And if a crazy wind picked up, it coulda brought her back, onto her property line.” Princess shrugged. “The guy I dunno about. But ... his bones, or his ashes, have got to be there somewhere.”

Daryl and Carol turned to each other hopefully.

“Can you help us find them?” Carol asked.

Princess's face scrunched slightly. “I mean all I can really do is try to make contact with them. But I'm happy to try that?"

They nodded, Carol reaching over absently to squeeze Daryl's hand. Her fingers ran over the inside of his wrist so lightly that he shivered. Then he clutched her fingers briefly, studying her face, his expression unclear, then flooding with warmth as her eyes found his'.

"You would have to go in the cabin." Carol pressed, her voice dipping a little as the weight of responsibility, of threat slowly dawned on her.

Princess nodded, her dark eyes flicking between them. "Is it not safe for me to do that?"

"It might be a little dangerous." Carol sighed, her eyes falling.

Princess rubbed her face and gazed over the divide, up to Carol's cabin, her bottom lip twisting in her teeth. "Damn." She muttered to herself. "I really wanted that bird."

Daryl's head drooped wistfully. "Y'a'int gotta go in there, Princess. Jus', you comin' out is enough. Appreciate it. Really." His gaze intensified as the woman looked up at him, and Carol turned her gaze to the lake, her eyes wide, her breath expelling from her in careful measure. Daryl sighed harshly.

“You know what?" Princess nodded at them. "We can just try a little bit, you know, like the front door, or just inside the front door,” she shrugged. “See what happens?”

Carol smiled thinly and nodded. "Thank you." She whispered and Princess beamed back at her.

"Hey, no problem."

---

“Did something happen today?”

Princess was frowning deeply as she scanned the area around her, an odd frown flexing over her features as she turned in a wide circle. They'd made it into the living room, Princess easing her way in with a rhymic bop of her head, which would cease as it tilted, as though she'd heard something, her attention cast to the ceiling as she moved. She seemed drawn to the foot of the stairs and lingered there, her hand at her heart, her eyes trailing the rise to the landing, but she didn't say anything. Carol and Daryl crept behind at a distance, hesitant moths to her flame.

“We did a cleanse,” Carol announced softly. “My daughter, she, Sophia, she wanted to help.” Carol's inflection lifted at the end, and Daryl nodded briskly, his careful gaze fixing on Princess, as though in challenge of any contention she might raise.

“Yeah, they didn't like that,” Princess shook her head firmly. “The … woman?”

“Laura?” Carol could hear the confusion in her voice, distant in her ears.

“Yeah, I guess, Laura, particularly." Princess frowned, her gaze shifting around the living room as she nodded. "She did not like that at all.”

Carol and Daryl glanced at each other, surprise registering levelly, knotting their features as they turned back to Princess hesitantly.

“Laura didn't like it?” Carol mused softly, and her heart started to flutter. A chill began to swell beneath her skin. “Does she think that it's, that it's her we're trying to … get rid of? Because it was very clear, uh, in the prayer, only those who do not have good intentions,” she gazed at Daryl helplessly.

Princess shrugged. "Hard to tell, she's not actually here. But there's a ... a feminine energy that is ... kinda pissed."

Carol's face fell, and her lips turned inward as she tried to block the soft sting that was working its way into her eyes.

“Does that mean it worked?” Daryl asked, a trace of hope blossoming in his words. The swagger of his hips as he shifted his footing and paced several steps, was exaggerated in a manner that Carol had grown to recognise as exhaustion. His voice travelled sharply through the air, and the aspiration in his whisper lingered afterward. “They gone?”

"Well, no. I don't think so. Sorry,” Princess stepped carefully across the floor toward the basement door. “Cleanses don't always work, but it's a good place to start.” She was looking around again, her brow furrowing. She nodded briskly and cleared her throat. “Yeah, he has scary powerful energy.” She mused softly, then her eyebrows arched as her voice lifted.
"Okay, that's enough, let's go!"

Daryl's frame inverted a little, his head ducked, and he grasped Carol's elbow gently, as they followed Princess back out of the cabin and over to her jeep. Carol watched as Princess's hands shook slightly. The woman had taken hold of her hair elastic, shaken her hair out, and started running her fingers through the wavy locks. She seemed to be counting, Spanish numerals were falling from her breath, as she straightened up and fixed her eyes on the cabin.

Carol studied Princess for a moment, her eyes lingering over the trembling movement of her hands. “Laura told us not to be scared,” she explained. “Is that … do you think it makes him stronger, when we're scared?”

Princess studied Carol in turn, her expression unchanging. She considered the cabin and then her eyes darted to Daryl. Her focus seemed unable to fixate for a moment. She nodded quickly, then shrugged, her mouth twisting. “Uh yeah, it's possible. It does happen. I guess. Strong emotions, fear, anger,” she glanced at Daryl again, and he took a deep breath and started to pace. “And joy,” she finished quietly. “From what I've seen, they don't tend to handle the negative emotions as well as the others. 'Specially if there's been, you know, trauma. Beforehand.” She took a deep breath. "You could have warned me about what happened on the staircase."

"I'm sorry," Carol whispered.

She opened her mouth to expand on the story, but Princess's focus had shifted again, and her demeanour changed entirely. Princess was laughing suddenly, patting her chest, and then wrinkling her nose, her head arching back as she let out a soft squeal.

"Oh hey! Hey beautiful!" She breathed, her hands moving down into the air as they tensed over something Carol couldn't see.

Carol looked quizzically at Daryl and found a look of confusion also fixed across his face, his tongue resting at the side of his teeth as his eyes darkened. One hand went up into his hair, to thread his fingers over his scalp.

Princess's fingers flattened out across the space in front of her. She considered Carol and Daryl's expressions, and straightened up a little, her smile softening. "You can't see him?" She asked quietly.

"Dog? Daryl ventured, and Princess nodded sadly, her face contorting as she looked down at the creature invisible to the company beside her.

A single bark resounded though, and Princess's eyebrows lifted, and then a whimper darted into the space, as Princess took a step back, and looked out toward the lake. Her face contorted significantly then, her shoulders started to tremble as a small sob escaped her.

"Oh god," she cried her hands going up to her face.

"What is it?" Carol murmured urgently. "What?"

Princess swallowed, and her hands tried to find traction, across her neck, along the strap of her shoulder bag. "He uh, he, it's Justin you said? He the guy with a ponytail?" The description was close enough that Carol nodded, and Princess's head bobbed softly. "Yeah he drowned him. The dog. German shephard?" She whispered.

Carol's breath seemed stolen as she turned to look at Daryl. His face was stony. He glanced at Carol sharply, as he straightened up, and took an uncertain step toward Princess. Carol thought she saw a flash of fur, bright in the sun as it rippled softly under Princess's fingers.

"He drowned the dog?" Daryl asked quietly, the gravel rolling darkly in his voice.

Princess's head kept it's rhythmic nod, her lips pressing together before she took a shaky breath. "This was Laura's dog," her hand folded out to gesture toward the animal, but Carol and Daryl still couldn't see it. "He was angry, and..." her hands jiggled again, this time as though she was trying to shake the memory from her body. "He must be buried around here somewhere. You didn't see a marker?" They heard another bark and Carol watched as Daryl shifted uncomfortably."

"We gotta get off the property," he urged.

"How is it that we can we hear him," Carol mused. "But we can't see him?"

Princess explained as they stepped over the gravel. They ambled after Daryl, Princess seeming to lose her balance as she walked, so Carol's hand went out to steady her.

"Energy," Princess said simply, shrugging. "They draw it, we give it, they run out of it, just like we do. Takes a lot to ... appear, I imagine." Her hands clawed in demonstration, as though she was fulfilling the motion she spoke of. "They're probably in there somewhere, rechargin', right now."

They finally crossed over the property line and Daryl's sigh was audible to both of them. He turned back to look at them, his hands clutching his waistband around the sides as a tremor worked through him and his jaw shifted, his lips rolling inward. Carol absently noted the brief flash of the skin of his abdomen, the way his pants hung over his hips

"So you didn't see or hear them at all?" She asked, the yearning in her voice so sharp in her ears that for a moment she saw Ed's aggravated face, and she turned away, missing the shake of Princess's head, the subtle way Daryl's breathing changed.

"Sorry. I did get a super bad vibe from the basement though? Which is pretty common. Nine times out of ten, if there's something hidden, it's in the basement. That's a ... totally made up statistic, by the way. Just, it happens a lot." She shrugged and Carol nodded.

"Y'think he could be down there somewhere? In the basemen'?" Daryl pressed.

Princess shrugged again and Daryl turned to Carol, his whole body moving as his shoulders shifted. He wiped a hand over his face and looked out toward the lake.

"Do you think Eugene did something to him?" Carol asked suddenly, her voice so quiet, that the doubt she'd traced into it wavered, and faded quickly.

"Who's Eugene?" Princess asked.

------

Princess had found the number for the record store as Carol was still explaining who Eugene was. The medium had held up her phone triumphantly, announcing that the store contact was for a cell phone, and she's pressed the number into her keypad before handing her device to Carol.

To Daryl, it sounded like a different Carol on the phone, and he watched her step away, her voice lifting as it distorted with tones he hadn't heard before. Her expression however, reminded Daryl of her interactions with the health inspector, and she turned away when she caught him looking, the smile flickering over her face seeming unable to fix as she handed Princess's phone back to her, her words bright and calm. They'd make an after hours visit to the record store, all three of them.

He could tell that Princess was trying to contain her excitement. She explained that she'd worked at a record store in her younger years, and she started rattling off the details of her favourite customers, the music they'd been into, what she'd play on the days she was on her own. Daryl excused himself to go fetch the bird.

It felt weird lifting Billy off his hook in the hollow space at the divide above his kitchen. The position of suspended flight carried the bird down onto the burlap wrap, ready to be bundled, and Daryl's mind drifted back to the hours he'd spent preparing it, he found his mother's words owls know what to do, the memory of her voice distorting probably, with mothers he'd seen on television, with a distant relative or two, with Irma's voice.

He carried the wrapped bird, light almost as any of its feathers alone, as he walked back up the hill, his eyes wandering over Carol's form, a distinct feeling of ineptness creeping into him, even when she turned to smile at him, a proper smile, one that faltered when her eyes fell to the package in his hands. He heard himself grunting softly as Princess's eyes fell on him too.

The medium gasped as Daryl's hand stretched out toward her, and she lifted the parcel with a bounce and a grin, beaming at Carol, as the silver eyebrows pushed together ever so slightly. Carol quietly excused herself, her hand trailing up over Daryl's arm as she passed him.

"I'd better go freshen up," she said brightly, and Daryl tried not to think about what that meant, about her standing under his shower head, stripping out of her clothes, the water falling, and clinging.

He turned his attention back to Princess, his teeth softly tugging at his lower lip, as he watched her settle the owl on her passenger seat, and turn back to him, her expression warm, her chin dipping forward.

"Thanks for comin' out," he nodded once, his eyes scanning her cautiously as she nodded in return, her elbow taking her weight against the window of her car.

"Hey, no problem," her smile softened. "Whatcha wanna ask me, DD?"

He gnawed briefly on his thumbnail, twisting his body back to cast his eyes across his house, to watch the sunlight stretch along the mottled greys that clung to the outside panels.

"Been uh, havin' dreams. Weird ones?" He turned back to squint at Princess. "They're real ... ones that feel real."

Princess nodded, a solemnity that he hadn't seen much of before, touching her features, cradling them. "What kinda dreams DD?" She asked softly.

Daryl felt a warmth creeping up over his neck as he scanned his memories frantically and tried to form the words to explain them. 'Bout Carol ... mean, with the house and all," he gestured to the cabin quickly, his legs growing restless and shifting as he cleared his throat. "She's hurt. In the dreams," he exhaled shakily, realising only as he said it how much the images had been plaguing him. "Think it's... that energy you were talkin' about? Could it be doin' that?" He swallowed quickly. "Makin' me see things, and ... and feel what I ... feel?"

He swallowed dryly, his eyes imploring her to read beyond what he was saying, to answer questions he hadn't been able to form, even in his mind. He was struck by Princess's grace, when she arched up off the car door, and took a step toward him, her head dipping as though she was trying to see under his gaze, and whatever screen he was trying to project over it.

"I mean, maybe?" She said quietly, nodding slowly as she studied him. "Yeah, with the dreams, could be, what's happening with the, all that spiritual energy, it's ... maybe messin' with how your brain is processin' it? Trying to work through it, make it make sense, you know? So what happened to Carol?"

Daryl drew in a shaky breath, his body wrestling with the quakes and tremors, and he relayed his nightmares in fragments to Princess. He remembered the tree he'd found Carol clinging to, the deer with the arrow. As he took another breath, as cracks sunk into his voice as he spoke, he detailed the location of the darts he'd seen, in Carol's ribs, in the forest, in his yard, and in the carpark.

Princess had nodded grimly, her eyes shadowing with concern, and Daryl's lip had trembled and he'd tried to right it, until Princess began to speak, her steady voice a welcome remedy.

"You're vulnerable DD. You both are, right now. And, you're under attack! That's where those arrows are coming from, okay? That's what they mean. But DD," she glanced at Daryl's house, her face softening as she turned back to him. "Whatever you're feelin', you're still feelin' it over at your place, 'cause I felt it too. It's got nothin' to do with anything else. And on top o'that? I didn't even need to feel it, 'cause I saw it," her eyes shone acutely, and Daryl shifted uncomfortably. "Saw the way you two look at each other. That's real. And I know," she nodded gently, her smile strengthening. "I know it's scary, I know. But, ya gotta trust it." She pressed her hand to her heart and Daryl shifted his weight, his eyes falling as he froze in place, his breath staggering, thinning slightly. "Because it's right, DD. And it's ... it's good. It's really good! And you deserve to be happy." Her eyebrows lifted gently. "You and Carol. That's why we gotta go find out what happened to Justin. Yeah?"

Daryl stood, trying to process the flood of information he'd been presented with. Princess had brought everything out into the open that he'd wanted her to, things he innately wanted to be real. But now that it hung in the air, he wanted her to take it all back. When did this happen? This is soulmate stuff right here..

He'd met Princess once before, she'd bought a pea fowl he'd taxidermised, and bewildered him with her exuberance from the moment she'd laid eyes on it. And she'd stayed in contact ever since, asking him periodically for another bird (she had specific tastes), and she'd text him if she found a specimen she thought was promising (it never was). She'd text him pictures of the pea fowl (named Mrs Travis, despite the fact that it was male), in various positions as she moved him around her apartment. Daryl suspected she had a little something going on beyond the norm, but he didn't mind, he liked the contact, and he knew that he didn't exactly roll with a crowd, himself. He wasn't sure how accurate her psychic talents lent themselves either, but ever since he'd seen the chupacabra, he'd allowed his mind to open to possibilities, to realms he'd never considered before. But even so, he couldn't accept what Princess was saying about Carol, about the way she supposedly looked at him.

We gotta go find out what happened to Justin. Yeah? Daryl's gaze lifted slowly as his lips turned inward, and his shoulders squared as he tried to straighten up. He stared in the direction of the cabin for a long moment, before he turned to Princess, nodding once, his gaze assessing hers'.

"Yeah. Let's find that asshole."

----

Carol washed quickly, rinsing her hair under Daryl's showerhead, and tried not to think about him standing under it, naked and wet, the water coursing over his shoulders, over his ribs, his hips.

She forced her mind to track back to the energy Princess had spoken of, the mystery and uncertainty of the basement. It was a sensation she had experienced herself. She thought about Justin's remains and what state they might have ended up in, thought of the instruments Aaron had mentioned, the typhoon, the chill in her bones, as she wondered if there was any possible way that Eugene could have played some part in it.

As she stepped out of the cubicle and began to dry herself, Carol recalled the conversation she'd had with Princess while Daryl had gone to fetch his owl. She'd drawn back the image of Daryl's face when he'd first spoken of his mother's trust in owls and their knowledge.

"But that owl is his favourite," Carol had wanted Princess to know.
Her voice had lifted with fragments of despair over Daryl's needless sacrifice, and Princess had studied Carol curiously, her tongue running over the front of her teeth as she'd nodded slowly, her toes shifting inward, flattening out the grass underneath her.

"He put a lotta work into that bird, I know," the medium had squinted, and offered a sympathic smile as she shifted slightly. "He put a lotta himself into it too. When he first finished it, I could feel, you know, what he'd been through," her eyes had wandered carefully over Carol's face, falling to her hands, before shifting back to the lake.

Carol had felt a lump form in her throat then, an unwelcome dart of jealousy towards the vibrant woman who seemed to know things about Daryl that she herself might never discover. Her eyes had stung as her nostrils flared, and she'd tried to stem another trace of moisture forming in the corner of her eyes. Her fingers had swept out with frustration as she turned her attention back to the cabin.

"He still have it hanging up over his kitchen? Before I got here?"

Carol had nodded, her lips inverting as Princess had tilted her head, her smile lopsided, traced with a layer of concern.

"He put all o'that, the effort first off, and then his, all his experiences, you know, into that bird. And he literally had it hanging over his head this whole time." Princess had smiled gently, her eyebrows lifting as she'd drawn closer to her point. "I think a big part o'the reason he's ready to let it go finally, is 'cause o'you, Carol. 'Cause you're here. You know?"

"We've only known each other a few weeks," Carol had insisted, a soft chuckle fizzling in her throat. "We've only spent a few days together, really."

"Quality, not quantity, ain't that what they're always sayin'?" Princess had grinned.

Carol focused on the memory now, as she peered out of Daryl's bathroom window. She'd opened it to let the steam drift out, and she could faintly see him making his way back down to the house, his hands empty, his head bowed. She patted her hair down one more time and straightened her towel over the rack, before shimmying into a mid-length jersey dress, a charcoal grey. When she emerged from Daryl's bathroom in a pocket of mist, he was leaning against the kitchen doorway, testing out the new found space that had opened up under the absence of Billy the owl. He stepped forward when he saw her, his face softening in a manner that tugged all the way through her.

"Y'ready t'go?"

His tone was so gentle, his voice so soft and warm, that Carol felt a rush of tenderness flow through her. She walked toward him quickly, lifting her arms and then stilling, her lips twisting.

"Princess said you're not a hugger," she laughed nervously, somewhat guarded, she watched him cautiously, as he started to shake his head, as his hands lifted, and he stepped toward her. "I'm sorry if I..."

"Nah, Carol," he murmured, but it wasn't the end to the question she needed answered. "Like you hugging me." He grasped her elbows lightly, shrugging as he closed their gap.

Carol wrapped her arms around his neck, and he relaxed immediately into her embrace, encircling her just as tightly, moreso, his arms pinning her torso to his chest, and crushing her breasts in the squeeze. They swayed like that for a moment, until her hands were lowering to his shoulders, her neck stretching back, as she mumured his name. He seemed reluctant to release her, his breath distorting as his grip eased slowly. But he allowed a space to form between them, his fingers drifting all the way down her sides, as his eyes fell across her. Carol lifted her hands, pressing one palm firmly against his chest, as the other swept up to his jaw, her fingers threading into his hair. She sought his gaze, and tried to capture it, a study of concentration fixing solidly across her face.

His breath was shallower suddenly, his eyes slowly training on hers', as though they were suddenly afraid to linger. He glanced down only briefly, then his gaze found its way back up to her. She tried to smile at him, but the twist of her expression was brief. One of her hands was clutching his ribs through his t-shirt, the other was a questionning murmur in its search across his ear, down to his stubble. They were close enough to share the same breath.

"Is it true?" She asked, her voice lost in a whisper, in a longing that she didn't try to hide. Her face was inching closer to his, their breath flowing between them, and it felt like a rope she wanted to tie herself with. "About, this bond, this ... what we have. Daryl? Do you feel it too?"

She sensed his hands tensing at her sides, she sensed them reaching up to rest gently over her hands, but he didn't try to move her or push her away, he just stood there silently, transfixed, as his eyes darted from her eyes to her mouth, his focus lingering equally on both.

He said nothing, he seemed unable to shift any further, to take a step, or find a word that he was willing or able to part with. Carol watched him for another endless moment, tracking his eyes before her grip on him relaxed, and then she sighed quietly, whispering her understanding it's okay and she tried to ease her hands out from underneath his gentle pressure.

He seemed to inhale without expecting to, at the change in her stance, his breath scrambling at her words, and before she could shift any further, he was moving one hand to her back, and drawing her closer to him, as his other hand found her jaw and cradled it gently, mirroring one of her earlier movements. The expression in his eyes hadn't changed. An intensity that she'd never known before, only recently, in Daryl's gaze, fixed on her. His head dipped slightly, his head tilted, and then without warning, his mouth pressed against hers, hesitantly, eagerly, his lips parting just enough to fill the space, the softness and fullness of them clutching earnestly at hers'.

Carol was stunned for a moment, and before she could process what was happening, she felt Daryl starting to pull away, saw his eyes moving from her mouth to her eyes, his forehead lined, and she found herself pressing her body back into the gap. She found his lips with her own, felt him pull her closer, felt his heart thrumming. She felt drawn sideways, backwards slightly, and she fell against Daryl, against his mouth, as her lips grazed the soft scrape of his teeth and tried to work around them, as his arms held her to him and she lost her footing. He lifted her up against the bulk of his chest, cradling her ever so slightly away from his hips. The slide of his mouth was warm and imperfect, his tongue gently finding hers', and lingering, until the kiss broke, as they paused to take in a scattered breath, as they stared, mesmerised at one another, their fingers still winding softly through hair, over scalp, and fixing in shirt collars, or bunches of material. Carol's boundless toe eventually found its footing, and she smiled at Daryl, the light bending through her features, and he smiled back, his thumb tracing her jaw down to her lower lip, and tugging it gently, as they shared another breath.

"Yeah," he murmured, the timbre in his voice vibrating through her. "Yeah, I feel it too."

Chapter Text

They stayed in the embrace for what felt like a lifetime, and Carol supposed that it was, that in a way they might emerge from it as different people. Carol thought about what she'd said to Princess, that she and Daryl had only known each other a short time.

It didn't feel real. But it also felt like whatever was happening between herself and Daryl, was something she'd been waiting her entire life for. And it felt so inexplicably right that she was terrified.

We should really get going, she thought to herself. "We should really get going." She murmured, and Daryl sighed as he released her, so slowly that she almost forgot for a moment how her body worked without him.

Daryl's eyes smiled at her and she fought a wave of emotion, tried to push it down. Daryl let his thumb trace over her cheekbone, then everything of his fell, in some nervous pulse as he went over to the back door, went outside to secure the items he'd left unattended. A strong wind had picked up, and the sound of it shifted something ambivalent within Carol, unease nagged at her lightly. She straightened her dress, put the few items resting on the kitchen sink away. She watched her cabin through Daryl's window and thought of Laura, watched the branches of the maples bend, watched amber leaves dive and splinter the surface of the lake, and thought of the dog.

When Daryl came back in, he asked her again if she was ready to go, in that same gentle tone he'd given before their kiss, and she felt the waver of it flow into her, like a lasting caress, and she turned to him, and smiled, and watched his eyes crease gently at the sides.

They decided to take Carol's car, it seemed the easiest option. Carol absently noted the scattered patches of weeds that were growing up through the gravel as she turned with the breeze, and she swept her eyes across the front porch. Laura was standing there, lit desolately against the shadow of space behind her, her sombre expression streaking through lines of crystal and blonde, the muted cotton ruffling over her arms. She leaned down to run her fingers through the dog's dripping fur, and droplets fell onto the stairs, sparkling in their descent.

Carol was struck so suddenly with a longing that was grooved with sorrow, that she realised the moment felt like an ending. That if Laura had lifted her hand to wave, it might have been their last goodbye. She knew it wasn't that, she sensed that something else was taking place, but whatever that was, she wasn't certain.

She turned to see Daryl waiting for her, so patiently, that his fingers had stretched out over the roof of the passenger side, and were drumming lightly with a precision that matched the intensity of his focus. As Carol took in the image, Daryl's caress of her car surface, she realised that he was the total inversion of Ed. Where he should be glaring at her, Daryl's face had softened. Instead of hissing, or yelling at her, he said nothing. He even offered her a smile, the faintest lifting of the corners of his mouth, instead of snarling. Carol felt her face soften in the same way.

The drive into town took only a few minutes.

"Daryl?" She asked, her fingers looped across the steering wheel.

"Mhmm?"

"Do you think that we should tell Eugene about Laura? Tell him that's she's there. At the house?" She glanced at him briefly, her fingers tensing over the steering wheel. "And Dale and Irma are due back tomorrow, should ...?" She rubbed the back of one hand over her check, her eyes flicking to the rear-view mirror. "Should I tell them too?"

"Why?"

Carol exhaled slowly. Daryl seemed to be asking more with his tone, and for a moment, she thought he'd asked an entirely different question.

"I guess I feel like I kind of ... owe it to them. And ... I would want to know." Carol swallowed, running the words back through her mind. She wondered if they were true.

Daryl picked at the skin around his nails gently. He hesitated. Carol could feel him turn to her, then sensed his gaze shift back to the window, the treeline.

"He was there for a bit, wasn't he? You said. Eugene? Think Laura woulda shown herself to him if she wanted him t'see her. Same with Dale and Irma."

"But what if she couldn't?" The thought caught a little in Carol's throat, she felt herself grasping for a breath, then felt Daryl's hand move lightly to her shoulder.

"Think she could." He pressed. "She's strong. Like you. So maybe let's make sure, 'fore we say somethin' we can't take back. But," his head dipped as he studied her, "end o'the day, it's up t'you."

Carol nodded. She'd spotted Princess's Jeep parked outside the record store. She could see Eugene's silhouette moving inside the store, in a restless pace. She and Daryl hopped out and joined Princess in the divide between their cars. Princess was grinning. She had almost finished a burger, she had the wrapper twisted underneath it, and was finishing off a bite when her elbow lifted and she quirked her eyebrows at Carol.

"Tried saying hi, but, Eugene said thank you very kindly, but he's just as soon gonna wait for you to get here, Carol. Got your burgers in the car. For all'a you." She took another bite and nodded, then opened the back door of her jeep. The aroma of fried meat patties and grilled cheese drifted out, and the faint rumble of Daryl's stomach was heard, as he shifted uncomfortably.

Carol nodded slowly. "Alright I'll go in and check on him. Be back in a minute!"

Her smile was brief but warm, and as she left Daryl with Princess, Carol watched fondly as his gaze lingered on her, unaware that Princess was holding a burger out to him until he felt the item graze his elbow and then he started a little, and turned to the medium. Carol pushed her way through the heavy glass door, shifting her eyes as she turned to Eugene, who had stopped pacing, his anxiety wafting from him steadily. Carol smiled, her shoulders lowering, and Eugene's shoulders drooped too, and his face lifted.

"Hello Carol." He nodded. "Thank you for calling. Can you tell me now what you found out about Justin Turner?"

------

"Mm!" Princess squinted at Carol's burger as she grabbed a cluster of fries, and chewed thoughtfully, her elbow lifting. "Hopefully Eugene can heat these up, I shoulda waited. But I forgot to eat, so, I was starving DD, and I saw the chicken place and my body was like, "girl if you don't stop now, you won't be able to focus in there, and it's gonna be a bad time." She nodded in emphasis, her eyes drifting to the window display, her head tilting as she studied it.

She was bopping restlessly, the toe of her boots making patterns with her movement. Daryl wondered briefly if he should have offered Princess something to eat at his place. It wasn't late, not technically dinnertime yet, whatever time that was supposed to be. He wondered if this type of work made Princess hungry.

"S'fine," Daryl swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thanks."

He'd forgotten to eat lunch and he felt guilty tearing into the burger, finishing half of it in two bites, while he wondered if Carol had eaten, losing his focus for a moment on the state of her meal. He wondered how she was going inside, saying whatever it was that she was going to say to Eugene. Something about not letting Justin get away with what he'd done. He couldn't remember the exact words Carol had mentioned, but they'd been better, credible.

"Thanks." He repeated, so belatedly that Princess seemed puzzled for a moment.

She nodded briskly, and leaned against the jeep. "Hey DD," she spoke quietly, and the dark shine of her eyes flashed vividly in the fluorescence of the store sign. "I have never had a vision before, like that that one I just had with Dog? Usually its like a hazy, dreamy kinda thing, sometimes voices, you know? But that thing with Dog. That has never happened before, okay? And then I got thinkin' about your dreams on the way over here, those ones with Carol?" She watched as Daryl eyed her cautiously. He felt his face shifting with uncertainty, Princess seemed to be tracking his eyes as he trained his gaze on hers', a fresh focus emerging. "Yeah, so anyway, why didn't you tell me 'bout all the water?"

Daryl's uncertainty lingered, he nodded as the fragments came back to him slowly. The water from the hose, himself and Merle, Roxy knee deep in waves in his living room, the water gushing out toward the lake when he opened the door. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, it had seemed wholly insignificant.

"Uh yeah, I guess, there was water'n the house, but that was my brother and his girlfiend. Roxy. Carol wasn't there, she was ... she was down by the lake." The lake with all the water? He pondered dully, watching Princess.

She nodded, then shook her head, her eyes closing tightly. "So okay, DD, keep talking, what'd he say, what'd Merle say?" She pressed her fingers to her temples and arched her body toward Daryl. "Tell me, so I can try to see it."

Daryl blinked. His eyes swept over to Carol's burger. There was another one too, which he figured must be for Eugene. He tried to remember what Merle had been yelling at him. He cleared his throat.

"He said, uh, said to hurry up."

Princess shook her head and then snapped her fingers. "She ain't got all day." she said, and Daryl felt a chill pierce through him.

"Uh, yeah." He nodded once, swallowing uneasily.

Princess nodded, "Okay so, I think what that's telling you is, you don't have much time, yeah? T'get this whole deal sorted." She frowned a little and her eyes drifted. "There was water comin' up from the lake?" She prodded, "and ... in the car park?"

Daryl felt the air empty slowly from his lungs. He tried to reign in the breaths, trembling slightly in his unease, remembering the squeal of Ed's tyres, the sense of hopelessness tugging carelessly at him.

"So maybe, just in case," Princess continued, "maybe tell Carol to stay away from the lake. These fries are top tier DD, want some?"

Daryl shook his head, his tongue darting out over his bottom lip. He thought about his nightmares, about Carol in the car park, the squeal of Ed's tyres.

The glass door swung in, and Carol poked her head around it. He felt his heart stir with routine awe at the sight of her, and he puzzled over the myriad of expressions that flashed across her face. Curiosity settled, as her eyes fell to the carton in Princess's hands.

"Did someone say fries?" She asked, her tone bemused, her lips pursing as the rose in her cheeks swelled softly.

Princess hummed triumphantly, and reached into the back of the car to ease the tray of food out. Daryl immediately held his hands out to lift the items from her arms.

"Here, lemme," he murmured, shifting his weight to accommodate the bundle.

He followed Princess into the store, forming an unspoken question in his glance toward Carol, which she answered with a slow smile, before closing the door behind them.

"Would you like me to lock it, Eugene?" Carol called out and Eugene stepped around the counter, his head tilting stiffly.

"Allow me," he insisted, moving to snap the bolt over the door into place. He turned back to study Princess and Daryl, and then Carol, who smiled warmly at him.

"Eugene?" Princess stuck her hand out and stepped forward, shaking Eugene's hand as she delivered a soft smile, one that managed to spread entirely over her features. "So like I said before, I'm Princess," a flash of uncertainty touched her eyes and then vanished. "It's great to meet you. This place is beautiful. Laura would love it."

Eugene frowned over Princess's words, his eyes flicking to Carol's briefly before he nodded, thanking Princess as he turned to Daryl, who lifted the tray in his hands in greeting, and offered his name in as friendly a tone as he could muster, hoping the sentiment latched. He felt his torso relax as Eugene nodded, and the store owner led them behind the counter to where a small wooden table with several chairs was located.

"Can I heat this up?" Daryl asked, having spotted the microwave set on one of the shelves in the kitchenette. "Princess bought s'all dinner."

"Thank you, that's very kind, but I don't quite have the appetite at the minute." Eugene said flatly, eyeing the burger.

"That's so sweet, I'll have mine later," Carol said quietly, smiling at Daryl.

He set the food down on the little bench, sliding the tray over the faded yellow linoleum, then rested up against it after turning back around.

Eugene hesitated at the table, offering a seat to Carol, who declined it. He sank down into a red leather diner chair, his hands finding the smooth lines of the table's edge and running along its track. Princess sat down in the chair across from him.

"I explained to Eugene that I felt Laura's presence in the cabin," Carol announced, her voice drifting into the small, shadowed space and stilling, as Daryl and Princess eyed her silently.

Daryl felt his breath catch, felt the sharpness of the edge of the bench like a dark temptation, and he shifted himself away from it.

"And that I felt that, maybe ... more could have been done to ensure that justice was served for her."

Eugene's gaze fixed on the table, his shoulders lifting with his shuddering breaths. He nodded at Carol after a moment, it was a slow movement, his eyes closing momentarily, a brief respite that seemed to centre him.

"So, as we discussed," she glanced at the others. "Eugene, we wanted you to meet Princess here, to get your blessing, and to find out if there's anything, anything at all, that might be able to help. And is there anything you would like to ask us?"

"When you say a presence," Eugene started, "you told me it was a feeling." His eyes lifted to Carol's then, and a sincerity exuded from him. "But I need you to be real with me, Carol. Have you seen her? Have you seen my Laura?"

His voice trembled as he framed Laura's name, and though Carol held his gaze, she didn't answer right away.

"Yes." She exhaled slowly, her eyes closing briefly, then lifting to consider Eugene.

He nodded briskly, his movements careful, restrained, and he reached forward to take Princess's hands in his. "Please, if you can, find that ... that S.O.B, pardon my French. For Laura. And for me. He needs to pay for what he did to her." The words flew out, fast and bitter, his voice breaking with his inner turmoil.

Princess nodded once, slowly, her expression one of determination.

"We will, Eugene," Princess soothed. "I promise."

He nodded and leaned back in his chair, his hands lifting to his eyes as he smoothed the trace of moisture that had gathered there. He nodded again as he considered Carol and Daryl.

"What do you need me to do?"

Carol cleared her throat softly. "Can you remember Justin hanging around before Laura passed? I know these are probably questions the police asked."

Eugene nodded, and shook his head, the movements delayed slightly, a little jagged. "The last time I saw him, he was in town and he," Eugene sighed. "He uh.."

Princess squeezed Eugene's hands. "Hey, you don't gotta tell us that story, Eugene, alright?" She pressed her lips together in a reassuring smile.

"Eugene, can I ask you something?" Carol mused softly. "Laura's ashes. Where are they?"

Eugene's eyes darted to Princess's, then back to Carol's. "I took her down to the lake," he explained, a tenderness starting to quaver through his voice again. "It was a beautiful day, and I ..."

Eugene's mouth began to droop and quiver in a manner that tore at something inside Daryl. The trapper cleared his throat and everyone looked up him. Carol, Eugene, Princess.

"Did, uh," Daryl's hands gripped the bench behind him, and he gazed across at Carol's legs, flicked his eyes to the table, considered the way Princess had wrapped her sneakers around the legs of the chair as she sat. "Laura have a dog?" He asked quietly.

He watched as the trembling wave distorted over Eugene's mouth. His nostrils flared. "Yes. She did. His name was Dog. And that no good, piece'o ... m'sorry ma'am," he dipped his eyes at Princess, then Carol, while his eyes burned. "Ma'am. I had received a telephone call from Laura approximately one week beforehand..." he cleared his throat. "Before uh, before I found her..." he swallowed urgently.

Daryl launched himself off the bench and took the few steps over to Carol, settling beside the small cupboard she was leaning up against, and worked his thumbnail into his teeth. He wondered if she'd known that Eugene had been the one to find Laura's body.

"She was upset," Eugene recalled. "Dog, uh ... she said that Justin had been over and, and killed him."

Princess's hands worked their way over Eugene's, and he stared at their entwined fingers sadly.

"We buried him near the lake, under his favourite tree." Eugene nodded. "And we reported it. Which uh, when they questioned me, after, it seemed like it went a fair way to ... to judging what his motivations were."

There was a silence in the room, only the squeaking of chairs as Eugene straightened up and Princess hunched further forward.

"Eugene, how did Laura get the cuts on her hands?" She asked him.

Eugene leaned back a little, his grasp loosening in Princess's fingers. "You saw that? H'well she told me it happened at work. But that's not true is it? He did that to her. Didn't he? She was always so damn careful at work, makin' sure the other contractors followed their W H and S." Eugene took a few careful breaths and turned away. "If you can see that, you must be able't ... I was in and out of that house for nearly two months before it sold the first time. And Laura never appeared to me. Why?" He leaned forward again, imploring Princess, his face searching hers', and his voice changed, hollowing out, rising where it shouldn't have. "Can you answer me that? Why didn't she want to see me?

"She was trying to protect you." Carol answered immediately, and Daryl could tell without looking, that there were tears in her eyes.

"Protect me? From what?" Eugene looked genuinely flabbergasted.

"From Justin,' Carol answered easily, clearing her throat and straightening up, the hemline of her dress warping with the movement.

Daryl inhaled sharply. He felt Carol's focus shift to him, and his hands tensed slightly, so when he exhaled they shook a little and Carol watched his fingers silently, and pressed her lips together.

"I know, I can't be certain, but I know that Laura was afraid of him. And I know that no matter what she did, he kept coming back."

Carol's voice splintered a little as she said that and Daryl shifted closer to her, taking her hand in his. His head was still lowered, but his eyes arched up under his fringe to study her. He wanted to take her away from all of this, couldn't understand why he hadn't thought if it before, just pack up and leave, see the sky from a different state altogether. Then he remembered. Sophia. Laura.

Eugene seemed a little uncertain, perhaps he was moved by Carol's emotion. But he nodded soberly, steeped his fingertips across the surface of the table, and nodded thoughtfully. "Well whatever you can do, I'd be much obliged, truly, and if you can think o'somethin' I might be able to contribute, well I'd like that very much. I just want her to happy. Help her find some peace." His voice wobbled a little as he trailed off.

Carol nodded, easing herself off the cabinet she was leaning against, and Daryl drifted with her. Princess lifted her satchel from the back of the chair and draped it over her shoulder. They farewelled Eugene and he locked the door behind them, immediately dimming the lights inside.

--------

The road was quiet, the other stores had shut hours earlier. A truck was passing through, the dull scrape of its tyres resounding as they shifted around the patch of resurfaced road by Aaron's real estate office. Carol watched it cautiously, watched the street lights swipe across its windows, trying to find her way in through the tint, but the oblique panes of darkness, their reflection, shielded whatever was inside. She felt a warm arm rest over her shoulder and she jumped a little. Daryl's face was lined with concern, Princess's with sympathy, and she shook her head, apologising.

"Don't gotta 'pologise," Daryl murmured, the lines in his face etching deeper.

"Eugene," Princess declared, stepping closer. "He didn't touch Justin. He was scared o'him, of what he was capable of." Her eyes flicked to Daryl's. "But he didn't do nothin' with Justin. That's what I feel." Her fingers inverted towards her chest, the sincerity in her eyes darting to Carol first, then Daryl.

Princess nodded, her eyes tracing over Carol's face, her chin dimpling as the significance of her belief rested over them. More questions had arisen from their short encounter with Eugene, and they needed answers.

"Hey, what was the lot number?" Princess asked suddenly.

She was looking at Daryl, and his face was twisted with confusion.

"Lot number. What lot number?" He shook his head.

Princess shifted her weight from foot to foot, the lace edging of her coat rustling in the sway. She pointed to Daryl's pocket.

"On your phone. From the dream, you got the desert pictures, a vacant lot with cactus and those yellow flowers."

Daryl ran his tongue over his lips and patted his pockets, withdrawing his cell phone. "That was," he switched the phone on and went through his messages. "Desert? Wasn' ... wasn' a dream, was ... was after. Merle's woman," he glanced at Carol briefly and held up the phone, the image of the empty Tuscon lot for sale. "Roxy."

Princess cast her eyes over it. "Lot three seven eight." She murmured, her eyes flicking back up to Daryl's, to Carol's.

Daryl nodded, the confusion settling on his face.

"Three seven eight." Princess repeated decisively, her gaze fixing.

"What," Carol cleared her throat softly. "What does that mean? Three seven eight."

Princess shook her head. "Dunno," she admitted, her shoulders lifting. "But I just think it's ... kinda weird that you got that message right after your dream is all."

Carol turned to Daryl. "What dream?" She asked quietly.

"'S'bout water." Daryl explained. "Been dreamin' about ... water'n ... Princess thinks, we should be careful near it."

Carol felt her eyes darken, felt her mood shifting with the new uncertain threat. Her legs grew heavier as the thought tried to nestle. The day suddenly felt years long, and she wanted nothing more than to stretch out on any surface she could find, and take respite in some form, if only for a minute.

"Have you got somewhere to sleep tonight?" She asked Princess, her mind immediately shifting to the visibility of the roads at night.

"Yeah, yeah. My girl Lydia, she's down in Ekky," Princess smiled. "We're gonna catch up, been awhile, so kinda worked out good. Just, location wise."

"Y'sure?" Daryl offered immediately. "Got a roll-out if you need it, and weather ain't bad."

"Nah," Princess grinned. "Thanks DD, and thank you Carol for invitin' me into your home. I got a few jobs coming up, but after that, if you need me back, I'm your girl."

She pulled Carol into a hug, and then grinned at Daryl as she threw her satchel into the jeep.

"Three seven eight!" She called out as she climbed in, and she circled the jeep around, and extended her arm through the window in a wave as she drove away.

Daryl tentatively lifted a hand to caress Carol's back. "Hey, you okay?"

She turned, folding herself into him, and he murmured into her hair. The vibration in his voice eased into her scalp, like another caress, one that she could very easily drift away with. She wanted nothing more in that moment, than to drift away.

She must have murmured something incohesive, because Daryl didn't move, and she was faintly aware that they were in plain sight on the main street, on a Monday night, that Eugene was still inside. She watched their shadows merge with that of the body of her car. They were simply one being, swaying in the lamplight.

"Y'still ain't eaten." Daryl murmured, his words yet another caress. "Then, let's get you home to bed, 'kay?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Carol murmured, smiling over the words, her amusement fading only because Daryl's body tensed against hers.

"Didn't mean it like that," he wanted to assure her, and he held her up carefully as he pulled himself away from her, catching her eyes with his, his lip falling under the mercy of his teeth.

"I know," she smiled softly.

He nodded, and guided her to the passenger side, gently taking her keys from her with a quirk of his eyebrows. Carol released the set and sank into the seat after Daryl opened the door for her.

Carol's gaze trailed over the rise and fall of the greenery as Daryl drove, watching for a sparkle of light capturing stunned bright eyes, for a sweep of tan fur.

"Daryl? She asked quietly, turning suddenly to study his profile. "Do you think Laura killed him? Killed Justin?"

She heard Daryl's sharp intake of breath, watched him swallow as he processed the question, watched him glance at her, and fix his eyes back on the road. "Didn't..." he exhaled harshly. "Ain't he the one that killed her?"

Carol turned back to the tree lined roadside. They were almost home. "Yeah. The same way he was going to ... he tried to .. kill me."

Daryl took a moment with her answer. Carol watched as his jaw clenched, as he took a few unsteady breaths, his hands tensing over the steering wheel.

"Y'think they killed each other?" He asked finally.

"Yeah? Maybe."

"Think she killed him, somehow got him down in the basemen'? Then he ... after he ah, h-he got her?"

Carol felt her eyes well up. She felt herself unravelling, and she tried to fight it. But a sob rose despite her efforts, a wrenching, desperate hitch that caught in her breath as she tried to steady it, and her shoulders trembled.

Daryl pulled the car over and unlatched his seat belt, pulled up the hand brake and reached over the divide. "Hey, c'mere." He quickly drew Carol into an embrace, and she rested her head against his shoulder, her arms finding their way around his torso.

"I can't stand the thought of her being trapped in there with him." She whispered.

Daryl was rubbing her back, the movement clear and precise. She felt her tears start to spill and he tensed, his fingers clutching at the fabric of her dress, as though he thought he could stem the flow, ease it somehow.

"We'll find 'im." Daryl promised, pulling her tighter still, as he absorbed her rhythm of distress. The wind picked up around the car, the leaves plummeted and scattered, and the branches swayed.

When Daryl finally released her, his left hand trailed over the silver tufts at her ear, catching one last tear before it descended. Carol pressed her palm to her other cheek, and then went hunting through her bag for Kleenex, murmuring an apology as she shifted.

"Don' apologise," Daryl pleaded quietly.

"I've felt like that before, you know," Carol sat back up and blew her nose. She dumped the tissue in the little car bin between the seats. "With Ed. There were times when it ... got really bad," she pressed her lips together and Daryl watched her, his body rigid. "And I wanted, just wanted him to go away. I wanted him ... gone, I," she turned away, the curve of her jaw distorting as the bones realigned. "I"m not proud of this Daryl but if he'd, if there'd been a ... a car accident," there was a desperate pleading slide to her expression, she shook her head, and threw her hands up gently.

"I get it," he whispered urgently, "Carol, y'ain't gotta say all this, 'kay, I get it. I used to ..." Carol turned to look at him, but whatever Daryl was going to say had already been swallowed, pushed down, or away, and he was fighting to maintain his composure.

"I don't know what happened with Laura," Carol started again, "if it was an accident, or if she ...," she leaned back in her chair suddenly, slumping in her seat, and when she spoke, her voice had pitched an octave higher. "It's too much Daryl. I can't expect you to ... to put up with all this, it's ... it's not worth it." She turned to him then, the tears renewed in her eyes.

Daryl caught one of her hands, then took the other one and brought them together, pressed them delicately between his palms.

"You serious?" He eyed her searchingly.

When after a moment, she hadn't answered, or shifted, and was still looking back at him, her lips quivering, and her eyes falling, Daryl took a deep breath and shifted his body toward her.

"Carol, you're worth ..." he took a deep breath.

Whatever he wanted to say, Carol sensed, was fighting its way through the overwhelm for the surface. Daryl seemed to be sorting through a myriad of possibilities, and she couldn't help but dread each one.

"Seeing every damn ghost on the planet, hearin' every ... bad thought, or what y'think is bad, but s'just ... what anybody else'd think." She was frowning, trying to sort through his words to find his meaning, and his shoulders seemed to lower when he saw that. His right hand travelled up her arm until it was cradling her face again. “You're worth it,” He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Ain't going' nowhere," he tried to hold her gaze. "'Less you want me to."

Carol shook her head immediately and dipped her head to kiss him, her lips finding his, urgently, and she pressed all her doubts against his mouth to smother them, repeating his words silently back to him with the stroke of her tongue, with the grasp of her fingers, woven in his shirt. You're worth it.

-------

Carol went straight up to the loft without debate, but she held onto Daryl's hand so tightly, and gazed so desolately at him, her face open and fragile, that he followed her up, swallowing every excuse he'd prepared, in order not to.

"We don't have to do anything," she said quietly.

"Wasn't gonna try nothin'," he said in succession, and he felt his face reach towards hers in such a way that he hoped she'd nod, or smile. He felt her hand pull his closer.

"I know," she smiled gently, her gaze burrowing into him. "I know, Daryl. Anyway, there's always tomorrow." Her lips curled and Daryl tried to steady the feeling of whiplash that catapulted within him.

She was asleep in just a few minutes, having drawn Daryl's arm over her middle, and nestled into his shoulder. He felt secured, solaced by the closeness of her. As he listened to her breaths rise and fall, he drifted too, and it wasn't long after that, that the dreams began.

Chapter Text

Carol realised she was dreaming when Dog's thick coat, sun warmed and sinewy soft, folded out of her fingers without a trace of water. There was a gazebo set up in her backyard, Laura's backyard, and Laura was watching Carol, a soft smile lighting her features. Her blonde head tilted back as Eugene leaned over her chair to kiss her forehead, his fingers lightly trailing through her hair. Carol took a seat beside the ghost and looked out across the lake. There was no water in it for some reason. Instead a vast expanse of cracked, dry earth stretched out from the jetty, as far as she could see. Carol felt warm, content. The arid landscape filled her with an inexplicable sense of relief.

Laura's lips snagged gently on her teeth as she gazed up at Eugene.

"I left my tools at work," she murmured, and he nodded briskly.

"Well, I'll go on now and get 'em." He dipped his head in farewell to Carol after placing another kiss on the top of Laura's head, then started his journey up to the house.

"Thanks Haircut," Laura called fondly, her arm still stretching out toward him as she watched him go.

Then she turned back to Carol and leaned across the table, her elbows resting on the glass surface, her small hands cupping her face as it reached thoughtfully forward.

"He brought me back here," she explained calmly, one shoulder lifting in the direction of the lake. "In a little box. He was going to sprinkle me on the lake, but before he could get there, he tripped," she snorted softly. "And he spilled me all over the ground," she gestured to the area where the grass splintered over the inclination into the lake, and she tried to hide a smile that pressed insistently.

There was a little cross fixed at the trunk of a maple tree in the vicinity, adorned with neat lettering, three letters neatly scribed. Dog. Laura covered her mouth as a brief swell of laughter swept through her.

"I shouldn't laugh, I know," She apologised. "But he just looked so forlorn, and it just seemed so ... typical. Not of him so much, just, the situation, I don't know," her smile faltered. "It just made me laugh. He always makes me laugh." She lifted a finger to her eye where a tear of mirth was followed immediately by another one, and her mouth distorted with sadness.

Dog nuzzled his head into Laura's lap and, delighted, Laura rubbed her hands across his fur.

"It was you, wasn't it? Tripping Daddy up? Just so I could hang out with you. You missed me, didn't you?" Laura shook her hair out as she glanced back up at Carol.

"Was it Dog?" Carol asked suddenly. "That tripped Daryl up that day he saw the fire, or was it Justin? Or ... you?" She thought back to the day Daryl had brought her a slab of venison, the way he'd tripped back over his property line.

Laura appeared to ignore Carol's question. She turned her attention back to Dog and made a face, kissed him square on the nose. "Looks like rain!" She announced.

Carol's eyes darted to the sky, just as a sheet of water began to spill over the roof of the gazebo. Not rain, but endless waves of water flooded around them, as Dog whimpered and backed up, as Laura shifted onto her knees on the wooden planks, to comfort him, watching as the torrents lifted up around their ankles.

"It's not real," Laura stated, in a faintly mocking tone. "Ain't real." She repeated, in a melodious exhalation.

Carol gasped and woke up. She was in Daryl's bed, in the darkness, where he was stretched out beside her, asleep, dreaming restlessly. For a moment, Carol tried to make sense of the gloom enveloping her. She was curled sideways in Daryl's bed. She'd changed the sheets the day before, hung the other set out on a line that Daryl had pitched between one corner of the roof and the nearest tree. There were numerous folds, bunched across the mattress, scattered ripples of worn out thread. Carol had thought fleetingly about buying a few more sets, had wondered if Daryl would be offended by her offer to do so.

It dawned on her slowly that there were little lamps fixed into the bedside tables, and she immediately found the switch on her side, and illuminated the space around her. When she turned back to Daryl, she realised he was having a nightmare. The whole length of his body twitched and trembled, and as Carol shifted closer to him, she heard him whimpering, issuing soft clicking sounds. It sounded faintly as though his voice was trying to form her name.

"Daryl?" Carol braced her arm against his, and pressed it against his torso, leaning into him with the brunt of her body weight, and tried to shake him awake. "Daryl!"

He jolted out of the nightmare, and the movement rocked her lightly. She'd steadied herself enough to prepare for his stirring, but she held her head back as his other arm got caught up under his pillow, then went fumbling across his side table, where it smacked into the lamp.

Daryl twisted around to study Carol briefly and then fell back against his pillow. He sat back up a moment later, reaching forward, one hand finding her nearest arm.

"You okay?" He rasped.

"I'm fine," Carol shifted on the mattress. She eased herself carefully back against the headboard. There was nothing visible through the crack of skylight now, just an endless ribbon of darkness. "You were having a nightmare. You okay?"

Daryl nodded, ran his hands through his hair, tried to clear his throat. He took Carol's closest hand, folded it into his and nodded into it, fitted their fingers together before Carol brought them over her knee.

"Water." He shrugged, his voice still thick with sleep. "Lots'f it."

"That's weird," Carol placed her other hand over their entwined digits, trapping them gently. "I dreamt all the water was gone. But … then it came back."

Daryl grunted softly in acknowledgement, his eyes falling closed. He shuffled down the headboard until he was resting on the pillow again, and he tugged Carol's hand gently until she nestled down beside him.

"Laura was there." She murmured.

"Mm?"

"With Dog. She said Eugene fell over. Tripped, he dropped her ashes on the ground."

What Daryl murmured next was lost in the rustle of the sheets as Carol rolled over to face him. He seemed more alert suddenly, though his eyes were still closed. His eyebrows had gathered, and he swallowed, his breathing distorted. Carol said his name softly and he murmured something low in his throat. His eyes opened a crack and he rolled over to press his lips to her forehead, let his arm trail over her back until they were cradling each other in a restful embrace, with a closeness that felt disarmingly natural, but that was still so new, Carol noted it cautiously. Her free hand went up over Daryl's back and she felt him tense beneath her touch. Her hand stilled until she could feel him breathing again, and then her fingers trailed gently down to the hemline of his shirt and eased up under it. Daryl's arm sprung up suddenly, lifting hers away.

"Sorry." She whispered immediately, pulling her hand back and lifting herself up onto her elbow.

Daryl's head dipped, his face was grave, and he eased away from her carefully until he was sitting up, and facing away from her, though his head tilted back in her direction.

"I, uh," he twisted his torso to look at her properly, and she shifted until she was sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. His eyes fell to her mouth, then rose somewhere higher, just below her eyes. "I got scars." He explained quietly, in almost a whisper, before he exhaled loudly, a wave of uncertainty passing through him, and his gaze swept up to her eyes.

There was something in it that Carol recognised. Pain, uncertainty, fear. She wanted to extinguish the fear immediately, to make Daryl understand that he had nothing to fear from her. She watched him warily, her lips pursing gently.

"Oh. I ... I've got scars too," she whispered, and her gaze tried to find its way further into his'. "How did ... Daryl? What happened?"

Daryl took a shallow breath and exhaled slowly. He started to work his fingers over his knees before he looked back up at her. "My Daddy," his shoulders rolled forward, in some movement that looked like he was trying to shrug off a truth that was clearly too painful to carry, but he couldn't quite complete the action. "He uh ... well, you told me about ... Ed, so..."

Carol felt her heart start to thud at a pace that rattled every breath she tried to oust. Her mind was drawing the connection uneasily, between Ed and what he'd done to her, and Daryl's father and whatever damage was hidden under his clothes. Daryl started to lift his shirt, and Carol's nearest hand darted out to stop him.

"You don't ... Daryl, you don't owe me anything." She blurted out, her tone clear, a little sharper than she intended.

She felt fully awake then, and her hand lifted cautiously, longing to anchor itself to some part of Daryl, but she refused to let it set. Daryl looked confused, the expression wavered across his face before he nodded, and his lower lip went curling into his mouth. His weight shifted on the mattress, as he started to pull at his shirt again. He lifted it off as he turned away from her with the urgency and solemnity of someone ripping a bandaid off, letting Carol see the raised lines, his scarred flesh. His head drooped as her breath caught, but before he could pull the shirt back on, her hand went gingerly onto his upper arm and he twisted back to her, the marks across his chest registering dully as his eyes crept hesitantly up to hers'. Carol gazed back at him, words failing her, but her lips flattened in acknowledgement. She then pulled her own shirt up over her head and watched as Daryl's mouth worked softly, his eyes shadowing in a delayed mirror of her own expression. Then she wrapped her arms around him, her face first dipping to study his, to see if he would allow her to. Daryl's arms were stiff, his breath was caught up somewhere high in his throat, but he let his head fall gently against hers, and Carol began to stroke the locks at his neck, her thumb tracing the scattering pulse in his throat.

After a few minutes, he shifted back, his hands held gently out for her, until he was stretched out on his back against the mattress, his head resting on his pillow. His arms were still reaching for Carol, and she drifted into them, shifting to drape herself silently across his chest.

All her words seemed caught up in her throat, where her heart continued its uncomfortable thrum, a distant yet familiar reckoning. It was a rhythm Carol had felt whenever Ed had looked at Sophia, when he'd used their daughter to threaten Carol. It was a nauseating, violent pulse, that washed its fevered swell right through her. It beat now as the lines on Daryl's torso imprinted in her mind, as she tried to normalise her breathing, as she listened to his, as she pressed her lips to his chest, to his shoulder. As his breathing hitched, her fingers ventured across the marred expanse to the dip below his shoulder. Daryl's hand clasped over hers' there, and gripped it gently, until they drifted wearily, together, until the narrow darkness shaped in the skylight above brightened, and day finally arrived.

-------

Irma and Dale returned mid-morning, when Carol was still at work. They seemed tired, particularly so, as Dale held up his arm at the fence line, a tiny greeting from across Carol's yard. Daryl returned the gesture, his head dipping in secondary acknowledgement, before he twisted back to his work. He'd had an order for three hides come through and he'd taken them out of the freezer to thaw along a stretch of plastic by his fence line. As he looked back up again, he spotted a patch of light dancing up over the hill up toward Carol's deck, and he stood up and watched it filter, watched the light flicker and roll, and tried to make out its shape.

Carol had cooked breakfast that morning, scrambled eggs with sourdough toast while he'd taken a shower. He'd fallen back into a dreamless sleep after the bearing of their scars, and woken up hard against Carol's hip, thrusting slowly up against it, his face buried in her neck. He'd twisted back abruptly as soon as he'd realised, tried to shift himself around, but Carol had an arm gently pinning him, warm around his hips. She'd moaned softly into the mattress, her body drifting along with his movement, despite how gently he'd tried to extract himself from her grasp. She'd murmured something so comfortingly dismissive, it had made him want to stay. But the thought of staying had unsettled him. Carol's tender malleability, the warmth of her, the strength of his desire for her, and so many other unknowns, had started flooding his mind the second she'd started to stir. He'd wanted nothing more in that foggy stirring of morning, than to start moving against her, and never stop. But he'd been afraid that would happen, and that Carol wouldn't want that, so he'd carefully extracted himself from her grasp, and gone downstairs to take a shower.

Under the pliant strands of water, he'd played back the softness of her breasts, the lace of her bra pressing over them, the heat of her breath, and her fingers trailing light across his throat. He'd jerked off as the steam lifted up around him, as he'd pressed his forehead into the tiles, found the grooves in their pattern, and tried to grunt quietly when he came.

When he'd emerged from the bathroom, damp and fresh, the house had smelled the way he'd pictured homes in TV sitcoms smelled. It had smelled that way since the second day Carol had woken up here. She'd smiled at him that morning in the same way she'd smiled at him this morning, her eyes creasing, her chin dimpling. She'd seemed a little uncertain today, her smile faltering as he'd drawn closer to her. She'd run her fingers through his hair, pressed her lips to his forehead, the blue in her eyes as vast as any clear sky he'd witnessed. He wanted her in a way that he'd never wanted anything, anyone, before.

Some other part of him wanted her to reject him, and get it over with. He knew that he was getting too close to her, too reliant on her presence. That, for all the unspoken promises they seemed to have made in their one declaration, he remained an eternally broken person. There was no fixing the past and what it had made him. He knew Carol's options were limited, but she still hadn't left yet. She hadn't gone to Sophia's, or a motel. She'd held him, murmured reassurances he didn't understand. He didn't know what to make of it, thought at the end of the day it probably didn't mean as much as he wanted it to. The wounds Ed had inflicted on Carol had somehow entwined with his own in his mind, which made them worse somehow, a greater sum of hatred, every little misstep taken, an endless stretch of mistakes and intentional damage. But all those moments had scabbed over now, the light showed that, Carol's eyes showed it, showed her strength.

When she'd left for work, Daryl had stared after her car for minutes, turned to study the cabin and what he couldn't see inside. His legs had swayed toward the front door, he'd stared at the wooden panel for an age until the urge to go inside finally wavered, as though Carol's hand was on his shoulder, her mouth at his ear, urging him back.

In the afternoon, the hides had thawed and Daryl hung them over the racks in his backyard. Carol turned her car down into his driveway for the first time, and he realised she should have done it days ago. It made his heart shift with a peculiar swell, as he watched her cross the front yard over to the front deck, up the steps, and into his arms.

They had a coffee at the Horvaths, Irma showing Carol where the rabbits had found their way into the vegetable patch before Daryl had worked his magic. Dale mentioned slides before anyone had lifted their mugs to take their first sips. He pitched a future evening with wine, and good craft beer, at which point he'd turned to Daryl, his eyebrows raised. There would also be a roast, now that the whole sorry affair with the CWD was over. Dale had waved his hand dismissively, but his eyes had shone as he'd spoken about the sunsets he and Irma had settled under, the vastness, and the smell of the earth, the petrichor.

It was dusk when Daryl and Carol left, and the cabin seemed to draw them up to it, as though some mystic, wordless pull was at play. They found themselves standing in it, at the basement door, without having uttered a word about their intentions. But they knew. They'd known since Princess had explained it all to them. They had to go down there and look.

------

Carol watched as Daryl turned to her, his eyes gleaming with some combination of reassurance and concern. She smiled thinly, the sentiment behind it one of love and hope, but she knew she'd failed in her effort to impart exactly that.

She looked down at the floorboards and realised that water was starting to spill out from under the doorway. The corners of Daryl's mouth lifted, and Carol knew that he was about to step forward, and pull on the handle. But before she could say anything, lift her voice, or her hands to stop him, Daryl had opened the door and was stepping into the space behind it. A surge of water spilled out into the hall, pooling around the legs of the hall table, and around Daryl's and Carol's feet. Carol gasped and Daryl turned to her. All she could see behind the door was a thick darkness, like the sea at night, swirling forward in ripples, out into the hall and farther back into the basement. An opaque body of water swished and rolled, small panels of pale walls reared up silently above it. Carol's mouth parted further, her eyes widened, and Daryl frowned.

"What?" He asked uneasily. "What is it?"

"The ...?" Carol's questionning gaze twisted as she tried to read Daryl's confusion. It was different to her own. "The water! It's ... I don't understand, Daryl. Where is it all coming from?"

Daryl turned back to the rippling bands of liquid, waves of fluorescent lines sweeping over his feet, and he shook his hair back as he turned to look at Carol, and his frown deepened.

"You see water?" He murmured, his voice unsteady. "Where is it?"

Stunned, Carol could only look back down at their feet. She swallowed hesitantly and waded toward Daryl, clutching at his arm.

"Daryl, you're standing in it. The entire basement is flooded! You don't see it?"

Daryl tracked Carol's gaze with a faint trace of horror. A shadow emerged between them.

"No," his voice was low, uneasy. "I don't see any water."

Chapter Text

"What's it look like?"

"It's ... murky. Kind of bluergh. Looking."

"Y'can't see through it?"

Carol shook her head and Daryl nodded briskly, his chin dipping forward as he quickly scanned her face. Both of his hands went up, raking through his hair as he started to pace the length of the short hallway, his shadow distorting over the grain patterns in the floorboards.

"Let's go." He said with a note of finality, and every part of his body seemed to motion towards the front door, back to his place.

Carol's feet were planted firmly over the polished floorboards, over the same intricate lines and weaving she'd watched Daryl's haze loom over. She shook her head firmly, felt a shimmer emerge in her eyes, they stung softly, and she gazed at Daryl, imploring him quietly.

"I can't," she whispered.

Every muscle in Daryl's body seemed to tense, but his resolve shifted away from the exit he was hoping for, back towards Carol.

"Y'can't go in that water, Carol," he pleaded, his voice low.

"If it's not," she swallowed quickly, turning her head, remembering Justin, and she wondered if he was listening, how much of her energy he was able to draw from her in this moment. "If it's not the water, it'll be something else, Daryl."

Daryl's tongue darted out over his lower lip and he nodded. He stepped into Carol's space, lifting her chin, his gaze sinking deeper into hers'. His eyes were bright and endless, she wanted to sink into them, into his arms, and let everything melt away.

"Know it's," he sighed, a dozen possibilities flashing across his face. "S'your cabin, you and Laura. Know ya ... can't imagine how much y'put into the place, but Carol," his hands were gripping her upper arms, a desperate tremble was clinging to his voice. "Just. Maybe it ain't worth all this, y'know? Maybe it's time t'let it go." He was whispering by then and as he did, the trail of water around their ankles started to ease it's rise.

Carol watched as the dense liquid ceased its spread through the hallway and started to fall away. It swept slowly out, away from them, down the basement stairs and under the railing. Entranced, Carol followed its cascade, with Daryl murmuring his bewilderment, his hand shifting to her back.

"What is it," he wanted to know, and Carol's answer was the tail end of the question he'd asked her earlier.

She took another step toward the basement, but Daryl wrapped an arm around her torso, and his grip tightened as the distance between them grew. There was a whimper in his breath, his voice unsteady as he pleaded with her.

"Don't go in the water, Carol please. Just let me go."

She felt both his hands gripping her waist then, felt something shift inside him, heard a new resolve emerge in his voice. Suddenly she was the one to tense up, to argue, and she started pleading with him, her voice so much quieter than she needed it to be.

"No." She shook her head again, firmly.

No! She was screaming inside.

"Daryl, I don't want you to do that, I don't want you to, there's gotta be another way." She was racking her brain, trying to think of some other way around the water.

Daryl's hands lifted to her shoulders. His eyes contained everything she'd ever wanted.

"Hey, Laura ain't gonna let nothin' happen, alright?"

"But it's like ... it feels like he's trying to separate us, Daryl. That's what he wants."

Daryl shook his head. "Nothin's gonna come between us. Y'hear me?" He nodded and Carol stared vacantly at him for a moment, before she felt her head moving gently up and down.

The water had receded to the bottom step and Daryl slowly eased his way down the stairs, letting Carol cling to his arm until they were halfway down the staircase.

"Can y'see now?" His eyes bore warily into hers, and Carol knew that he wouldn’t leave her if she didn't want him to.

She nodded again, her eyes dampening softly. She could see down as far as the basement window.

"Alright," he nodded. "If it starts comin' back up, don't wait for me, just go. Y'hear? Just get y'self outside. I'll be right behind you," his thumb went trailing over Carol's cheek, gently smoothing the skin below her left eye. "I promise."

Carol wasn't sure what possessed her to let go of Daryl, what prevented the words
she needed him to hear, from working their way out of her mouth. But as she stood, paralysed, on that step, watching him walk away from her, the water lifted back up around her, and she tried to call out to him, but couldn't. She clung to the banister, and tried to pull herself up, as the water seeped through her clothing, frozen and murky, until she could hear only the roar of it as she tried to stumble upwards. The water swarmed around her, rapidly disorienting her, until she lost her bearings, and her voice, and could see nothing at all.

-------

Daryl was too afraid to look back, he wanted Carol out of the basement, out of the cabin as soon as possible. As he stepped out onto the cool concrete, he let Princess's parting words play back in his mind, and tried to make good use of them.

"Three seven eight." He murmured to himself. "Three seven eight." He took three steps forward before looking either side of himself.

He was within a metre of the wall to his left, so he turned and paced seven steps to the right. The last step placed him directly in front of the Northern wall of the basement, and as Daryl studied the pine fixtures before him, the smooth grain and the metal fastenings, he murmured softly to himself. Eight.

Eight.

The wall didn't seem out of place in the surroundings, there was nothing obviously different about it, he hadn't even noticed it on his previous brief passage through the area, when he'd waved Sophia's sage around. Inspecting the joinery now, Daryl noted that it differed slightly to the other walls, it was a shade or two lighter, though it looked like it had been varnished to match. The panels seemed to retain a slightly alternate texture, so the light reflected in the sheen differently. When his fingers went out to graze softly over the pine, Daryl noted that the section jutted out further than the rest of the Southern wall, leaving a tiny gap beside a sturdy workbench. It was wide enough for a body to be stored inside, he mused silently to himself, and he counted the panels. Six moderate sections crossing through the middle, and skirted at the ceiling with the Western wall. One large, thin panel was fixed vertically beside the workbench, boxing the entire structure in. Then there was another thin panel fixed horizontally below. Eight panels in total, of differing sizes. Daryl wondered if that counted. It was a stretch, it was all a stretch, a giant scramble for something in the middle of a seeming mass of nothingness.

S'too easy, he thought to himself, with a flash of irritation. Someone must'a checked this already.

He turned sharply to run his eyes over Carol's body. She was sitting on the stairs, her arms laced through the banister. The image stole his breath for a moment, took him right back to the night he'd found her clinging to the upstairs banister, took him back to his dreams, to the tree, and the water. He tried to calm himself enough to focus, and turned back to the panels, pondering how best to pry them open.

"Let me know if that water comes back." He called out over his shoulder to Carol, and he shifted his attention back to the pine wall pressed smooth beneath his palm.

He scanned the workbench for a wrench, a hammer, for something with a grip and a blade, and as he did, Merle's voice washed over him.

"Ohh," the familiar whine started, gruff and knowing, the one that needled so easily under Daryl's skin. "Think y'can play Mr Fixit now, do ya, Darylina?"

Daryl waved his hand irritably, as though he was swatting at a fly. "Shut up Merle." He hissed faintly, hoping Carol didn't hear him.

Merle's voice went away as quickly as it had materialised, and with a pang of regret, Daryl found himself wishing it would return. Three seven eight he hissed to himself desperately. He tried to make his brain find some other memory that might assist him, something else that Princess had mentioned.

Tell Carol to stay away from the lake. You don't have much time, yeah? T'get this whole deal sorted.

Daryl reached across the bench to pick up a hammer and twisted back to face the pine section of wall beside him.

You don't have much time, yeah?

She ain't got all day.

Merle's voice was back, overlapping Princess's.

She ain't got all day.

This time a sinister tone had lifted up around the edges, and Daryl spun on his heel, his neck arching as he checked on Carol. He took one step toward her, and that's when he remembered that he'd never seen the water, that only Carol had seen it.

The sinister tone lifted up again, tainted with streaks of malevolence, twisting with shards of spite in drab amusement.

That's right asshole, she ain't got all day.

Daryl reached the steps in several clear strides and his heart burst and sank, as his eyes lifted to Carol's face. Her arms had twisted up around the banister, behind her head, but her hands were stuck open, her fingers curled but limp, hovering. Her eyes had closed peacefully, but her mouth was open, gaping like a fish pulled from the water, the spitting image of his dream.

"Carol?!" He hissed gently, rushing up the steps to scoop her into his arms, carefully disentangling her limbs from their loop around the banister.

She was lighter than he anticipated, and as he pumped his legs, his boots heavy on the stairs, he felt the coldness of her body seep slowly into him. As he neared the landing, Carol's body felt suddenly heavier in his arms. He heard her gasp, heard the sound of water breaching around his head and shoulders, and he felt a sudden dampness saturate his clothes. As he struggled up the final step, with horror, Daryl finally saw the water. Not in the basement or on the stairs around him, but drenching Carol, and everything she touched. He watched the water fall from her in streams, and snake rapidly down the stairs. Her clothing was saturated, her eyelashes were fused in delicate spikes, she was coughing up and spluttering through mouthfuls of murky liquid that spilled over her lips as she gasped, and strained for breath. Daryl's shirt and pants were soon drenched with her run-off, and he darted for the hallway, settling her breathlessly against the nearest wall, so that he could scan his eyes over her properly.

"You okay? Carol!"

His hands were gripping her shoulders, he tried to straighten her head as it flopped to the side. He was whimpering like a wounded animal, gasping irregularly as she coughed and wheezed, and he pleaded with her urgently.

"Carol? Please, talk to me, please. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

With a pause for effort, to ensure she was ready to be moved again, Daryl lifted Carol carefully, and eased her through the hall, stepping as carefully as he could. The water spilled out over the polished floorboards, and his boots skidded slightly when they hit it, but he was eventually able to make his way out onto the gravel, and over to the grass on his property line, where all traces of the water vanished, apart from its impact, the chill of it, where Carol's lips were blue and quivering, and her entire body trembled.

Daryl set her down carefully, one arm tight under her arms, before he half lifted, half walked her back to his house, and into the bathroom, where he guided her onto the little bench in the corner, and he adjusted the taps in the shower, his eyes wild and haunted. His hand shook under the stream, his lip was bleeding from the scrape of his teeth across it, where somewhere in his efforts he'd snagged the flesh too roughly and hadn't noticed. Carol's eyes didn't seem able to track anything yet, her veins were fragile blue details across her pale, ashen skin. Some part of her still seemed trapped in the water. Her skin was still icy to touch. Daryl pressed one hand against her temple, her forehead, and then he lifted her back onto her feet as carefully as he could, tested her strength and balance, his breath rushing out with acute relief when he realised she was able to take her own weight.

"Water's ready," his breath was still a stuttered collection of gasps that he was working to straighten. "Carol?"

She didn't move, she just seemed to stare at him, without really seeing anything.

His hands slipped down her shoulders, his concern warped relentlessly, in short, fevered swells. "Y'want me to get Sophia?"

"No," she sobbed softly, in a whisper which was barely audible. She took a shallow breath and then seemed able to find her voice again. "No, I want you." She whispered, still unseeing.

Daryl ran a hand across his face and nodded slowly. He watched Carol carefully, moved slower than he felt he needed to, lifted her shirt up for her, helped her lower her pants, carefully averting his eyes as she stepped out of them. When she was standing in her underwear, Daryl ran his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face and her eyes to him.

"Just hop in like this, 'kay?" He murmured gently. "I'll go get you a change o'clothes. Quickest way to warm up, y'gotta get warm, sweetheart."

Carol nodded, vacantly, and stepped into the cubicle. She let the hot water run over her, flinching as it hit her face, and Daryl berated himself internally, for putting her back in the water, for letting her get stuck in it in the first place.

He raced out of the bathroom, urgently reminding himself that they were safe here, there were no ghosts, it wasn't the cabin. He grabbed a fresh set of Carol's underwear, some warmer clothes, and set a pot of water over the stove to start heating up.

When he made it back to the bathroom, Carol had already hopped out of the shower, and was wrapping a towel around herself.

"Sorry," he hissed, pressing his weight back into his prominent heel.

"No, stay!" Carol pleaded, and her tone was so sharp and fragile, that he did.

He placed her clothing on the basin and watched it rest there, studied the lines of the folds, and the steam warp in the mirror, as Carol dried herself, until he felt her small hand reach past him to pick up her underwear. He took in a breath and remembered the pot of water.

"Uh, got coffee," he cleared his throat, and then disappeared into the kitchen.

He tried to make his hands work, felt the sharp curves of the mugs, of the spoon against his flesh, felt the softness of the granules as he measured and stirred. When he turned back, Carol was entering the space beside the kitchen, fully dressed, a towel draped around her neck. Her hair was lightly damp, shining beneath the ambient glow of the wall lamp.

"Daryl?" Her voice had retained a soft quiver, and a shadow that he didn't understand, which streaked throughout her hesitation. She took a step toward him, her lower lip trembling, the colour restored to a soft, shining pink. "You were right," she murmured. "And I'm sorry."

Daryl shook his head, no, Carol, he murmured. He left the mugs resting on the bench and reached out for her.

Carol strained against his grip, wanting to see the thoughts flashing in his eyes. "You were," she insisted. "It's time to cut my losses. Laura doesn't want me there. She doesn't want us to find Justin's bones."

Daryl's grasp loosened and he stepped back further to study Carol's face. "She tell y'that?"

There were layers in her eyes, exhaustion, stress, bewilderment. Daryl tried to see through them.

"You said she'd protect us, but it was her Daryl, it was Laura, trapping me under the water. I couldn't," Carol stopped, her eyes shutting when she heard the unsteadiness of her voice.

Daryl felt the fevered waves lift again, and they started to crash through him with a force that seemed to hold no end. He squeezed his eyes shut, needing to hear Carol better, needing to know exactly what she was trying to say, so that he didn't miss a thing.

"Laura did this to you?" He heard himself asking.

"I couldn't move. Or call out to you."

As she continued, Daryl nodded, apologising again and again, until Carol shook her head, her hands lifting to his face, as though to stop him.

"We didn't think about what would happen with his bones. Daryl? What were we going to do, call the police?"

Daryl stared at Carol for a moment, then shrugged, slowly, thoughtfully. He felt suddenly terrified of giving the wrong answer. The correct one seemed to elude him completely.

"And then, what would happen to Eugene?" Carol concluded, emotion unsettling her voice even further. "That's what she's worried about. She doesn't want him to take the fall for what she did."

"What he did," Daryl asserted quietly, practically growling, the hostility in his voice, slicing like a dull blade through the air. "Justin. S'his fault. All'a this." He pressed.

He rocked back and forth on his feet for a restless moment, then handed Carol her mug of coffee, ensuring she had it gripped firmly, before he released it. Then he turned to the overhanging cupboards in his kitchen, and lifted out a small stack of papers. He waved them in front of Carol gently before he set them down beside her.

"This that information y'got from that reporter?" He asked quietly.

Carol noted the blacked out sections and nodded slowly, her fingers lifting to her mouth as she looked back at him, her features taut.

"Got his brother's details on it? Located up in Lexington. Thought maybe we could..."

"Could what?"

Daryl shrugged and inspected the linoleum curling up onto the baseboards of his lower cupboards. He pressed the nearest edge down with the toe of his boot and glanced cautiously at Carol.

"Thought maybe we could, find out ... I dunno. If there was somethin' he might'a wanted? Justin."

Carol's eyes darkened instantly. "Something he wants?" Her tone was harsher than Daryl expected it to be, and he realised immediately, belatedly, that he'd said the wrong thing.

He tried to back track, but Carol's body language challenged him. Her shoulders straightened as she leaned forward. Her eyes pierced his, and her jaw tensed until her mouth was set in a straight line, and Daryl watched it, clung to the visual, hesitant to meet her eyes again.

"A'int sayin he gets what he wants," he declared quietly. "Just sayin', if we at least know what that is, it might help. If he gets in the way of us tryin'a do what we need to. Next time."

"But this? Today? Was Laura." Carol insisted. "And, there isn't going to be a next time." She huffed.

"But now we know, well ... we think we do. So we can tell her. That nothin's gonna happen to Eugene."

"Nothing?" Carol's hands flailed briefly, then she pressed them to her temples. "What were we thinking Daryl? Digging up his bones and then what, just tossing them out on the side of the road? I don't even know if that's just one law we'd be breaking. Tampering with a body?"

Daryl shook his head, confused by her assertion. "Ain't doin' nothing' illegal." He reassured her. He stepped forward to lift his hands gingerly to her arms. "Nothin' like that. No need for that. Didn't you say Eugene had an alibi?" Carol shook her head, That was for Laura, he recalled their conversation, and he tried to backtrack carefully, to find another way forward. "We just," he sighed, his head lowering, the possibilities, the doubts weighing, shifting through him. "Laura's gotta understand," he pleaded with Carol. "We're doing this to help her too."

"She's a ghost," Carol blinked. "And she doesn't want our help. Not if it means Eugene gets hurt."

"If she didn't want us findin' Justin, then why didn't she come after me?" Daryl murmured.

"She did," Carol whispered. "She knew, you wouldn't let anything happen to me."

"She tried to kill you!" Daryl hissed, but Carol shook her head, her palm pressing firmly to his chest. He sighed harshly, his hand easing gently over hers. He studied the linoleum below them. "Fuck it," he straightened up suddenly, and Carol flinched, minutely, and Daryl felt her flicker work its way into his own body. He sought her gaze then, pushing back against her steely resolve with his own. "I don't give a shit what she wants. Not if it puts you in harm's way. Y'don't deserve all this shit, Carol. S'gonna end."

Carol watched Daryl silently, her eyes fixing on his, the tension shifting in her jaw. When she leaned forward this time, it was to set her mug down on the kitchen counter. Then she angled herself toward Daryl's mouth and kissed him urgently, with an intensity that he responded to, answering her touch with his own growing need. He fell into the embrace and revelled in it. The coffee sat forgotten, the papers were cast aside.

"I want ..." Carol whispered suddenly, breaking the kiss, her mouth shifting closer to his ear. "You, Daryl, I want..." she sighed a little, gasping as her weight shifted, as her eyes, clear skies, latched onto his, and caught his gaze, and trapped him.

Her hands, silken fingers, palms creased softly, and still warm from the shower, were curling over his forearms, sliding gently towards his elbows, rising higher. "Don't you..." she cleared her throat gently. "Do you? Want..?"

Daryl wanted to say yes but he couldn't, he couldn't quite form the letters, let alone the words Carol wanted. He was trying to breathe, to stay upright, but he nodded, finding his way through Carol's gaze and back to himself somehow.

Carol stepped back and took his hand in hers, and he followed her like she was a beacon, over to the ladder at his loft, and up the steps behind her.

Chapter Text

Carol's head was still swimming, swarming, with the aftershocks of her time in the water. With Daryl, as he gazed down at her, his eyes following the contours of her bra, his fingers hovering questioningly at the lace strap over one shoulder, and then the waistband of her pants. She felt heavy and light in different places in her body, like she could split apart at any moment, and one part of her might go back as a sacrifice, to Justin, so that he could pry her effectively from Laura's grasp, while whatever remained would get to stay here with Daryl.

She'd taken off her shirt, and Daryl's breath coalesced with the heat of her skin. He shifted his body over hers', as she stretched back on his mattress and gazed up at him, her focus straining. The chesnut in his hair glowed faintly, haloing in the swell of the lamp light. He hadn't closed his eyes since he'd stepped foot into the bedroom with her, folding himself around her as they navigated the lowered ceiling. His soft lashes had waved the seconds through, time seeming to expand in the movement of his pupils, as she found herself bending in them, warping, and tried to find him instead.

Through the first of their kisses, Daryl kept his eyes trained on Carol, his lids open, as though he couldn't bear to lose her for a second, as though he was mesmerised. By her.

He even breathed in a way she hadn't expected, like he'd run up the flight of stairs, like he had to pace himself, like she might be taken from him, by the water again, at any second. He started to close his eyes a little longer, when her fingers grazed over the smooth flesh of his hip bone, found the curve of his ass as his muscle tensed with her movement, when she licked his upper lip, undid his fly, and started reaching for his boxers. Then his eyes re-opened to her with a fresh gaze, like he couldn't believe she was touching him, and he couldn't believe she was letting him touch her.

His hands were gentle and searching. He kept mumuring things into the space between them, as he leaned back to pull off his shirt, as she slipped out of her bra, as his endless trail of kisses descended.

"You okay? This okay?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I'm okay Daryl. What about you?"

"A'int ..." he breathed nervously. "Haven't ..."

"It's been awhile for me too," Carol smiled. "And even then..."

The unspoken things twisted briefly between them, were set down somewhere nearby, to be distracted from, and after a few beats, Daryl's murmuring returned, a near dazed babble that etched slowly across her flesh, and lingered.

Carol? You're ... y'so .... so damn beautiful. I ... wanna ... is this okay?

His breath was tumbling down her neck as soon as she answered him, the mattress easing beneath them as they shifted their weight. Then Daryl was leaning back to gaze into her eyes, before his mouth worked its way into the space between her breasts, his hands were warm against her ribs, a restrained caress around her thighs. He paused with his mouth at one nipple, and gazed up at her, his mumuring queries stretching up again as she whispered and nodded.

The pressure building low in her abdomen was slowly expanding, but Carol grew faintly aware of another sensation, a pang of disquiet, splitting her sense of equilibrium. She felt dizzy, gnarled suddenly, like the water in the basement had come back to claim the first half of her. She tried to push the tremors down, tried to bury them, like the memories of Ed that existed in every shadow of Daryl's comforting touch. She watched Daryl move from one of her nipples to the other, his tongue curious at first, curling around it, as the peak stiffened, before drawing it into his mouth, and he stopped to look up at her, paused at her sounds, her first few sharp intakes of breath, and watched her, just as breathlessly.

Laura had sent images spinning through her mind in the water. Carol wasn't entirely sure how she'd done it, if there'd been a screen she'd installed as she'd channeled an ocean on the staircase. Images of Eugene, confused and frightened, handcuffed and led by police from the basement as Justin's bones lay on a tarp near the driveway, as Laura screamed, and sobbed.

Carol pulled Daryl closer, her hands firm under his arms, so that she could reach his mouth again, so that her fingers could tug at the waistband of his work pants. He huffed impatiently and shuffled out of them, rolling to the side to kick them off, before climbing back over her, his eyes cradling her in them somehow, as their gazes stretched. His eyes darted back down to linger over her ribs, her breasts, her lips, returning finally to fix on her eyes. Then he kissed her slowly, and Carol heard the roar of the water swell, with faint unease, as Daryl reluctantly paused to take in a few shallow breaths, as she did.

But she pushed on through the unsteady deluges, pushed Daryl's boxers lower, until she was able to take his cock tentatively in her hand. It was already hard, and her thumb trailed lightly over the glistening head. Daryl's mouth hovered over hers', before he kissed her, as urgently as he had in the kitchen, returning her eagerness with a rush of his own, having to fight for another breath, and another, when her fingers gripped him tighter.

He was cradling the back of her head, his fingers wedged against the pillow, while his other hand reached down between their torsos, over her navel, skating lightly between her thighs. Carol jerked slightly at his touch, a small vocalisation catching in her mouth, and Daryl rocked into her hand. She began to stroke him as slowly as she could, and he broke their kiss, his eyes half hooded, glazed, his lips parting as he stared down at her. He looked as though he could see some faraway place inside her that she couldn't remember. He looked like he was starting to drift away from her. Like he was here, but he wasn't.

It unnerved her.

"Daryl?" She asked cautiously.

"Yeah," he whispered, his eyes falling to her lips.

Her fingers loosened and her hand stopped its motion. Daryl was kissing her again, his lips working their way from her mouth to her shoulder, the pressure of his hips increasing slightly, as they moved against hers'.

She tried to say his name again, to warn him that something unsettling was building inside her, that the pressure between her legs was fading from her in flashes, and the seconds flickering between them were ominious, and uncertain. But her voice lingered on the other side of her reach, felt like it had fallen into an abyss, and she was right behind it. Carol felt the jolting memory of Ed's dull eyes sharpening, remembered the Not Daryl warning her out on the grass.

A wave of tension, similar to ones she'd tried to leave behind in her marriage, hit her, before she had the time or coherence to register what was happening. With barely more than another second stretched, and with only enough time to grip Daryl firmly, her body seized up on her, and she froze, snagging rigidly in Daryl's grasp. She stared up at him, wide eyed, her mouth gaping as she tried to breathe.

He seemed to falter at the change in her movement, her loss of pliancy, as a shadow deepened in his brow and darkened. He seemed to be looking for the reasons in her face, and the stupor faded from his eyes, was quickly replaced with his usual intensity. Carol tensed further, awaiting his reaction, his frustration, but Daryl was lifting himself back up onto his heels, then easing himself over onto his hip beside her. He started murmuring, things she couldn't hear at first, a rushed string of apologies, interwoven with panicked questions that started to sift their way through as the tension gripping her plateaued, began to languish slowly. Daryl was whispering into the space between them again, but this time it was all wrong.

What'd I do? Carol? I'm so sorry, I shouldn'ta ...

He was a shadow next to her suddenly, peering into her eyes, before the light bounced back beside him, blinding her, and his shadow morphed as he turned to the lamp behind him, and shifted the stream away, in the direction of the opposite wall. It dawned on Carol slowly that he wasn't angry at her, that he was saying sorry, and when she tried to find further clarity, she realised she was shaking, as she tried to stop his pleas, as her sentences refused to form properly.

"No," she exhaled, her voice still straining from a distant place. "Daryl, stop," apologising, she tried to tell him, as his hands reached for her, and stopped mid-air.

She managed to pull herself up against the headboard, and she watched Daryl cautiously, as his features slowly came back into focus.

"I shouldn'ta ..." he tried again, but Carol shook her head firmly, and squeezed her eyes closed.

She reached out blindly for his nearest hand and gripped it tightly in her own, listened cautiously to the rustling of the sheets as he settled carefully beside her. She listened to his breathing, and tried to match her cadence to his, then slow both rhythms, squeezing his hand gently in succession, just out of time with the beat of her heart. It slowed gradually, her heartbeat, and by then she was ready to embrace Daryl again, so she touched his face gently, frowning over the torment in his eyes.

"Where did you go?" She tried to track his gaze. "It felt like you were here but you weren't. You looked," she shivered. "You looked so far away. But I don't know, maybe I imagined it."

Daryl shook his head. "Y'almost drowned, Carol, not even'n hour ago, and I'm so sorry, I shouldn'ta..."

"Daryl, I'm the one that wanted to," she pulled him towards her. "I still want to." She sighed into his hair.

She shuffled down beside him, until they were both turned toward each other, with their heads resting on their pillows. Carol absorbed the anguish in Daryl's eyes, tried to make sense of it as she pressed the palm of her hand against his chest.

"Ed couldn't handle it when that happened." She explained quietly, "that's if he noticed. He'd get ... angry." She felt the flicker of something volatile work its way through Daryl's body, the change in his state of mind as he tried to adapt his breathing around it.

"Ain't," he seemed to feel the need to clarify his position with her. "Ain't ever gonna be angry at ya. Promise, Carol. I'm just ... worried." His eyes locked onto hers'. "M'real worried."

He reached over to pick up her shirt, then helped her into it. Then he ran his hand up her arm, gently, as she continued her study of his face, of the way he tried to comfort her. He kept up the soothing motion of back and forth, up and down, winding his hand in circles onto her back until her eyes fell closed and she drifted into sleep, the light sensation of Daryl's lips at the crest of her head, his words, senseless to her, the last thing she remembered.

----------

Daryl awoke to find Carol whimpering beside him, and he jerked up onto his elbow to try to rouse her from her nightmare. It was about Ed, he could tell, because her apologies were harrowed and insistent, the way they'd been the last time she'd dreamed of him, when they were spread out beside a camp fire near the lake. When Carol's eyes snapped open, they held the same panic she'd been struck with when she'd seized in his arms, when he'd pushed her too far, and she'd tried to stop him, and he hadn't noticed.

Daryl swallowed quickly, his broad hand cupping Carol's face as gently as he could.

"S'okay," he murmured, his fingers stroking gently. ""S'just you'n me. You're safe. Y'want me to get you some water?"

Carol nodded, and Daryl eased his way down to the kitchen to grab a glass he filled with a bottle from the fridge. Carol had drifted back into sleep by the time he returned, so he left the glass beside her and went to take a shower, thoughts of the water pooling around his ankles mirroring that of Carol's vision in his mind. He thought of the murky water draining from her mouth, her spluttering cough as the divide between them had become suddenly tangible.

Daryl stepped heavily out of the cubicle and grabbed his towel, brushing it quickly over the bulk of his body before stepping out of the bathroom and halfway up the steps to his loft, until he could see Carol breathing. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, his shoulders lowering with relief, and then he threw on fresh pants and a shirt and hung his towel back up.

He eased himself down onto the floor in his bedroom, fixed his back against the wall, and cradled his phone in his hand. Then he began to look up the symptoms of secondary drowning, while every sound, and lack of sound from Carol, sent his mind racing, until finally, hours later, she started to stir at the nattering of finches, their scurry through tree limbs, the faint chirping, distilling the silence of the early morning. She lifted her head as she tried to locate Daryl.

"What's wrong?" She asked immediately, the panic rising in her voice before he could ease back onto the mattress beside her.

"Didn't wanna fall asleep." He murmured gruffly into her neck, folding himself around her carefully, as she relaxed into his embrace. His sigh was deep and unsettled. "Shoulda taken you to the hospital."

"The hospital?" Carol half murmured into the pillow.

"Yeah, all that water y'swallowed. Thought maybe you coulda taken some in your lungs, just ... could still be ... still be dangerous, s'all."

"I think I'm okay." Carol exhaled softly.

"Y'sure?" Daryl wasn't sure, his mind was still battling the phenomenon of the water vanishing from Carol's clothing as they'd crossed the property line, and his own catastrophising imagery, Carol trying to breathe, the threat of the water still lingering in some hidden part of her.

"Yeah." She ran a hand along his arm. "So you didn't sleep? Thought we were gonna head up to Lexington today?"

"You wanna go?"

"Well ... yeah. Maybe if I see Justin's brother, it'll give me a chance to tell him what an asshole his sibling is. Mm. Who knows, maybe he feels the same way?"

Daryl snorted softly. "Yeah." He nodded. "'Kay."

"Daryl?"

"Mmhm?"

He stretched back as Carol shifted her weight to climb over him, straddling him carefully, as her face began to search his with an expression that muddled everything he thought he'd wanted to say.

"This okay?" She murmured.

As he answered her quietly, with a hesitance that lingered, unfinished between them, Carol reached forward to press her lips to Daryl's, let their mouths fit together, stretching devoutly, as his hands drifted to her waist.

He found her breasts, his thumbs sliding up under her tank top, circling her nipples as she gasped into his mouth, before she stripped the garment off, and dropped it lightly beside her, then she started to tug at Daryl's t-shirt. He slipped out of it, as Carol pulled down the waistband of her leggings. Without thinking, Daryl reached out to help, steadying her frame as she eased out of the stretchy material, then her underwear. She was naked suddenly, glowing above him, perfect panes and ribbons of shadow and light. Her hands, slender fingers, searched him tenderly, began to tug insistently at his pants.

"Carol wait," he gasped nervously, as memories of the night before, of her unease, flooded into his mind.

There was a sudden flash of something vulnerable shifting in Carol's eyes, and Daryl felt his heart lurch at the sight of it.

"Do you not want to?" She murmured, and he didn't know how to answer her.

But his words emerged with a saving grace that Carol seemed to latch onto. "Only if you want to," he breathed. "Don't have to ... Carol ..."

Carol's motions continued, an overwhelming series of touches, a blur of delicate hands roaming over his skin, the softness of her forearms, her flesh indenting beneath his fingers, amid his growing desire to please her. When he was free of his pants and boxers, and there was nothing else between them, Daryl watched as Carol's eyes swept nimbly across his body, with a gaze that felt senseless to him, dizzying. He felt the tactile promise of the intensity in it, tried to imagine her soft exploration of him, a devotion he was trying to submit to. He braced himself as surge after surge of pressure built rapidly within him, the intensity of it casting all reason to the side. He felt his cock lift up, arch gently, toward the soft curls at the crest of her legs. Carol shifted slightly, took his right hand, and placed it between her inner thighs. She watched him silently, waiting as he started to stroke her slowly, as their eyes locked together, as he found her soft folds and caressed them, spread them carefully, so that he could ease one finger, and then another, gently up inside her. Carol's breath fell against his ear, against the headboard, as she leaned forward, her breasts bouncing gently against Daryl's face before her back arched, her head rolled back, and his hips lifted slightly, as he tilted her closer toward him.

Things began to speed up then, and Daryl tried to find the pace, but he kept losing himself in the chaos of their motions. He tried to keep his face open throughout it, his eyes clear, and focused. Where did you go? What had she meant by that?

Carol took hold of his hand again and shifted his fingers, bringing them to the nub below her curls. She gripped his fingertips in a motion that he picked up eagerly, sped up, with an easing pressure, until her hand returned to guide his fingers, pressing them more firmly against her clit. He was aware only of her breathing, of his, of the softness of her flesh bending gently in his fingers, as he strained mid-air, his erection aching for relief that waited out of reach.

"Carol ..." he pleaded.

Carol grabbed his wrist suddenly, pulling it away from herself, and Daryl studied her urgently, watched the tones of light and shadow bend across her body in the morning haze, found the lines of silver and peach, her nipples, dark and blushed, the taste of them still resting on his tongue.

"Did y'come?" He exhaled hopefully, a trace of doubt resting in his voice. She looked down at him, a dart of curiosity washing over her.

"Close enough," she hummed and he frowned, disappointed, watching with uncertainly as her forearm swept up over her hairline, her right breast lifting slightly with the movement.

But then her slender fingers were curled around the base of his cock, and his eyes closed briefly, as his breath caught, as she shifted herself over him, and sank down slowly, suddenly, both somehow, taking as much of him inside herself as she could manage, until they were locked together, and there was nowhere else to go.

"Is this okay?" Carol breathed.

Daryl felt himself nodding, speechless, breathless, unable to tell her that she was vastly understating the nature of their union. She began to move, and time became senseless suddenly, nothing else existed around them. Daryl had no idea how many times Carol's hips lifted in his hands and then dropped back down again, but it didn't seem all that many, before he felt the pressure change inside him, a building intensity that trembled through him with each flex of their bodies, with the heat of her flesh on his, the wet, dizzying slide, the continuous pull and the eternal drag of her walls around every nerve and pulse of his length. Daryl's hands drifted up to Carol's breasts, he felt the soft density of them fall lightly into his palms as her hips came down, as they lifted and fell again. He eased his knees up carefully behind her, and then started to lift his own hips to meet hers. He thrust into her as far as he could, as she eased down onto him, as she cried out softly, and quickened her pace, kept the rhythm of her motion.

Daryl moved one arm to cradle her waist, to pin her torso against his', to ease himself further up inside her, as her breathy moans and gasps tangled somehow into his own ragged breath, triggering twitches and pulses, stirring pangs, and bursts of pressure through him. Then, suddenly, at the blind edge of a climbing wave of pleasure, he felt himself coming, endlessly, with a soft, drifting groan, that he pressed somewhere against Carol's chest, just above her breast, below the delicate line of her clavicle. The graceful bone took every shuddering gasp, as Daryl pressed his lips to the heated flesh there, he let his tongue fall listlessly, as his thrusts eased slowly, and he absently tasted the brine of her skin.

They stayed locked together, their movements slowing, until, after a few, steadying breaths, Carol lifted herself back up, and Daryl watched her stare at him, his senses blurred and heightened, everything sharp as crystal, and fading all around him. Carol watched him too, wide eyed for a moment, before a soft smile spilled over her face, and Daryl's heart lurched with relief. Then she leaned down to kiss him, and they groaned softly in unison, as they parted from one other carefully, and Carol shifted to lie down beside Daryl, entwining her limbs with his.

Daryl's hand went searchingly back between Carol's legs, his fingers edging toward her clitoris, close enough, his eyes questionned, but Carol gripped his arm, and her smile increased.

"Later." She murmured, and Daryl exhaled softly, his lips flattening in a smile as he let himself get lost in her eyes.

She shifted onto her other side, scooping his arm over her ribs so that they were spooning, nestling against each other in the morning light. Daryl exhaled again, a shifting sigh that let him settle, heavy against Carol. He drifted into rest, into sleep, as he felt her back rise and fall against him. He awoke hours later to find Carol gone, and the smell of pancakes drifting through the house.

He dressed and headed downstairs, found her staring at the pan over the stovetop, her lip curling into her teeth thoughfully when she saw him, acknowledging his presence with a tilt of her head. Daryl stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her stomach, and Carol leaned back against him, hummed against the scruff of his jawline, and smiled in a way that he could feel softly. He felt her breath easing, watched her shoulders loosen.

"Sorry to wake you," she murmured and he sighed against her neck.

"M'glad you did."

They ate breakfast on the back deck, sharing smiles, their sticky fingers entwining as they passed condiments, little jars and spoons between each other. Daryl's tongue caught stray fragments of maple syrup, and a shadow edged across Carol's eyes as she watched his mouth move around his fingers. He didn't know where she'd found the maple syrup.

"I grabbed a few things," she explained, reading his mind. "I was quick."

Daryl felt his heart lurch belatedly, and he stared at her in disbelief. "Carol," he whispered.

"I told him," she shrugged, setting her plate down on the floor beside her chair, trying to smooth the tacky grain along her fingers. "That we're going to see his brother today. And find out what he wants."

"What'd he do?" Daryl's voice was low. His heartbeat had found its way into his throat, where it beat dully.

"Nothing." She shrugged again. Her eyes went out to scan the water stretching, the sun bouncing lightly over the ripples of the water. She shivered. "I told Sophia we'll be gone overnight. There's a couple of motels that have vacancies. And I packed the car already, so ... ready when you are."

Daryl nodded, his plate suddenly heavy in his hands. The look in Carol's eyes as she'd pressed his fingers against her clit returned to him like a gift and a punishment. The road to Lexington, the hours stretching out ahead of them, his confusion, and Carol's insistence on continually putting herself in danger, played on repeat.

"Asked y'not to go in there by y'self," he murmured, his voice low, his eyes searching hers', his concern and weariness transferring clearly across to her. "Y'know what could have happened in there. Shoulda woke me..."

He heard the edge of desperation lifting in his voice, and watched as her eyes darted from his face, back out toward the lake. He watched as she folded into herself, and he cursed himself internally, but then her chin lifted, and her jaw set.

"I just wanted to do it myself," she said quietly.

Daryl watched her for a moment, then hopped up and lifted her plate with his. She'd said so many things in one sentence, he could sense that, but he didn't know if he understood a single thing about her in that moment. He took their crockery into the kitchen and set the dishes in the sink, ran the water over them, and picked up a cloth. Then he felt her soft arms encircling him, her chin pressing into his shoulder from behind. He sighed as they looked up at the cabin through his kitchen window. It looked idyllic, bright and clean, hopeful and full of promise, settled peacefully in the light of what Daryl assumed was now just after midday.

He felt something unspoken shifting through Carol, as though she wanted to apologise, or explain something to him. He listened to the shallow streak of her breathing, the staggering amble of it, but she didn't say anything, and Daryl felt the weight of that. He felt an unexpected need to fill their space with something, anything, so that she didn't falter.

He turned in her arms, noting the uncertainty hinting at the edges of her expression.

"Let's get going then, hey?" He offered, and a wave of relief settled over Carol's features. She nodded and smiled, kissed him, and then leaned past him to run her fingers through the water.

The cabin sat peacefully, its ominious qualities hidden from view, lingering in the absence of shadow, as they threw the last of their items in Carol's trunk and settled in the cab. Their fingers entwined briefly before Carol adjusted the gears, and her rear view mirror. As they drove away, Daryl noted the light bending over the hill and he watched it settle in the patches of greenery, finally finding shadows resting amongst the trees.

Chapter Text

Daryl's head was spinning, everything was spinning. Every image, every moment was hitting him, playing on repeat. Carol stopped the Honda at a corner, the vehicle pausing over dirt sprawled with yellowing weeds that bowed to the brush, and the cloud of dust they'd kicked up, eased back over it, as the hum of the car idled, reaching a dull crescendo before resetting. It was deathly quiet on the road, but bright, the clouds had swept out beyond the treeline, so only blue remained. They were at a T-intersection nestled in a gap between hectares of wilderness. The roads dipped into hills in both directions, so it looked like endings were waiting for them, whichever way they turned.

Carol wanted to check the address for Sean, Justin's brother, on her phone, against the printouts Al had given her. Sean had a workshop in Lexington, but any other details about him or his workplace had been inked over. Carol looked up at Daryl, gave him a little smile, one that pulled at him internally, a warm drag, that triggered recent memories. The spark of her fingers over his skin, their gentle grasp of the device in her hands reminding him. He'd stored away every breath and sigh of Carol's, and when her fingers curled gently over his wrist, he looked back up and saw her chin was dimpling, her head tilting, and he realised she was repeating herself.

"Daryl?"

"Mmhm?" He murmured, grunting slightly and shifting in his seat. He smiled back as best he could and watched as the frown lines above Carol's eyes worked softly.

"It's not there," she mused, her attention returning to the map on her screen. "Looks like it's a just a bunch of factories. Some smaller businesses. The sign's there," she shrugged. "I just..." her frown deepened and Daryl tried to regain his focus.

"Well maybe someone up there knows?" He guessed. "Could ask someone when we get there?"

"Yeah," Carol nodded. "Yeah okay." She set her phone down in the middle console, and eased the car back out onto the road.

Daryl watched the trees blur by and let his focus drift from to Carol to the road ahead, his focus meandering, lingering. He felt tired in a way he hadn't before, a contentment easing through him that warmed him, distracted him, but fizzled into near nothing when Carol spoke.

"I didn't want to wake you," she asserted suddenly, her voice slightly clipped, as Daryl's mind skipped back to the events he'd envisioned of earlier that morning, of Carol hurrying through the cabin on her own, gathering supplies while he slept next door, oblivious.

She shot him a glance, an uneasy smile, which shifted immediately, as her attention fixed forward.

"Rather be woken," he gazed at her, wondering if it was his words or his tone that triggered the restlessness settling into her shoulders.

They were about to meet Justin's brother, he reminded himself, but he couldn't help the little temors that pulled at him, turned inward.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. It was almost a huff, the air sharp and altered around it.

Daryl shook his head, he hummed softly. "Nah. Ain't gotta do that with me."

Carol reached out blindly to find his hand and Daryl brought her knuckles up to his mouth, kissed them gently. He earned a lopsided smile for that, which softened his eyes, and he kept her small hand clutched to him along the straight, releasing it reluctantly when a bend in the road appeared.

-------

As Carol pulled off the I-20, the sky opened out before them, wisps of clouds across a cornflower blue sky. A small scattering of trees bent rhythmically to their right, in waves, as stretches of dry lawn, cut low, reached out on either side of the road.

Carol followed the directions off the main road into an industrialised area, the Honda creeping past the grey brown white of the endless walls of factories. The roads had been busy, and it was just before the end of the school day. Carol circled past the location first, her eyes drawn skyward when they weren't fixed ahead, while Daryl inspected the street numbers as they passed them.

Carol found a parking spot on the street, a few spaces up from the number outlined on the printouts. The yards in the area were well maintained, heavily stocked, but tidy. A tyre business appeared to have taken over the lease, there were rows of old tyres lined up in both directions, and neatly parked cars in and out of the large sheds towards the rear. There a few men milling about. She felt Daryl tense as he watched them, his arms hung stiffly at his sides, as his fingers curled and unfurled slightly at the ends. They knew Justin's brother wouldn't be here, but they were so close to his family now, to whatever it was that had once existed in the vicinity of his behaviour, his essence, that Carol sensed her own survival instincts running on ahead of her, the quaking tremors of anxiety starting to swell. She sensed the same qualities starting to flicker in Daryl too.

There was a small building beside them, with 'Office' etched neatly in large white lettering. Carol moved immediately toward the door and she heard Daryl's footsteps close behind her. A young woman with auburn hair swept up in a wide tooth clip sat at the counter, a stack of invoices were split in sections over the desk. She looked up with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling, and her gaze flickered between Carol and Daryl.

"Good afternoon! How may I help you?"

Carol smiled brightly in response. "Afternoon," she said kindly. "We're looking for ah, Last Stop Mechanics? This was the only address we had for them, just wondering if you know where they might've moved? We couldn't find another address for them."

"Oh yes! Mmhm, yeah, they leased before us, that was just a year or so ago," Lara was stitched onto the woman's black polo shirt, and Carol's eyes narrowed over the looping of the L. Lara stretched back in her chair and grabbed a magnet off the closest filing cabinet.

"Here," she said, popping the magnet down in front of Carol, and taking out a pen to scrawl a note onto a Post It. "It's now called Top Auto, here's the address, and number," she finished tracing out the details and handed the piece of paper to Carol. "Tell 'em Lara sent you, they should help you out with whatever you need. Is there anything else I can help you with today? Tyres? A wheel alignment?"

Carol stared at the Post-It, the numbers evenly spaced across the yellow square, and glanced at Daryl apprehensively. His face twisted with interest, and Carol turned back to Lara, gently clearing her throat. She shook her head quickly, swallowed and smiled, her words easing out slower than she'd hoped, but finding tracking just a beat behind where she wanted to be.

"Thank you. Lara. I-we," she glanced back at Daryl. "Really appreciate it."

Lara smiled and nodded, considered Daryl briefly, tracking both of them with a curious smile before returning to her work.

Carol rushed out of the door as though she'd been underwater and needed to break the surface. The imagery worked its way uneasily through her, and she pushed it all away as she paced briskly up to the street. Daryl was right behind her, she felt his hand hovering gently at her arm as she reached the car. She leaned against the Honda, her fingers splaying out across the roof, her papers crumpling in the narrow space between them.

"Hey," Daryl's hand lifted to her shoulder, his fingers stroking sweeping lines, as he tried to peer around her, to see her face. "You did good."

Carol nodded briskly and exhaled, a rush of words sent tumbling toward him, as she twisted around to look at him. "The address Daryl," she gasped as she held the Post It up so he could see. "Look at it, look at the address." She insisted.

Daryl's eyes darkened as they moved across the neat lettering. He glanced at Carol, and swallowed, his hand falling. "Six seventy eight Mitchell Street," he murmured.

"Six seven eight." She whispered. "Just like your dream."

He pulled her against him and nestled his face into her hair, breathed in, exhaled deeply into the curls. "Okay," he soothed. "Let's do this."

-------

Top Auto was a sixteen minute drive across town. By then the traffic had built up a little more, and that gave them a chance to take in the scenery on their way through the busy streets. Carol had her eyes cast over the thick vegetation on the river while Daryl drove, she pointed out the Historic buildings, Post civil war? She asked as Daryl tensed slightly, afraid she wanted an answer from him. He grunted softly, but she seemed to be murmuring to herself by then is that neoclassical? Look at those pillars, Daryl glanced at the brick of the various structures, the courthouse, the sweeping arches and striking glass panels, carved motifs and imagery. A lump formed in his throat when he saw Carol's eyes dance. A rush of something warm and yearning settled through him, and he took her nearest hand and squeezed it gently.

Daryl found a park in the lot and Carol's tyres crunched over the gravel as he eased down the short drive. The sound reminded him of Carol's driveway. He felt a spark of unease, as though all they were doing was going back to the cabin, to meet Justin again, with no resolution possible. Daryl watched as Carol hopped out of the car on her side and straightened up, adjusted the hem of her shirt neatly out over her hips and smiled back at him, a terse waver flashing across her mouth. He noticed her hands trembling slightly and he tried to close the gap, but she was already walking ahead of him by the time he circled the car. He watched as her hand sprang up to her chest, her body stiffening as a car pulled quickly around the corner of the garage and into a space across from them in the small lot. Daryl caught up with her then, and eased his hand onto her shoulder, tightening his grip when her hand lifted to thread her fingers over his.

Neither of them expected Justin and his brother to be twins. They weren't identical, but so strikingly similar that it was jarring to witness. Daryl had only seen a grainy photo of Justin on a website, but the ghost had put his hands on Carol, must have put his face right up to hers', and a jolt of surprise seemed to hit her when she saw him.

Sean had his hair cropped around his ears, short at the sides, a little longer at the top, curling in scattered waves, which shook when he tossed his head and continued his stride into the large workshop beside the office. Carol let go of Daryl and followed Sean into the building without a word.

"Carol," Daryl warned in a low voice, but her steps seemed to move as though her body was disconnected somehow from the Carol he knew, it harboured an intensity he'd seen flashes of whenever they discussed Justin, when she'd spoken about Ed. He wondered if this was the same version of Carol that gone into her cabin alone that morning.

"Sean?" She called loudly. Her voice was clear, peaking with a hint of urgency.

The workshop was large, two buildings joined in the middle. It seemed tidy enough, the faint smell of fumes and grease permeating, several cars were suspended in the middle, there was a constant drum and pause of air compressors and hand tools. A few men were working in the area, but none paid much attention to either of them.

Sean turned at the sound of his name and Carol flinched slightly as his face distorted when he looked at her. He seemed a little confused, he frowned a little. There was an impatience about him, he shifted restlessly as he sized Carol up, and glanced at Daryl. He had a grease rag in his hands, which he dropped across his shoulder. He was wearing a hi-vis shirt embroidered with Top Auto across the left shirt pocket.

"Yeah?" He huffed expectantly, intrigue flailing fast, his impatience building.

"I need to ask you something about your brother. Justin," Carol explained, and all three of them tensed.

Sean's eyes drifted back to Daryl's, narrowed, and returned to Carol. Daryl felt the sudden desire to be standing in front of her. He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, trying to not to present as a threat to the man in any way, but struggled to do so, because everything about him pulsed with warning.

Sean reared back, somehow taller, and then leaned forward unexpectedly. Daryl stepped closer to Carol, his chin lifting marginally, his hands poised, but unclenced. The tension seemed to fall away as quickly as it had emerged. Sean seemed smaller suddenly, his head ducked, and he grimaced slightly, cursing under his breath as he shook his head, his jaw tensing, a strange movement flickering around his eyes. Carol's breathing changed a little. Daryl could feel the tension settling through her and it rubbed against him.

"What are you reporters or something?"

"I'm chasing a story for our local paper," Carol spoke carefully as Daryl fixated on Sean's face. "But that's not why I'm here. I'm here because .... because your brother wants to make things right. With you."

Sean laughed, a bitter exhalation, then he nodded. "Oh yeah? That's why you're here, not him? Jesus Christ, it's been a few years, I thought you'd finally dropped it. Look, I ain't seen 'im for years okay? He may be my brother, but we ain't close like that, never have been. Truth is, he owes me, and I don't expect to see a payout in the next lifetime if you catch my drift."

Carol's mouth flexed so gently, Daryl worried Sean could see inside her, feel the vibration of her bones. "Catch your drift because ... something happened to him?" Sean's frown deepened and Carol changed tactics. "Well h-how much does he owe you?

It was the wrong thing to ask, but Daryl could see that Carol was thinking on the spot, trying to buy them some time until she found a way in, a manoeuvre to get Sean to spill the beans on Justin. If he had any beans to spill. Daryl shifted restlessly beside her, reigning in another urge to clench his fists. It was more than Sean or Justin deserved, he felt. A sudden spark of rage at the past few weeks spilled across him, seeming at that point, unwarranted, but unstoppable, and flexing narrowly through the growing tension.

"Look," Sean's eyes narrowed. "I don't have time for this shit okay? I gotta garage to run." He turned to walk away.

Well," Carol stepped forward, her voice rising unsteadily. "Can we meet you after work? We're staying in town for a couple days, and we would really appreciate it if you ..."

"Oh yeah I'm sure you'd appreciate it," Sean interrupted with a snarl. "Look, I got a wife and kids to get home to. You really think I wanna waste my time talking about that asshole and what he owes me?"

Sean leaned close to Carol again, and Daryl took another step closer, his hands curling into fists this time, lifting slowly as he cast his breath out in a rush.

"Get lost." Sean hissed quietly.

Carol didn't flinch, but she tensed further, an almost invisible shift that Daryl felt, as he resisted the urges to simultaneously lunge at Sean and drag Carol out of there. Carol glanced around the garage. Several of the men closest to them had stopped working to listen, but went back to what they were doing as soon as she turned in their direction .

"Alright." She said quietly, her eyes hard, the blue clouded with disquiet. Her voice lowered as her body tilted towards Daryl. "Well, thanks for your time." She smiled brightly, and turned on her heel.

Daryl studied Sean for a moment, processing the sudden shift with a delay that allowed Carol a head start out of the garage. He heard a murmuring chorus from the men in the background as he followed her.

"Oh ya runnin' the place now, Turner! Well, don't mind us Mr Boss Man! Can I take the afternoon off Boss? Yeah, can we get a vacation Turner, I'm feelin' a little overworked over here, why don't y'get your ass back t'work and help us out for a change?"

"Shut up!" Sean hissed and a round of cackling echoed in the tinny surrounds.

Carol stopped when she got to the car, her face grim, her mouth taut in a way that resembled the frustration she'd displayed when she'd had to move out of the cabin, when Daryl had suggested this trip the day before.

"We've got to go back to that tyre place," she informed Daryl.

"What for?"

Carols eyes narrowed a fraction as she fixed on Daryl's face, her focus clearer. "Because Lara is a nice person." She quietly explained.

----‐--

Daryl watched with interest as a version of Carol he'd only encountered briefly, with the local reporter, and a little with the wildlife crew, an affected masked adaptation of her that he didn't understand, interacted with the lady at the tyre place.

There was a tone in her voice, a reaching glaze, and a slight crease to her entire face, that didn't normally stretch her features that particular way. It was visually endearing but emotionally hollow. It unnerved him.

"Unfortunately Sean was run off his feet down there, and we just don't have a lot of time. It wasn't really," Carol leaned forward surreptitiously, and Daryl watched as the other woman leaned closer, her eyes widening with fascination.

"The right time or place, if you know what I mean?" Lara certainly seemed to know exactly what Carol meant, judging by the enthusiastic nod she gifted Carol, her eyes creasing as her mouth curled faintly. "Uh, how do I put this ... we're," Carol continued, turning to include Daryl, and he straightened up in a mild panic. "We're very close to Sean's brother, Justin. Now, the two had a falling out quite awhile ago, and we just, well, we see how it affects them, Justin in particular, and it really just ... it tears us up. We want to help them repair their relationship. We feel like it's worth a shot, you know? We have to try."

Carol's eyes danced a little, they shone with a quiet intensity, and Lara seemed captivated, her hand at her chest, a shimmering glow forming in her eyes. Daryl felt a strange camaraderie with the woman, with the knowledge that something rare and mystifying, Carol, had wandered into their lives in that moment. Before he realised what was happening, both women were smiling and laughing, and Carol was saying okay and thanks again, her hand twisting in a small wave as she prompted him out the door, and back up to the car. Her smile softened minutely and her eyes sharpened.

"Hopefully she's still there," Carol exhaled quickly.

She began scanning through her phone for yet another new address. The details came back to Daryl slowly as he watched the blur of colour out his window, the soft details of Carol's profile.

Sean's wife ran a salon in town and within minutes of their arrival, she was ushering Carol into the building, more than happy to let Carol chat while she finished working on another customer's hair. It seemed that more chatting than hairdressing was going on, as both women stopped regularly, to twist to Carol, turn back to each other, all the while motioning enthusiastically with their hands.

Daryl watched them through the front store window from the pavement outside. Sean's wife looked angry, the customer was leaning into that, Carol appeared sympathetic. Daryl studied them nervously, pacing, his toes restless in his boots as he waited for whatever signal he might need to rescue Carol from their wrath. But they were all laughing a moment later. He squinted briefly and waved the smoke from his cigarette out toward the road. It was a busy street, with cars in constant motion, people walking past. He hugged the wall as best he could, put his shoulder into the brick as he tried to read Carol's expression when she re-emerged from the salon. Her eyes were darker, shadowed, and he tried to smile, to reassure her. They would find another way.

"Let's go." Her fingers swept up quickly to touch his forehead, brushing the strands of fringe out of his eyes.

---------

Carol took a deep breath and Daryl gazed at her. It wasn't often that he wasn't looking at her, she realised. A beautiful scrutiny, a loving expression, a level of concern she wasn't used to. It still choked her up.

"He uh," she cleared her throat as Daryl turned her little car out of town toward the inn they'd booked. "Sean, had a set of antique tools. Belonged to their grandfather apparently. Hand drills, chisels. Nothing too valuable, I don't think, but ... sentimental. Obviously Justin thought they might be worth something when he 'borrowed' them. Aaron said something about instruments in the basement, but I don't really think..."

Carol trailed off as she fixated on a point outside her window. She'd just about learned Justin's and Sean's entire life stories thereabouts, from Jenny and her customer, Paula, "tell Carol about that time Justin ruined Ava's 2nd birthday!"

Daryl was letting her process the possibilities, he seemed to need a moment of reflection, or silence, while he navigated the streets out of town. As he pulled into the inn parking lot, Carol studied the building. It was a long, double story structure set away from the road, an off white with green doors and black trim. It looked neat, well looked after. Carol breathed a sigh of relief, clinging to her first impression. There were a few cars in the carpark, otherwise it seemed fairly quiet. It was set off from the highway a quarter mile, the soft drone of traffic was a constant hum in the background.

There was a blur between herself and Daryl, a scurry of motion, as soon as the door locked behind them. The heat and pull of their bodies shifted together, as their fingers snagged on, and pulled at one another's buttons, zips, clasps.

"No, lemme," Daryl breathed against Carol's hair as his fingers worked over her bra strap, his stubble brushing her ear as he leaned over her shoulder to inspect it. After a moment of effort, he thumbed the straps free and watched, mesmerised, as the material fell, his hands lowering in a diagonal drag from Carol's shoulders to cup her breasts, his palms easing gently over her nipples.

Carol gave him a moment, waited for his eyes to find hers' again, so they could share a smile, then she turned to the bed to pull back the blanket. Daryl reached around her from behind, took hold of the sheets and released their iron grip on the mattress in one precise, sweeping motion, his biceps tensing with the small burst of effort. He turned back to Carol and seemed to consider the expression in her eyes before settling on her lips.

"Ain't gotta ... do nothin." His body seemed to thrum with anticipation, his fingers spread over the back of his neck. He reeled uncertainty, with a confused hesitation.

As he studied Carol patiently, she closed their gap with one wobbling step, her eyes trailing Daryl's chest down to his waistband, the strain of his erection against his zipper visible, the bulge fitting partly into the hollow of her hand.

There was a question in his sway against her, indecision, as Carol also shrugged, her mouth small and uncertain. Then the flurry of motion continued, into the bed, as Carol shifted back while Daryl stripped her of her pants and underwear, slowly working his way back up her legs with his mouth, pressing kisses into her thighs, her stomach, and ribs. Then he tried to find a way to stretch over her without crushing her. His movements were so careful, that Ed fell deeper into a shadow, and for a moment, the past felt like nothing more than a bad dream, almost as though Ed had happened to another person entirely. Carol wanted the weight of Daryl over her, but couldn't form the words to tell him that, couldn't ask, so she folded herself carefully beneath him instead, and watched his movements, let herself touch him where she could. Daryl's left hip fell to her side, his right leg eased into the space between her legs, so that a little of his pressure, and his warmth, began to ease through her. She leaned into it, her hips lifting slightly, as Daryl's right hand roamed up to her ribs, her breasts, he took time to squeeze each one gently, before he clutched at her hip, his touch careful, but yearning. Carol threaded her fingers into his hair, following his descent as he chased the trail of his hand, and then both hands, with his mouth, as he shifted weightlessly over her.

He took his time to reassure her as he slowly inched lower s'me, ain't goin' nowhere. I'm here and Carol had to work carefully through the emotion that flooded through her from the impact of his words. The devotion in his voice overwhelmed her, the tender thought behind his words, the earnestness in his voice. He was inching lower and lower, the muscles in his back and shoulders shifting under the flailing reach of her fingers, until his head was moving down between her legs, his arms wrapping around her thighs. Carol gasped and shifted forward, a stab of shame and fear swelling sharply in her stomach when she realised what he was about to do.

You're disgusting, Ed's words emerged menacingly from the shadows.

"Daryl," she panted urgently, and he lifted his head, his chin an inch from her pubic bone. "You don't have to do that."

He paused, stretching back further, his eyes drilling into Carol's. "Y'don't want me to?"

He hummed against the inside of her leg, and his breath travelled up through the hollow between her thighs, the warmth of it so dizzing, Carol stared at him, dazed, her eyes closing slowly as she shook her head.

"No, I ... just don't want you to feel like you have to. I don't ... you don't have to do that, Daryl."

"Want to." He murmured, without a flash of hesitation, his eyes still locked on hers when she glanced back down at him.

Carol heard the desire in his voice, saw it pooling in his eyes, and she was overcome with the same longing he seemed to carry. It was as though he wanted to reassure her, to express the point further, because his fingers began trailing soft tracks over her labia, the hood of her clit, while his eyes fixed, unwavering on her face.

"I want you, Carol," he implored her shyly, and she could see then, the desire, unclouded on his face, she felt the yearning in his voice as a touch, a vibration that rooted itself deeply into her. "Wanted you since ... first time I saw y'smile."

Carol felt her ribs arch skyward as she stretched back and tried to even out her breathing. She felt Daryl's gaze descend, felt his breath close over her clitoris, where his fingers, gentle and searching, were sending trails of acute tremors to her centre. He gently pushed her legs apart, and Carol's breath hitched sharply when she felt the heat of his tongue, its broad softness, the insistent drive of its tip, the warm glide up and down her slit before Daryl worked his way inside her as far as he could manage. Her breath caught, her voice snagged slightly in the inhalation, and Daryl repeated the motion again, and again, before dragging his mouth to her clit, where he looked up at her, and Carol tried to focus on him. She was breathing heavily then, slow, disjointed slivers of air, she was bunching the top sheet in her hands, and realising only distantly that her nails were digging into the fabric. She tried to ease her grip.

"Y'gotta tell me," Daryl started pleading softly, in a way that sent a jolt of need through her, his eyes were dark and searching, but he wasn't gone, she felt his presence. "What I gotta do. How you like it."

Another jolt, and another, descended, spread throughout her. Carol shook her head, a wave of overwhelm pressing at her edges. "I... I don't know," she admitted. "No-one's ever done this for me before."

A myriad of expressions crossed Daryl's features - disbelief, confusion, hurt, resentment. A frown settled. Then, a study of determination took over.

Carol tried to smile encouragingly. "What you were doing already, that ... that was good."

She tried to catch her breath as Daryl studied her, his eyes flicking down to where his fingers were parting and stroking her soft folds, his tips roaming slowly, and, she was afraid to believe, appreciatively. She tried to grab hold of his arms but he was moving back down again. He repeated his earlier motions, the thrust of his tongue, the tip of it pressing and sliding over her clit before he added his fingers. He licked slow paths, groaning almost imperceptibly, just enough for her to feel the vibration, as his tongue stretched, as he worked his fingers into a rhythm that kept shifting. A building intensity sharpened and plateaued as Daryl hovered, as he grunted through his breaths, as he swapped his fingers to where his mouth had been, glancing up at Carol to gauge her enjoyment, a faint look of anguish building, as he studied her face, the roll of her hips, her breasts rising and falling as she twisted carefully above him. Twice more Carol tried to stop him, it's, I probably won't ... Daryl, you don't have to do this, you don't, an edge of frustration cradled the guilt in her voice.

"Just lemme try a bit longer," he pleaded. "Please. Wanna try to make ya ... happy." He insisted.

"I need," she gasped, her throat dry, her voice hollow and fading. "A steady ... rhythm, I think." She ran her fingers gently under his jawline as he considered her words, and he adjusted his position on the mattress below her.

After that, it seemed easier to guide him, because he responded so eagerly, attentively. She let herself feel it, stopped hiding the sounds he was drawing from her, and he seemed to take guidance from those cues as well. Gradually, the intensity started to build again, and Carol finally felt herself drift away. Daryl was listening to every gasp and moan, and hitching plea, There! Don't stop don't stop, as the light dimmed at the edges of the curtains, and the muted sounds of outside faded. The roar inside Carol elongated, as wave after wave of intensity built and pulsed within her, rocked her, forcing senseless sounds from her throat, breathless whimpers and bitten off moans she tried to catch, but couldn't. She could feel Daryl's tongue bending and pushing against her clit, felt his fingers part her, and fill her, every drag and thrust easing and teasing the pressure of his mouth, with a welcome synchonicity. He was patient, and firm, he kept the rhythm Carol wanted, increasing the pressure gradually as she asked for it. Until suddenly she was there, at the final precipice, falling, her orgasm hitting her with such a jolt that it seemed to last and last. She cried out in surprise, the intensity was like nothing she'd ever experienced on her own. Her hips bucked up and she bumped some part of Daryl, only faintly aware of her movements, oblivion taking her into some faultless place. She tried to apologise, "Daryl, fuck, I'm ..." sorry, I'm sorry in broken gasps, as Daryl murmured something comfortingly dismissive, and dragged his fingers over her clit in a delayed hasten that caused a second wave of intensity to rock through her.

The air and the shadows distilled and settled around them. It was dark, much darker than when they'd started, and Daryl was a shadow to her, a welcome one, as she slowly came back down. When the room finally shifted into focus, Carol reached for him, her fingers grasping his zipper, trying to find the swell behind it.

"Y'sure?" He breathed, pushing his face into her neck, and Carol nodded her reassurance, releasing him from his trousers, smiling as he gasped. "You were so ... god damn, Carol, so fuckin' ... amazin'. Beautiful."

They smiled again, as Daryl lifted his head, a string they shared, the warmth of it playing over their mouths.

"So y'good?" He wrapped her in his focus, his eyes ocean deep and as blue, brighter than she'd ever seen.

She laughed huskily, her amusement distilling into one syllable as she wrapped her arms around him. "I'm perfect, never better actually," she hummed into his ear. "Thank you Daryl. I'm very happy."

Daryl leaned back to study her, their string strengthening, their hands meeting, fingers threading. Daryl pressed his mouth to Carol's jaw, after pausing over her lips, and then he squeezed her hand and smiled, the biggest smile she'd ever seen from him, one he tried to wrangle under control, the flash of his teeth disappearing as quickly as they appeared.

"Glad you're happy," he said. "Makes me happy."

Chapter Text

Carol watched the thin spiral of syrup wind over Daryl's pancakes, over the cube of melting butter, down the sides and into a shallow pool along his plate, somehow edging his fingers, so that he had to take them into his mouth to lick them clean. She resisted the urge to do it for him.

They were in a diner down the road from the inn, a busy place, recommended by the morning shift clerk who'd been tidying the office when they checked out that morning. It had felt weird sitting down across from Daryl in their booth beneath the warm buzz of the fluorescent light that was suspended over their table. Carol had wanted to slide in next to him, like a giddy teenager, and smell the sandlewood of the shower soap on his skin, remember the way he'd kissed her in the stall that morning, while they'd showered together, her head dipping back against the tiles as the water pooled at their feet, their lips wet from the stream.

He'd had a nightmare in the early morning, rousing himself awake with such a jolt, his breath so loud and frantic, that Carol had woken from her own perplexing dream of Laura and Eugene, of the longed for gazebo, Laura's inability to fix it, her empty hands waving up as she'd stared at Eugene. Daryl on the other hand, had his own harrowed murmurs about fire, about the flames reaching his mother, and that he couldn't find her. He had settled in her arms, his hands trembling until her fingers soothed them still. They'd made love then, and Carol realised she'd never actually made love to anyone before Daryl. She finally understood the meaning of the expression, in the way he found her with his eyes, the desire she felt for him, the longing to cradle his face, and the way he let her, his breath catching when she told him it was okay, more than okay, so that he didn't have to ask her.

They'd stretched and shifted with sleep heavy limbs, joined together with elongated gasps, Daryl moving with Carol's name against her neck, soft exclamations in the dark. The sheets had pulled tighter under his knees, beneath her back, as he'd sunk further and further into her, and she'd cried his name too.

Carol watched as Daryl scooped up a pancake, the cream sliding as he tipped his head back, carefully folding the portion of dessert into his mouth. He swallowed and licked the dripping edge of the other half, smiling faintly as he caught Carol's gaze.

"God, I wish I was that pancake," she murmured solemnly, and Daryl spluttered softly around the edges of his mouthful, his eyes darting to the booth behind her before drilling into hers', his mouth curling up. "Sorry Pookie," her lips puckered softly. "Didn't mean to embarrass you."

He harrumphed a reply through the cake and cream, shaking his head as he cleared his throat, his eyes on her lips as he licked his own. "Y'taste better." He murmured shyly with amused reserve, and Carol's chin dimpled with surprise and amusement, her eyes sparkling. He quickly changed the subject, he thought, slightly flustered, before she could respond. "So whaddya want to do today?"

Carol just smiled at him, her eyebrows arching neatly. She giggled at his expression, and a tinkling laugh caught the corners of his mouth.

"Actually," her eyes slid down to her breakfast bowl. "I would like to buy a helmet." Her chin reached forward as her elbows fixed either side of her bowl. "For your bike. For me." She looked up at him.

Daryl nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, then he shrugged as he speared another pancake, doubling it over, his eyes roaming over her. "'Kay. Cool. Saw a place other side o'town, one of the main streets? Can check it out."

Carol sat back, pleased, and lifted her spoon to her mouth, smiling over it.

"You were sayin' somethin' 'bout Eugene before?" Daryl scratched his chin as he finished his mouthful. "'Bout the tools?" He waved his fork and Carol nodded eagerly.

"Yeah," she chewed and swallowed quickly. "Remember that dream I had? With Laura's ashes. Eugene was in it. She said she left her tools at work and Eugene was going to get them. Could be related?"

"Yeah." Daryl nodded, stretching back, a thoughtful look pausing over him. "Maybe."

"So ... I could call Eugene and ask."

"When we get back?" Daryl asked. "Let's just, take our time today. Don't hafta leave 'til you're ready."

-----

They spent a few hours wandering the main streets. Sophia called while Carol was browsing soaps and candles, in a strongly perfumed boutique homewares store that had triggered an intense craving for a cigarette in Daryl. He'd waited, relieved, on the footpath as he'd smoked. Carol was wrapping up the conversation when she stepped out of the store, the scent of lavender and other sharp florals he didn't recognise, flowing steadily from her.

"Things are nearly sorted Sophia," she was trying to soothe her daughter. "I think we know now ..." a tinkling laugh bubbled out and warmed Daryl down to his knees, the corners of his mouth twisting up when she looked at him. "Yes, I'm sure Carl misses me, does he mean the ghost activity? I think maybe the two of you need to get out of town. It's nice up here. Yes, we're having a wonderful time." She turned her dazzling smile on Daryl. "Alright sweetheart. Well, we'll be home tonight. Good luck with the field trip."

A narrow smile twisted over Carol's mouth as she reached for him. They found the bike store on their walk, and Carol selected a light pink helmet with a black visor. Daryl gazed at her breathlessly while she tried it on.

"Suits you." He smiled.

He wanted to pay for it, but Carol refused his offer. She pressed her hand to his chest and he held his fingers over hers. He followed her closely as they walked, his arm twisting around her, pulling her close to him as the footpath narrowed, thoughts of their morning returning, the feel of her around him, the sounds she made, the slide of her skin under the gel in the shower. They purchased drinks for the road and Daryl offered to drive home. Carol's smile stretched thinly, the looseness in her shoulders evaporating, as reality, the cabin, drifted back to them both, shifting their goals back into focus. Daryl felt his hands tense over the steering wheel, and he forced himself to turn Carol's car in the direction of the cabin.

The cabin was sitting quietly in shadows when they returned, Daryl watched Carol turn to study the structure solemnly as he pulled up in his driveway. If they hadn't driven the whole way back without a break, he would've asked her if she wanted to test the helmet out. There was something about seeing her in it, the thought of taking her out on his bike, feeling her arms tight around him, the freedom, the escape, that pulled at him fiercely.

As if sensing it, Carol picked up the helmet, a smile creasing her eyes. The layer of tension that had settled into her wavered slightly.

"I've gotta pee," she announced in her song song voice, lifting her helmet and gesturing toward Daryl's bike. "Then should we go down and see Eugene?"

Daryl was chewing his bottom lip and he released it happily as watched Carol walk over to the house. He stretched and twisted, easing the dull ache that had settled into his lower back. He checked the bike while he waited, started it up, and was sitting on it when she returned, a grin clearing the tension as she connected the strap of her helmet. Daryl cradled her chin, twisting it gently as he checked it too, before she slid on the bike behind him, her arms fitting around his middle exactly where he wanted them. Daryl shifted in his seat, kicked the stand back and turned his head to check on Carol, his nod earning a muted cackle of delight, which pulled warmly at his heart. They took off up the street, Daryl giving a nod of greeting to a surprised Dale, as they passed him on the road.

-------

Eugene set the tool chest on the little table in the space beside his kitchenette. Carol leaned over it, her eyes dampening as they wandered its shape and found each groove of wear and ownership. The wooden box was twice the size of the tool chest her father had owned. It was a Kennedy Kit model, a felt lined metal chest with a brown wrinkled coat. With Eugene's nod of permission, Carol lifted the lid to peer inside, and pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle an unexpected sob. A photo of Laura and Eugene was pinned inside the lid of the box.

Carol cleared her throat and pressed the heels of her palms to her upper cheeks to stem the sudden flow of tears she hadn't anticipated. There were so many reminders of what had been lost, and Eugene's grief swelled near enough to her, to bind them.

"So Justin gave these to Laura?" Carol wanted to clarify.

Her eyes wandered over the assorted hand tools pressed into the top drawer. Her voice was so quiet in the echo of the shadowed space, that she had to repeat herself, and Eugene leaned forward, his head tilting, before he straightened up. Daryl was leaning back against the bench on the other side of the table. He smelled faintly of nicotine and fainter still of the cherry blossoms they'd crushed in their descent down the hill. She'd spotted fragments of the flowers, tiny nettles, that had nestled into Daryl's hair and lifted out as the wind whipped through them.

"Yes ma'am," Eugene's expression hadn't altered. "He uh, well I believe they were a birthday gift one year. If I remember correctly."

Carol laughed briefly, a soft snort that she corrected as she glanced back up at Eugene. She remembered some of the gifts Ed had bestowed upon her in the early days, as she carefully lifted the photograph from the felt, easing the pin with it, and closed the lid, snapping the clasp gently back into place.

"Thank you, Eugene." She smiled faintly, passing him the photograph.

Daryl drifted over to the table, as though he sensed the interaction was nearing its end. He considered the chest after studying Eugene briefly, his eyes narrowing gently as he turned his focus in Carol's direction. Carol hadn't thought about how they might transport the chest home. She hadn't been certain that Eugene would have it in the first place.

"Now, you're a hundred percent that his brother's goin'a pick this up now? It won't end up in Justin Turner's hands? You can guarantee me that?" Eugene's eyebrows set over his darkened eyes and Carol nodded briskly.

"Yes, Eugene. Justin won't be touching it, I promise."

Carol studied the music store owner for a moment, her mouth opening and closing, as the significance of the moment weighed on her. She felt Daryl's gaze, as he shifted his weight, as she struggled to transition to the next part of their journey. She wanted to give Eugene a warning about Justin, about his fate, further explain the situation to him, about what Laura might have done. But they didn't have Justin's bones yet, and she was overcome with a longing to let Eugene live in these last few moments, not knowing what had happened, whatever the details may have been, for Laura.

"We can't take it now," Carol exhaled softly. "We've got Daryl's bike. Can we pick it up tomorrow?"

"I'd be more than happy to deliver it." Eugene offered without pause, his decisive tone sealing the fate of the chest. "It's the least I can do, with all this runnin' around the two a'you've been doing." He dipped his head in a single nod and collected his keys, then scooped up the chest.

"Uh, okay?" Carol twisted to Daryl, then picked up her helmet and stepped out of the way so that Eugene could set a path to the front door. "If you're sure?"

They followed Eugene out to his truck, and Carol opened the door for him, so that he could slide the chest into the passenger seat.

"I'm sure," Eugene nodded, glancing back at Daryl. "I'll just lock up here and meet you on up there."

"Alright," Daryl nodded, pulling his helmet on as he waited for Carol.

He climbed onto the bike when she joined him. She slid on quickly after pulling on her helmet, and lifted her feet up onto the footpegs behind him.

"Hold on." Daryl instructed and Carol leaned against him, nestling against his spine, longing again to forget about the chest and the cabin.

She thought about all the things she wanted to say to Eugene, things she knew she should have warned him about, and she wondered how to say them.

---------

Eugene's truck pulled up on the road in front of the cabin and Carol and Daryl met him on the driveway. Eugene's eyes were fixed on the front door, his upper half reaching forward subtly in its direction, though he didn't take another step once he joined them.

"Is ... is she here?" Eugene murmured and Carol's heart lurched with sorrow.

She turned to watch Daryl's lips disappear into his mouth as the scanned the front yard for Laura. There was no sign of the ghost, but she knew that didn't mean anything.

Eugene took a deep breath and without warning, started belting out a yearning tune, his trembling voice arching into the sky, disconcertingly filling the space around them.

"You live in my heart, when you're far away.
I see you in dreams where I hear you say. I'm with you forever, in true love. By light of the day and stars above."

His face scrunched wildly as he sang the lyrics. Carol stepped back with her hand at her chest, and she glanced back at Daryl, who stood with his lips parted helplessly, his eyes slightly harrowed in their glance to her, as they waited for Eugene to finish his verse.

"Laura's favourite band," Carol hissed, drawing closer to Daryl. "Judas Priest. I'm pretty sure."

His expression didn't alter, and Carol pressed her lips together as she turned back to Eugene. When he finished singing, his head drooped miserably, and after a moment, his shoulders started to shake. Carol took the few steps toward him, urgently lifting one hand to the man's back, the other draping tenderly over the arm that faced her.

"Laura?" Eugene called hopefully, his voice slivered and hollow. "If you're listening, I want you to know that I trust Carol, and I hope you do too. That's the only reason I am releasing your tools into her care. We're all trying to help you, and I hope you can understand that. I love you, angel." His voice broke as he finished his declaration, and he turned to Carol to pass her the tool chest.

Daryl had appeared beside them, his toned arms reaching out to take the chest. A hint of a smile flashed across his lips as he cradled the box and pressed it against his torso. His focus snapped to the side suddenly, and Carol followed his gaze, to find Irma wandering over, Dale beside her, the pair arm in arm.

"Eugene? Is that you?" Irma called, an urgency filtering through her voice, her face shifting with concern.

Dale's eyebrows drew together and then parted when he and Irma reached the small group. He quickly studied Carol and Daryl, and then fixed his attention on Eugene, concern radiating from him as he put his arm out to shake Eugene's hand. Irma stepped forward next, cradling Eugene's face and drawing him into a hug.

"Hello sweetheart, how are you?"

"Hello Irma. Dale. H'well I'm a little tore up at the minute, as you can surely see, but seein' you's a damn breath o'fresh air. Hell, it's been a month o'Sundays, hasn't it? How're you both?"

Irma's steely gaze was one that didn't waver with the pleasantries exchanged. Her eyes drilled into Eugene's and he shifted uncomfortably, before withdrawing a sky blue hankerchief from his pocket to dab his eyes and his nose with.

"I'm fine Eugene, I'm getting a break from all that treatment for a change. Is this the first time you've been back since you moved out?" She asked gently.

"Yes, ma'am. Yes, it certainly is."

"Would you consider having dinner with us? Not tonight, not if you have plans, but another time?" Her glance flitted between Carol and Daryl.

Eugene considered this, his chin dipping as he nodded slowly. "I'd be much obliged."

"Well," Dale shrugged, his hands spreading in offer. "Does tonight work? Daryl? Carol? Care to join us?"

"Ain't got plans." Daryl murmured, shrugging at Carol, and she nodded in agreement

"Well," Dale grinned, putting his hands together as he turned to Irma. "We've got that brie, a bit of wine, all we need to do is fire up the barbeque."

"Sounds wonderful." Carol smiled, trying to buoy her enthusiasm and soften the snag of tightness she felt creeping into her eyes. Daryl frowned softly. "We'll just go freshen up and be over in a minute."

She watched as Eugene walked with Dale and Irma to their property line, following the faintly marked track beyond the driveway. His head was twisted in the direction of the cabin, the backyard, in a search that Carol felt through her bones as she looked for Laura too.

Daryl had started his trek back to the trailer, the tool chest clutched in his arms, with his focus dead on for his front door, twisting just once to ensure Carol made it over the property line. Carol trailed after him, feeling the energy shift around the cabin. A breeze picked up, and Carol felt the chill in it. She shivered as she stepped over the gravel and onto Daryl's property, where the chill lingered, creeping slowly into her bones, the hairs lifting over her arms, and the back of her neck.

--------

"No, I ... well yes, but..."

Daryl was hovering in the kitchen, listening to the call Carol had placed through to Sean's wife. She was twisting the card from the salon in her free hand, her nails softly scraping the edge of the cardboard. She was trying to explain that they had possession of the tool chest, but she kept getting cut off. There was an exasperation reeling in her that pulled at Daryl insistently. He chewed at his bottom lip, his hands driving into his armpits as he leaned against the kitchen bench. He wanted nothing more than to take Carol back to the inn, to their room, and distract her from the cabin again, from the tool chest, from Justin, and Laura.

"I mentioned the paper, but I told him that wasn't why we were there," Carol's left hand went up to her temple, the fingers still curled over the card, as her eyes closed. She started rubbing an eyebrow, and sighed loudly. "I don't know where Justin is, he used to be in the area, but I don't exactly have a phone number for him ... because I'm trying to help ... Jenny ... well you told me that's what started the rift between them, and it's here, we have the tool chest ... well, no, you would need to come and get it, I have work, and ... well I understand that Jenny ... no," Carol sighed again and twisted, her head lowering. Daryl watched as her shoulders drooped, as her voice grew quieter. "Okay. Yeah, I ... I understand. Yes. Goodbye."

Daryl braced himself as Carol ended the phone call. She looked up at him with tear lined eyes, her chin dimpling, and he crossed the floor to firmly embrace her, absorbing her hiccup of frustration, of despair. He could feel the tension shifting through as he leaned back to study her.

"They won't come down," her voice wobbled and she cleared her throat softly. "They're ... Sean's upset apparently, because I went to see Jenny. Can't blame him I guess." She shrugged sadly.

"Guess if we were wantin' 'em to ... Sean and Justin, t'hook up again, would make sense that we actually ... spoke to the guy." He cupped her face gently. "Oh well. Their loss."

"And ours," Carol reminded him, sighing harshly. "Ugh, this is such a mess! This whole thing ...." she stopped abruptly, holding up her phone when it started vibrating in her hand.

It was Jenny, Daryl deduced, judging by the surprise in Carol's face, the formal tone she took. There was a short discussion about meeting up the next day, Carol mentioned four o'clock, it was the earliest she could be home, and she asked did Jenny know the address. She didn't apparently, so Carol gave it, and a flair of brightness lifted in her as she ended the call and pocketed the phone. She then reached for Daryl earnestly, pressing her mouth to his, her hips to his, as she wrapped herself around him. He stepped fully into the embrace, threading his own arms around her waist, drawing her closer, as their kiss deepened, until Carol broke it moments later. She pressed her face into his neck, let her head rest against his shoulder. Daryl felt her heart thudding against him, and he was inexplicably grateful for it. There were so many things about Carol that felt fragile, that he wanted to shelter, but there was also a fierceness inside her, a steely resolve that he felt settling into her bones, that he allowed himself to revere wholeheartedly. He was looking to her for the answers he didn't have, letting her be the beacon to sail his ship toward. He felt a familiar warmth tingling through him as he held her, a sense of pride, the nearest of which he'd known only when someone had underestimated Merle and what his brother had been capable of. This was vastly different. Whatever it was that he felt for Carol, shook him with its strength and rarity. He felt, not for the last time, that he'd been made wrong somehow, that he wasn't supposed to experience devotion like this, and that Carol had made a mistake in choosing him, a beautiful mistake, one he couldn't help but hope she never realised.

As Carol was fixing the laces of her sneakers, preparing to head over to Dale and Irma's, Jenny called again. Sean couldn't wait for the next day, he was heading down now.

"We'll just stay for an hour." Daryl reassured Carol, and she smiled gratefully, squeezing his hand as she set her phone down on the armrest of his recliner.

They made their way over to the property line, and as they stepped over the grass into Carol's backyard, Daryl turned toward a soft light he saw flickering nearby. Laura had come out to meet them, or Daryl specifically, because Carol hadn't seemed to notice the apparition at all. Laura was crying, silent sobs that wracked through her torso as she fell to her knees in front of Daryl.

"What is it?" Carol asked, stopping still as Daryl tensed and stopped walking. He was fixed on the creature before him, but Carol still couldn't see her. "Is it Laura?"

Daryl was speechless for a moment, his eyes falling to Laura's tears, as they sparkled down her cheeks in the moonlight. He tried to make sense of the state of her, her anguish.

"Y'almost killed her!" He exhaled helplessly, his voice breaking over the words as his grip on Carol's hand tightened firmly.

"Laura?" Carol called, her voice low. "We're trying to help you." Her eyebrows lifted as she glanced back at Daryl, tried to track his gaze. "Eugene will be fine, he'll be fine," she called out, "I-"

"Don't promise." Daryl interrupted.

Laura was on her knees on the grass, her hands steepled as she lifted them to Daryl. His heart lurched at the sight of her, twisting with the memory of Carol, half drowned in his arms.

"Is she saying something?" Carol wondered.

"She's .... she's beggin' me ... Carol ..."

"Hey," Carol took hold of his shoulders suddenly, twisted him to face her, her eyes chiselling into his, her warmth and solemnity unfurling steadily into him. "Come with me. Please?"

Daryl focused on Carol then, walked beside her, stepping away from Laura, from her devastated longing, as her pale hands fell to the ground, as her body trembled and started to fade. She wailed suddenly and it ripped through Daryl, seared into his bones, settled over the air, reaching Carol finally, as she twisted back sharply, her eyes questioning. He guided Carol's step over the hill, turning back only briefly. He saw Laura's fading form, crumpled on the grass, her torso shaking violently as she sobbed, the last of her light fading as he and Carol reached the Horvath's side gate. His eyes twitched then, as a shadow moved into his peripheral vision. Up on the back porch of the cabin, Justin's form had materialised. He'd been watching Laura, a dark smile twisting over his face.

Daryl opened the gate with an agitated burst of effort, ushering Carol through the gap before stepping wearily after her. When he looked back over at the cabin, at the back lawn, he saw that Justin and Laura had disappeared. The cabin was bathed in shadows, and Daryl felt a veil of uncertainty draping itself over everything that lay ahead, but Carol was still holding his hand.

Chapter Text

They left the Horvath's within an hour. Neither of them could settle, or focus on the sprawling topics, reviving only fragments of discussion moments after the conversation drifted. Dale shared a knowing look with Irma, as Eugene stepped into the house to use the bathroom.

"Let's let these two love birds have some time together," he murmured to his wife, projecting an expression of mock innocence, when Carol turned to him, surprised.

She was smiling softly a moment later, reaching for Daryl’s hand, and he tried to return the sentiment, his head ducking slightly, as his lips turning upward.

"Saw you both on the bike earlier," Dale explained. "You look great together. We're very happy for you."

Daryl let out a huff of breath, squeezing Carol's hand as he lost his gaze in her, unable to believe that she was smiling at Dale and Irma, thanking them, and that he was a part of that.

They farewelled the small group and took the same path back across the lawn to the trailer, to collect the tool chest. Then they waited on Carol's porch swing on the front deck of the cabin, tension pulsing in each of them, as the tool chest rested silently on the coffee table.

Sean made it to the cabin in just under two hours, five minutes after Eugene left, much to Carol's relief. Sean pulled up with a lurch, his wheels crunching over the gravel before he jumped out of his truck and made his way up to the porch steps. Neither Laura or Justin had appeared since their earlier visit in the backyard, and Daryl desperately hoped that Justin was still around somewhere to see the interaction.

Sean inspected the tool chest, opening the clasp to fold the drawers out and account for each tool. He seemed satisfied with the contents, closed the lid, and snapped the latch closed.

"Why y'doin' this?" He asked quietly.

Daryl could feel Carol tense from where he stood beside her. She folded her arms across her chest, her shoulders lifting.

"Because we were close to ... to Laura. And, we just want to ... do the right thing by her. Since, she's no longer with us."

There was a sharp edge to her voice. Daryl lifted his hand to her back, pressed his palm firmly against it, his fingers tensing minutely at their ends, as he reminded himself why they were doing this.

"Thought you said it was Justin you were close to." Sean's eyes were hard, his jaw shifting slightly as his eyes fixed on Carol.

"Well, he was ... in town, we've seen him ... around ... the place."

"So you're saying you were close to him because you saw him around town?"

"Hey man, what difference does it make?" Daryl interjected quietly, his free hand lifting in a mixture of peace and perplexity. "You wanted your tools, now y'got 'em. Why can't y'just be happy with that?"

Sean considered Daryl for a long moment. "Because, nothing in life is ever free, y'never heard that?"

"Yeah." Daryl's eyes were trained on Sean. "Live it." He saw Carol's flicking between the two uneasily, and he tried to dampen his growing agitation. "Like Carol said, just wanna do the right thing. She's a good person." His voice wavered slightly over the words as a lump formed in his throat, and he tried to clear it, tried to wrangle his voice back into something solid, dependable. "She just wants to see things work out the way they should."

Sean studied Carol for a moment, his eyes lingering over her neck and her shoulders. Daryl watched him, felt his body tense, grow still beside hers'. Sean inspected the tool chest again, his fingers caressing the nearest ledge.

"Woulda been nice if Justin was the one to reach out first. Y'know?" He murmured.

"Well," Carol shrugged, and Daryl sensed hints of her altered personality emerge, the syrupy buzz she managed to concoct in situations shadowed with uncertainty, like this one. "Maybe this is his way of doing that." She gave Daryl a sidelong glance. "And anyway, you've got his number, haven't you? Maybe start there and see how you go."

Sean snorted, his lips curling sharply. "Y'think I haven't tried callin' him the last three years?"

Carol pressed her lips together and Daryl felt the anger bubble up dangerously inside him. His eyes narrowed over Sean's frame as he considered his options, their options. He waited for Carol, heard her take in a breath, a faint huff of amusement following it, one that felt like a balm over the steam lifting through him.

"The truth is, Sean, we don't want any trace of that man hanging around, not after what he did to Laura. You're lucky we didn't just dump all this. But, every family has a bad seed, so, we wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But we know," Carol's voice lifted in what sounded like a warning, and Daryl turned to watch her, couldn't help but watch her, because her steely resolve was part of something he'd already hitched his wagon to. "We know he killed her."

Daryl released his breath in a rush as he twisted back to study Sean, watching with astonishment, as a flash of defeat touched the man's features, and lingered.

Carol smiled sadly, the pulse of it fading quickly as Sean nodded, turned to scoop the chest up into his arms as he carried it out to his truck, and secured it in the passenger seat. Daryl tried not to relax, tried to steady the tension nestling through his upper back.

"Are you glad?" Carol asked suddenly, a similar tightness lulling in her features, a strain of hope evident in her voice. Sean turned to her, surprised. "To get the tools back?"

"He shouldn'ta taken 'em in the first place." Sean complained. He circled the truck and opened his car door. He planted his foot suddenly, his hip bending with the motion, glancing at Daryl before fixing his attention on Carol. "I know he was hitting her. Laura." His face clouded as he considered his statement. "But I ain't like that. Y'hear? So you can both stop looking at me like that." He climbed into the truck, glaring in their direction as he started the engine, and drove away.

Carol's shoulders dropped and she seemed to crumple slightly with relief. Daryl pulled her against him, rubbing gentle circles into her back as she trembled. His eyes wandered over the cabin, found the shadows winding down the level panels, distorting the depth of the porch from their position near the steps. Silence greeted them, permeated the area, and after a moment, Carol shifted lightly, twisting back. She smiled damply at Daryl, a hand moving quickly across her cheek. Then a jolt worked its way through her, and her eyes shut. Her hands worked their way over her pockets.

"Left my phone next door." She sighed and she took a step towards the Horvath's.

"Sure y'didn't leave it in the trailer?" Daryl glanced toward his house. "Why don't y'go check? Go get a drink, try'n relax. I'll grab it if it's next door and meet you back there, alright?" He fished his keys out of his pocket, removing the flashlight to hold onto, before handing the bundle of keys to Carol.

She smiled and nodded, reaching across to brush her lips against his. "Okay. Thank you."

Daryl nodded, watching Carol as she wandered the length of the front yard until she reached his side of the property line. The porch lights from both houses lit a path from one side to the other, with just a slight dip over the trench, where Carol's slender form dipped out of view briefly, before re-emerging in the next bend of light. Carol lifted her right hand over her shoulder and fluttered her fingers at him without turning back, and Daryl's heart warmed at the thought of her knowing, or assuming, that he was still watching her. He then made his way over to the Horvath's.

Irma was sitting out in the courtyard, leaning over a cup of tea when Daryl wandered in with Dale. The older man had met Daryl halfway up the path when he heard the squeak of his side gate, and he announced the matter of Carol's lost phone, so Irma hopped up abruptly despite Daryl urging her not to, joining in a search of the area.

"S'probably back home," Daryl reassured them, an apology in his voice. "Just wanted t'check."

"No problem," Dale reassured him, leaning down to check under the seats. "Are you sure Carol didn't drop it on the grass? If it doesn't turn up, I can come out in the morning and help you look in the daylight?"

Irma had disappeared inside, and she pulled open the screen door, phone in hand as she popped her head out. "Carol texted," she called out. "She's got her phone, she says."

"Oh, great," Dale held his hands up in celebration. "Listen, take some of Irma's strudel with you, Daryl. Honey?" He called out. "Eugene took some too." Dale turned back to Daryl, and Daryl shrugged, nodding politely.

Irma's muffled song filtered out from the kitchen before she emerged with a warm container, pressing it firmly into Daryl's hands with a smile.

"Thanks," Daryl dipped his head. "For this, and dinner, and uh, helping me look for the phone."

He made his way back along the leafy pathway, moving his flashlight across the pavers, and pulling the gate closed behind himself. Carol's backyard was bathed in moonlight, and the strained glow of the front porch light reached around the nearest corner. Daryl headed up the hill toward it, trying to remember if the light switch was on the outside of the cabin. He was halfway up the side of the yard, the bulk of the cabin obscuring his view of his trailer, when Justin materialised a few feet in front of him. Daryl hit the breaks, his knees clicking as he planted his feet, his breath ragged with surprise. The left side of Justin's face was completely caved in, blood and bone twisted in a gnarled mess under the glow of the flashlight. Daryl tried to understand what he was looking at.

"Got a smoke?" Justin grinned.

"Not for you, asshole." Daryl huffed, immediately regretting it.

They'd just spent two days, the best two days of his life, trying to do what they thought Justin might want. The thought of it scratched at Daryl, as he remembered Carol's indignance about Justin getting what he wanted, and he tried not to think about what she'd had to do to live through Ed, remembering his own efforts not to aggravate his father. He tried to shift away from the smug slant covering the other half of Justin's face, twisting on his heel as he ducked his head, pushing his shoulder down in his effort to move past the ghost.

"Could wrap this whole thing up right now?" Justin called out.

"Nah." Daryl grumbled, wishing that Carol was here with her well thought out answers, but relieved, with a stab of overwhelm, that she wasn't.

Bewildered snickers trailed after Daryl, seemed to swarm around him until he was walking back into them, and Justin was standing in front of him again.

Daryl huffed out another breath, taking a moment to let the absurdity of the situation sink in.

"Y'wanna smoke?" Daryl asked, agitation surfacing in the gruff rattle of his voice. "Here." He took out a cigarette and lit it, held it out to the ghost, whose smile only widened, a dark menace pooling in his eyes.

"You actually think I can smoke? I'm a fucking ghost, man. I don't breathe, or whatever. Plus there's something weird going on with my mouth." Justin patted the hole where the other side of his jaw used to be, and Daryl looked away.

He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled slowly, savouring the nicotine as it wound through him, holding it, before exhaling it in a gust and taking a step sideways.

"I'd probably kill someone for just one smoke though." Justin drawled.

"Yeah, you'd prob'ly kill someone for less than that, right?" Daryl countered, immediately frustrated with himself again.

He was done talking to Justin. All he wanted was to get home to Carol.

"Can wrap this up right now if you want." Justin repeated.

Daryl ignored him and kept walking.

"Or I can just ask Carol. Next time she's out here by herself."

Daryl rounded his step and took a swing at Justin's face. The ghost vanished and the sinister cackle returned, loudly, piercing Daryl's ears.

"What do you want?!" Daryl yelled, suddenly acutely aware that he was metres from the Horvath's fenceline, that Irma, and Dale might have heard him.

Justin's fist connected with Daryl's jawline and the trapper fell back onto the grass, stunned, the strudel flying out of his hand, as the ghost stepped over him. Justin grabbed a fistful of Daryl’s shirt with one hand, and peered menacingly down at the trapper, as a flood of images crashed into Daryl's vision.

Daryl saw and felt, the terror cursing through Laura as she huddled in a corner. She was in the bedroom upstairs, the space furnished with her bed, carved side tables, the walls not yet painted. He saw what Princess must have seen, when Justin held Dog under the water, felt a sick satisfaction, a vile hatred, that could only belong to Justin. Then he saw Carol, and bile rose in his throat as he experienced through Justin's sick satisfaction, the night he'd found her huddled on the staircase. Then he saw something that hadn't happened yet, a warning, a threat that paralysed him completely, made him heave as he went loose in Justin's death grip. Carol's lifeless form, laying in the basement, and Daryl, himself, standing over her.

Justin vanished and reappeared a metre away, holding Daryl's pack of smokes, and he lit one, watching the ash glow and drop, grey particles, sprinkling over the grass. Daryl sat up, retching over to one side, his hands planting on the grass, as he lifted himself shakily, eyeing Justin, his breath distilling in short, pained bursts.

"Well, I wanted you to see, but now I dunno man. Maybe you don't have the stones for it." Justin smiled as he turned on his heel and headed for the front porch. "Now!" He barked loudly. "It has to be now, you piece of shit. Ain't waiting another god damn minute." He eyed Daryl, a blank void fixing in his eyes, before he disappeared, literally, through Carol's front door.

Daryl considered his options, of which only one mattered, had only mattered from the very beginning. There was no possible way he could let Carol anywhere near the place until Justin was gone.

He took the few steps up to the front door and hesitated. It was ajar when he reached it, and he took out his flashlight to illuminate the hall. The only light apart from the beam he produced with his flashlight, was the muted presence of the moon, distorting with the occasional flutter of curtains. Beyond that, the stillness in the cabin was one which threatened to swallow everything inside.

Daryl moved as quickly as he could, the panic in his step propelling him onward, a nagging promise through his mind that it was up to him to fix this, to finally end the ghosts' rule over what should be Carol's home. This was his chance, maybe his last one.

Justin was reeling him in like a fish, the hook violently embedded in his mind, the image of Carol, lifeless in the basement. When Daryl reached the end of the hall, the lanky stride and greased shoulder length hair disappeared from sight, and Daryl was left hovering in the tiny hall, pondering his next move.

He was still breathing in short bursts of air, one hand lifting to the handle of the basement door, when a strange sensation began to clutch at his chest. Small hands, he guessed, but there were many of them.

"Laura?" He whispered, his gentle tremble filling the space around him.

The pressure increased gradually as he opened the door and slowly descended the stairs. He pushed on, waving his flashlight in his search for Justin, until the pressure disappeared, and he took a moment to adjust to the sudden change. He lit a path to the new section of wall beside the workbench. That's gotta be it, he thought, remembering how close to uncovering it he'd been last time.

As he took several paces off the last step and into the modest space at the foot of the stairs, Daryl heard the distinct whisper of flame spark up, he felt the heat of it, and the glow, coming from the shadows to his right. By the time he turned to find it, his movements too slow to feel natural, the distinct scent of smoke hit his nostrils and he saw the flame in Laura palms. She emerged from the shadows, and stood between Daryl and the wooden panels, blocking his access to them, to the workbench beside them. Her form was strangely lit by the arching light, her features distorting in clear, pale arches above it. Behind him, the steps flickered in shadowed waves, in a climb toward Daryl's only exit.

"Laura."  He murmured uneasily, realisation dawning with a sickening pull, like a rope he'd tied around his own neck by mistake. "Laura, I gotta do this. I gotta ... for Carol. M'sorry."

Laura's eyes, above the flames, were white. She was shaking her head, but not in her usual, desperate appeal. Everything about her was screaming in warning, but behind her, a needling whine was emerging, and Daryl scanned the wooden panels, the new ones, lifting the light in his hand, as he watched them groan. Laura twisted too, as one screw after another spun out of its hole and clattered softly to the concrete, a tinny vibration that triggered an unexpected moan from Laura.

"No!" She cried in devastation, her head shaking violently, back to its regular haunting plea. The flame in her fists whipped wildly as it grew.

Daryl tried to wet his lips with his tongue but his mouth was desert dry. He considered the staircase, but the image of Carol reeled through him again and he planted his feet. Another screw sprang loose from its foundation and bounced over the concrete until it rested at his feet.

Laura wailed desolately, sending a stream of fire out of her hands. Flames curled around the banister, flickering upward as they melted the varnish. The noise of the fire became deafening, the roar consuming everything, and the intensity of the heat ultimately made Daryl's decision for him. He pushed the image of Carol to one side, filling his mind with the memories of his own childhood, of what Carol might find if he didn't leave now.

"Alright!" He called out to Laura. "Alright, I'll go, I'll go. Let me go. Please."

Either Laura didn't hear him, or she was too lost in her grief, because the smoke began to smother him, and he was losing the light in it, along with his sense of direction.

"It has to be now, asshole?" He yelled out to Justin. "This what you wanted me to see, huh?" He coughed, and lowered himself to the ground, smoke pooling above him. "Can't see shit." He spat out.

Daryl knew he had to get out of there, now, and he plotted his movements up the steps in the same way he'd once had to manoeuvre past the drunken stagger of his father.

"Where you at, boy?" A voice lifted suddenly from the depths of the wooden panels, and Daryl froze, his heart thudding, his hands paralysed at the foot of the stairs.

He suddenly felt the pressure clinging to his chest again, but this time it was stronger, pulling him back, weighing against his legs as he pondered the narrow gap, the flames extending onto the staircase at a rate that shocked him to his core, sent him right back to his mother's bedroom, to his nightmares. He remembered the water suddenly, Carol in it, the trails emptying out of her when they'd crossed the property line and headed back to his place. Daryl turned to the wooden panels, dazed, overwhelmed, helpless in his growing stupor, as the smoke parted in billowing waves, and the pine began to shift independently of human intervention. Daryl lifted the collar of his shirt up over his mouth, as on the other side of the firey deluge, the panels began to wobble.

"I said where you at, y'little shit!"

It sounded like his father's voice, held the same tone and threat that gripped Daryl's throat, ran ice and lead through his veins, while the smoke pillowed around him. He tried to grab hold of the railing, the stairs, but he was cast into another dimension, one of darkness, and smoke, and the stairwell disappeared, his tracking instincts muddying to a point of no return. It happened so quickly that Daryl's mind was still spinning on the cool grass along his property line, his father's voice, and Carol's lifeless form, a heavy weight across his chest.

Daryl collapsed to the ground as a panel fell behind him, smacking the floor with a blow that made him tense up further. He tried to get his bearings in the darkness, tried to find the stairs, but everywhere he turned, smoke billowed and choked him.

"Laura!" He cried, coughing and spluttering, as he swiftly removed his shirt and tried to use it as a mask.

Another panel fell to the concrete, and another, as the smoke spread eagerly, seeping through the basement, burning Daryl's eyes and his throat, the roar of flames growing more menacing in the narrowing space around him, increasingly taking the air from the room.

He turned and shifted his way toward the nearest wall, finding the laundry sink, and blindly plotting his next move, trying to draw the plan of the basement from his memory. Another panel and another fell, as Daryl continued his search on his knees, through the waves of smoke stretching, amidst the searing burn of tears flooding the screen of his vision. The smoke parted again, and that's when Daryl saw what he could only assume, was the mummified remains of Justin, one side of his face caved in beyond recognition, wisps of shoulder length hair falling in unrestrained tufts either side of it. The body was gathered in a bundle against the southern wall, where the pine fixtures had hidden him since some time after his demise. The final panels fell as the ghost stood over his body, pulling the last panel down, a look of devastation setting over his features.

"What did the fuck did you do to me?" Justin started wailing.

Daryl coughed and spluttered from his position next to the sink. He sank down against the tub, crawling into the space beside it, and tried to battle the smoke already lining his lungs. The fire roared around him, as Justin started weeping, as Laura did, as the muted sound of Dog's bark filtered through, and everything finally went black.
-------

Carol slid her phone back into her pocket and peered through the kitchen window. It was quiet out there, a soft unrest in the enduring whisper of wind, bending through the maple trees. She wanted to wrap Daryl in her arms, wanted to kiss him, and press herself firmly against him. She wanted to feel the edge of his strength, the way he held it back, was so careful with it, with her. She wanted to forget about the cabin again.

The stark glow of moonlight over the lake lifted rippling echoes across the wooden slats of the cabin, in such a faint glow, that Carol squinted over them with the same intensity, before tracking her eyes back to the hole in the emptiness, where the Horvath's gate was shadowed under an overhanging hedge.

Daryl had left his phone on the bench, and Carol traced a finger over it nervously. She couldn't see his torch bobbing over the hill toward her, and she contemplated texting Irma, deciding ultimately to do so before completing the thought, asking her neighbour to text her when Daryl left. The reply came back in just a few seconds.

Hi Carol. Daryl left about five minutes ago.

Carol held the phone out above the sink for a moment and watched the dark patch of grass over her backyard. Then she spun on her heel and scrambled out of the house, over to the property line, stepping over the dip of the trench, as she made her way quickly across the grass. She managed to trek a few metres before Dog came running up to meet her, barking insistently, before jumping back to wait for her reaction.

Carol gazed down at the animal, fumbling for her phone, and switched on the flashlight function with trembling fingers. Thousands of beaded wisps of fur were saturated with icicles and threads of water. Dog turned and ran a short distance in the direction of the cabin, then turned back to bark at Carol again, his head lowering, his eyes fixed on her, before he barked again, and pawed the ground.

"What is it?" She asked, a sob catching in her throat. "Is it Daryl?"

She followed Dog eagerly, beams of light sent in flickering waves over the deck as she raced up the stairs, through the back door and into her cabin. Dog's bark was so much louder in the living room, echoing through the space toward Carol, through every pang of terror flooding through her, settling into her bones. When she reached the basement, she found the door slightly ajar. She took hold of the handle and released it with a gasp, the metal leaving a red heat mark on her hand.

"Daryl?" She called, her voice lifting with distress.

I asked you not to go in there by yourself.

Dog whinnied and paced at the door, an urgent whimper growing as he put his nose to the gap and nudged the panel open. He barked at Carol again, his eyes drilling into hers, and Carol took a deep breath, and started to ease herself down the staircase, mindful of the heat also radiating from the banister. She felt her heart in her mouth, the thud of it in her ears, her hand trailing lightly over the rail, warm beneath her fingers. Streams of her phone flashlight bobbed down ahead of her, across the stairs and over the concrete, until it flexed over Daryl's huddled form beneath the laundry bench. Carol cleared the last few steps, a confused cry escaping her.

"Daryl?"

She reached his side shakily, moving his t-shirt away from his face. His head slumped gently out of her careful hands, awkwardly against the sink behind him. He was unconscious, and the image of that, of seeing him looking so vulnerable, set Carol's already palpitating heart racing with a renewed surge of terror.

"Daryl! I need you to wake up, come on. Please Daryl." He was still breathing, it seemed faint, or shallow, she watched his chest rise and fall to be sure. "Daryl, wake up, wake up!" Her voice crumbled as she tried to lift him. She patted his cheeks gently, dug her thumbs softly, then firmly, under his collar bones. When she couldn't revive him, her fingers started to tremble over the screen of her phone, desperately swiping and scrolling until she found Irma's number.

The flashlight bobbed over Daryl's face and Carol peered curiously at his features, noting a faint smudge of black at the edges of his nostrils. He was warm to touch, too warm, and red over the cheek facing toward the workbench, an erratic scale of drying skin stretching and distorting over his left forearm.

"Carol? Did you find him?"

"No, he's here," Carol didn't try to hide the panic in her voice. "Yes. In the basement, and he's unconscious? I need Dale, please Irma. Tell him to hurry, I-I need to move him and, he won't wake up. I need Dale now!"

"Carol's basement, hurry, just go, just go!"

She listened to Irma's voice, distorting as the woman called out to her husband.

"Carol? We'll be right over. Just hang on, I'm calling an ambulance."

Irma's voice sounded far away, distant. Carol pictured Dale's worried face, she held onto it, imagined him dropping everything to run over, she plotted his footsteps, as she lifted Daryl's shirt back to his mouth to cover it. Dale arrived in just a few minutes, a lifetime Carol would never forget. When she heard his heavy steps, urgently thudding through the cabin, then his voice, calling out in bewilderment, she shouted back.

Dale was asking about the lights, a weak light from his phone announcing his arrival at the basement door. Carol was already standing, her phone in her hand, as she tried to get a good grip on Daryl's right arm.

"We need to move him. Upstairs." She said urgently, and Dale eased himself onto the first step at the landing, his head beginning a frustrating shake, as the man navigated his way down the stairs until he reached Carol.

He carefully examined Daryl, crouching close to him, to check his face, and chest.

"You shouldn't move a casualty, Carol. We don't know what's happened, it could-"

"Laura's here," Carol gasped, interrupting him. "Her presence, h-her ghost, Dale, and she can make things happen. Sometimes, only one of us can see it. It's ... I think it's fire ... or smoke, that only Daryl can see, the door handle was hot, but ... we don't have time, Dale please, Dale, please, grab his other arm, we need to get him out of here!" She implored Dale, her voice growing sharper with desperation, the glow of their phone lights just barely touching her eyes. "Please help me."

"A ... a ghost?" Dale narrowed his eyes, shaking his head before shifting himself around the other side of Daryl, bending, to get a grip around the man's upper torso. "Laura?"

He was muttering to himself, bending his phone in his hand as he helped drag Daryl out from under the sink, grunting with the effort. As he did, a stream of his phone light wavered over to the far wall and Dale dropped the device to the floor, loosening his grip on Daryl as well. Cursing, he went fumbling for his phone and held his arm up, taking one sweeping step forward as he craned his neck. His light revealed the twisted corpse of a man huddled by the wall near the workbench, and tan coloured wooden panels strewn across the ground nearby.

"Carol?" He queried uncertainly, his voice lifting with unease.

Carol's gaze was steely, her eyes darting only briefly to Justin's remains, "That’s Justin." She said, dismissively, before her arms tightened around Daryl, and she said Dale's name again, this time in a tone that caused him to spring back into action.

"Alright." He nodded, gripping his phone tighter, his eyes somehow wider, more harrowed, as he returned his attention to Daryl.

He helped Carol to lift, drag Daryl over to the foot of the stairs. As they hoisted the trapper up and over the wooden steps, Carol felt the weight of Sophia's bag from all those years ago, as she'd hauled it for miles to the school, to the choir performance, the one she had never been able to attend. All the things she'd lost stretched out above her, and Carol focused on that feeling, the injustice of it, as she put all of her strength into lifting Daryl up the stairs, claiming him as the one thing she could never allow to be taken away from her. She cried out in desperate relief as they made it up onto the landing, where they shifted Daryl out into the halfway, and rolled him onto his back. Carol studied him anxiously.

"You're not breathing. He's not breathing? Daryl?" You're not breathing, why aren't you breathing?! "Dale?!"

"Alright, Carol? We need to start CPR, have you done this before? I need you to do the rescue breaths."

Carol nodded, distantly, dropping her phone in despair, furious with herself for leaving it on the armrest of Daryl’s recliner, for forgetting that crucial detail. Her knees flattened over the wooden floorboards, and they wood dug back, but she didn't feel it. She didn't feel anything but confusion, disbelief, as Dale positioned himself to one side of Daryl, as he placed his hands over Daryl's lower sternum, where Daryl's chest was supposed to be moving, but wasn't. Dale started to hiss the count of compressions through his teeth as he pushed, gazing up at Carol when he reached thirty.

"Now Carol!"

Carol breathed into Daryl's mouth, twice, her hands absorbing his heat, the sweat from his forehead clinging to her fingertips. Irma arrived then, announcing the ambulance, questioning the lights, the beam from her phone sailing down the hall. Carol felt the wail of sirens grow louder and closer, an answer to her desperate pleas. Carol pressed her lips to Daryl's when Dale turned his head again. She watched the paramedics run in, saw the stretcher being pulled behind them, with a defibrillator, an oxygen tank, and she was moved out of the way, as the paramedics took over. Everything blurred around her then, the counting, the uniforms huddling over Daryl, his motionless hands, and the continual murmurs against her ear, Irma, or Dale, both trying to soothe her. Nothing made any sense until Dale's words cut through.

"He's breathing, Carol. He's breathing. He's going to be fine."

Carol twisted numbly to her neighbour.

"He's breathing." Dale's eyes were glimmering with relief.

Carol nodded, her hands trembling, and she started to cry. The oxygen tank was positioned under Daryl's arm, and Carol stared at it, at the mask over his face, at his eyes, closed as though in sleep, like this was just a bad dream, and he was about to wake her up from it. The stretcher lifted in front of her, and Carol, her cheeks damp with tears, followed it out of the cabin, with Dale and Irma at her side.

"It's the cabin, it's Laura," she murmured to them, frowning. "It's not real."

Dale and Irma shadowed her, murmuring reassurances, their eyes wide and confused, their voices shaking, stricken, as Daryl was lifted down the steps, and into the back of the ambulance, where Carol followed, stoically. The doors closed behind them, and Carol found a seat beside the stretcher. She held Daryl where she could, taking his hand, the one without any burns, gently brushing the hair out of his eyes as she begged him, pleaded with him, to stay with her

Chapter Text

"C'mon little brother, thought you were stonger'n this. Sure as hell didn't raise no pussy."

Daryl could hear Merle's words hovering somewhere above him, and he tried to call out, but his voice wouldn't work. His legs did though, just barely, so he made his way slowly to the foot of the stairs, the smoke clearing enough for him to see the wooden slats emerge like a lifeline. Crouched on them, huddled against the wall, was a woman with caramel tinged hair, honeyed strands of dawn light untouched by the smoke, haloing beneath it somehow. She was close enough to touch, a near tangible thread that Daryl knew he couldn't pick up.

"Mama?"

The broken sound came from him, but it was pitched high, quaking with a well established fear that shouldn't have been so familiar for a child of his age. Light and shadow twisted within her, as though she embodied it entirely. She was huddled in the haze, smiling, the nicotine edged pearls of her teeth baring an expression of relief and hope, that he realised he'd been yearning for, since as far back as he could remember.

"Baby, I know," his mother's fingers curled over his shoulders as she stood, and he quaked under her touch, her fragile strength a strange, forgotten warmth. Daryl gazed into her ocean blue eyes. "I know, now." She smiled at him.

Daryl coughed suddenly, an endless grasp for air, as though a cord had wound itself somewhere into the core of his being and was trying to find its way out of him, but kept snagging on the ruins it found. The smoke disappeared and a blinding light broke into Carol's basement, an antiseptic bright. With it, a wave of dull pain smothered his senses, as Daryl tried to clear his throat and couldn't, and everything adjusted, slowly, into shapes, and colours, and unfamiliar sounds.

In fragments, Daryl realised he was was lying in a bed, elevated enough to face a small television he didn't recognise, that was suspended over the end of a hospital bed. A squared white ceiling stretched out beyond it, staring ominously down at him from its diagonal tilt. There was something covering his face, which he immediately tried to remove, but his arms seemed chained to his sides, the effort puzzling him, along with the noises he made. Other sounds shaped themselves around him, gradually developing form, into Carol's voice, and her hands, which closed over his, and her finally, her face, where the tiles had been, haunting and patchy, her eyes red above dark half moons.

"Daryl," she half whispered, the sob in her voice twisting into him, piercing through his spluttering cord. "You have to leave that on. Please, it's helping you breathe. You're okay, you're okay. You're in the hospital."

She was squeezing his hands, her lips pressing together as tears tumbled over their ridges, and Daryl abandoned the mask and tried to figure out how to breathe. A gripping rattle furled persistently through him. He was attached to a drip too, he realised faintly, the dull twinge of the tube dragged irritably at the skin on his hand.

Justin he tried to explain, but Carol was a shadow over him again, hushing him, her cool palm stilling everything, as it pressed gently across his forehead. Carol was alone with him in the yellow white room, a blue accordian curtain falling impassively behind her chair. There was a view through the window to his left, potted plants scattered in a courtyard, neatly paved walkways leading to nowhere. The light outside was delicate like morning, but the shadows leaned West, away from him. Daryl considered their angles briefly and figured it must be near twilight. Seven or eight o'clock. There was a bandage over his left forearm, an inconsistent heat pulsing over the left side of his face, the sticky tag of a dressing, pressing lightly into his cheek beneath the oxygen mask. Daryl squeezed back, remembering Carol's soft hand in his, but the strength he'd come to rely on was missing, and he felt limp, useless, and the weight on his chest was steadily increasing.

"I just want to let them know you're awake," Carol squeezed his hand again, "I'll be right back, I promise." She released him reluctantly, then drifted behind the accordian lines.

Something in his throat was stirred up by the movement of air through it, the muscles swollen, and the timbre of his breathing changed. It was uncomfortably, painfully audible. Daryl's hands tensed, and tensed further, the movement barely visible, before Carol returned with a nurse. She sniffled, cleared her throat unsuccessfully, and started to stroke his arm, as the nurse cheerfully inspected him.

"Hey Daryl," a young man who looked to be in his early twenties, issued a greeting. 'Ben' was inked on a plastic tag pinned against his green breast pocket. "Nice to see you're awake."

Carol watched as Ben moved around Daryl's bed, checked a monitor beside it, his fingers clasping the oxygen pressure gauge gently. He noted something on a clipboard that went loosely into a container at the end of the bed with a gentle clatter.

"Everything's looking good," Ben nodded. He studied Daryl as a gasping thread of broken breath tried to ease its way through. He hovered closely, inspecting Daryl's eyes for a moment. "Don't try to talk just yet, just focus on your breathing. Hold your breath for a second, release it slowly if you can."

He nodded, satisfied, his eyebrows quirking up at Carol as she thanked him, and then he left the room.

"Daryl?" The vulnerability in Carol's voice tore at him sharply. "You've woken up a couple times, but you were pretty out of it. Do you remember?"

Daryl shook his head and Carol nodded.

"I've been so worried ... I'm so sorry."

Her apology trailed off into a sob and Daryl shook his head again, wrestling with the effort of not being able to vocalise, his voice snagging in a cough that started up and seemed to linger, until one of Carol's hands went behind his back and started to stroke him firmly. She clutched his nearest hand, and he trained his eyes on her as she sat back carefully. He tried to figure out how to tell her everything she needed to hear.

"They, uh, ... they wanted to contact your family, an emergency contact. So they, uh ... they called Merle," she said softly, and Daryl felt a secondary tension grip him. "I'm sorry if ... you don't want that, but you stopped breathing, Daryl, and ..." her next breath was ragged, a twisted cry she tried to stem.

Daryl lifted their hands to her cheek, with the effort he usually needed to haul an entire kill back home. He tried to fix his limb there.

"S'okay." He managed, a lingering cough following, while Carol collected a glass of water for him. "And ... ain'tcha fault. Carol." He wheezed.

Carol's eyes narrowed as she filled a plastic cup with water from a lime green jug. "He came in to see you this morning, with Roxy, but you were sleeping. You've slept a lot, Daryl."

"He was 'ere? Merle?" Daryl spluttered out, removing the mask to take a sip of water, before a wave of coughing took hold of him again. He worked hard to stem it, fighting through the flem, and the dust, the walls closing in on him.

"Daryl, please don't try to talk," she reminded him, easing the cup out of his hand as she helped him fix the mask back in place. "Yes. They flew in."

Her eyes wandered over Daryl hesitantly and she bit her lip. He lifted his hand to her cheek as her face hovered over him, finding the movement easier this time. He brushed his fingers down to her lips and held them there. Carol leaned into his touch, her lips puckering softly against his fingertips.

He pulled the mask back down with his other hand, gripping it as firmly as he could, so that Carol couldn't easily shift it.

"I love you." He whispered, and Carol heard him, he was sure of it, because everything in her face seemed to still, as she processed his words, the expression in his eyes.

A renewed wave of tears welled as she drew in a trembling breath, her lips quivering as she tried to smile.

"I love you too," she gasped, leaning down to press her lips to Daryl's, briefly, before he let her ease the mask back into place. "More than anything, Daryl. If it wasn't for Dale  ..." her breath hitched as her eyes watered, and she swiped at them irritably with the back of her hand. She spoke unevenly when she continued. "They were here until about ten last night. And this morning. Sophia and Carl visited too. Today. They said to say hi and they hope you feel better soon."

Daryl wanted to know about Justin's body, had she seen it. He looked over to the side table, to the tray, hoping to locate a pen, something to write on, but there was nothing. He held his breath carefully, closed his eyes with the effort, and felt the gravel in his voice distort to a sound he didn't recognise, as he tried to milk out the structure of a sentence, lifting his mask away, just far enough to speak.

"Justin ... s'down there. Carol." His breath started to rattle, but he managed to recover it. "Saw 'im, in the wall."

"I know, we saw him too. Dale and I," she looked down at their hands, their fingers still entwining gently. Her touch had the same gentle impact as her voice. "He went over this morning and Laura was there. She, you know appeared to him." Daryl listened to the tone in Carol's voice change, noted the way her jaw seemed to clench around the words. It sounded closer to the way she usually spoke of Justin. "And she wouldn't let him in the cabin. Dale was, um ... he sounded..."

Like he'd seen a ghost Daryl wanted to say, and when Carol looked back up at him, they shared a look that said just that.

"Dale was ... he was going to call the police, but he said ... he needed to see it again, to be sure. So, he and Irma came back here before lunch, to see you, and ... then when they went back, to try again ... it was just gone. The ... Justin." She pressed her lips together quickly. "He's not there, Daryl."

The intensity in Carol's eyes was so unnerving that Daryl drew a breath in sharply, triggering another coughing fit. Carol started rubbing his arm, moving her hand to his back when he was pulled forward with the effort. He finally managed to grasp a breath, and he held it, shifting uncomfortably, as Carol released her grip. He studied the ceiling again, the perforated squares, the varying shades, the shadows resting at their edges, and he thought about what had happened, and tried to make sense of it, as Carol sank back into the chair beside him.

They sat silently, long enough for Daryl to drift into sleep, and he awoke to the squeak of Carol's chair, the bend of the accordian curtain, watching, vaguely disoriented, as Carol made room for the doctor. A quiet, older man whose name Daryl didn't catch, examined Daryl's throat, making it itch as he discussed the swelling, the medication he'd prescribed. He took Daryl off the oxygen support, after listening to his breathing, while Carol questioned him anxiously, the red in her eyes the same colour as the leaves of the maple trees in the Horvath's back yard. Daryl would stay for another night of observation. Carol smiled hollowly, her eyes tracking the doctor's movements as he left the room, and her gaze softened as it fell on Daryl.

Merle poked his head around the blue curtain then, and Daryl and Carol both jumped, triggering another coughing fit in Daryl, and an answering whine from Merle.

"Eh, settle down oldtimer. Ain't fuckin' Freddy Kruger come t'visit ya."

Merle's eyes were bright, fixing on Daryl with a stark intensity, quickly darting to Carol, as he stepped heavily into the space, his frame filling it with ease, not shifting an inch when Roxy stepped into the narrow space behind him, a thin arch of orange and denim.

Daryl took a moment to get hold of his breathing, and he greeted Merle with a wheeze, nodding an acknowledgement to Roxy. Carol clung to Daryl's hand, her eyes creasing gently as she fixed a smile to her face.

There was a strange glide to Roxy's step, but a joyful spark of familiarity as she greeted them. She had a box of chocolates in her hands, which she passed to Carol, bending the curtain to take a step closer to the bed.

"Hey sugar," her syrupy drawl hit Daryl with its gentle touch. "Dunno what y'can eat just yet, but these are for Carol." She winked, and Merle rolled his eyes.

Carol's hesitant smile tightened as she watched the interaction, and Daryl felt unease ruffle through him, that he'd been absent from the introduction between his brother and Carol. Roxy turned to Merle, a flicker of uncertainty pressing, which Daryl noted in the way her hand lifted. Roxy's fingers hovered near her brothers arm, and then paused before quickly dropping. Merle was still staring intently at Daryl. He felt further crushed by the weight of his older brother's expression, by the way Merle glanced at Carol, just his eyes moving to her, a slight crease to his brow.

Roxy huffed happily, the syrup in her voice lingering. "Carol?" She twisted her head, the bright hoops in her ears bouncing lightly against her hair. "Should we go find a coffee to have with these chocolates? Could use another one, after that flight from hell. Was worth it, Daryl," the woman lifted her eyebrows to reassure him, and Carol watched the exchange silently, her fingers tensing over Daryl's, an uncertainy creeping over her, one that Daryl understood well.

"Daryl?" She murmured, her eyes shadowed with concern as she turned to him.

He nodded, offering a silent blessing, his lips curving slightly in an attempt to reassure her. Carol held his hand, hesitating a fraction longer, her shoulders tensing as she eyed Merle again, before she followed Roxy around the curtain.

"We'll be back," she announced, her face poking back around the blue lines. Her voice was steady in a way it hadn't been since he first woke up, and it sounded like a warning. "In a few minutes."

Merle's mouth turned up with a flash of amusement, and his head fell back. He exhaled loudly, the sound taking on a husky timbre as it lengthened, and he crossed to the window, and stared out into the courtyard, before twisting back to study the room. He pushed the curtain back as far as it would go, revealing the contents of the space beside Daryl's bed. Another set up like Daryl's, a window adjacent to the hospital corridor, the wooden door painted in soft mint, which Merle shut, before taking a seat beside Daryl, stretching one foot out to rest on the bed frame. A look of satisfaction, or wry amusement appeared, as Merle ran his tongue over the underside of his teeth, found an imperfection, and picked it out with his fingernails.

Daryl carefully took a breath. "I'll pay ya .... back, for the flights." He gasped.

"Sound like a damn exhaust leak," Merle glared up at him. "Y'think that's all I'm worried about, a few hundred? Nah. Knew you'd be good for it one way or another."

The casual delivery of the statement unnerved Daryl, and he wondered for a moment, if the voice he'd heard in his dream had been real. I didn't help raise no pussy. He knew immediately that Merle had something to say, and that whatever it was, Daryl wasn't going to like it.

"You got a real nice place out there, little brother, all la dee dah, out by the lake." Merle waved his fingers out and chuckled dryly. "Real nice."

A chill instantly wound its way into Daryl, and he ached to know what his brother was hinting at, what the answer to Merle's riddle was. His body tensed reflexively, the same way it did when he thought he might get hit.

"Merle ...?" He managed.

It was a whisper. A flail against nothing. Then a motor started up in his chest, like something old and forgotten. He sputtered and gasped, as Merle shook his head, his darkened eyes drilling firmly into Daryl's.

"Yep, just need the picket fence and fifty stars wavin' up on top of a stick. Beats me why they haven't kicked y'out yet, shoulda took one look atcha, and started haulin' your shit out t'the edge o'town." Merle leaned closer. "Must be hidden away enough y'don't bother 'em none with all that shit y'got layin' around outside for anyone, wants to help 'emselves."

Daryl felt a dull heat creep into him, shame flooding his neck, with the pull of fever sickness, as he remembered the only reason he'd been able to secure the lot was because they couldn't sell it, because Laura had just been killed next door.

"When'dya...?" Daryl tried to suppress another cough as Merle began to regale him with further details of his observations.

"Oh, we got in about 5am, you weren't allowed no visitors then, but Carol told us all about your little adventure in the basement." Merle chuckled to himself, a shade of menace vibrating thickly. "So, Roxy and 'Ol Merle went and checked out your little abode, while you were in here, sleepin' it off." There was something else, something resting under Merle's surface, a shadow in his eyes that Daryl was desperately itching to place. "Y'sure know how t'pick 'em little brother. Don't ya? Merle lines y'up a perfectly good piece o'ass, and alls y'gotta do is take her home and show her a good time." Merle scrunched his face as he stared down at Daryl, his voice pitching lower. "But is that what Darylina wants? Nah, Darylina's gotta find the only woman this side o'the Altamaha River with a god damn, shit on me 'til I start bloomin' roses skeleton in her closet."

Merle's eyes, impossibly, hardened futher, and Daryl felt the remaining colour drain from him. His older brother leaned forward, his knees pressing into the hospital bed, his ragged breath pillowing over Daryl's arm.

"Now the way I see it, y'had two options bein' down there in her basemen' in the first place. Either, you was gonna end up bunkin' down with that poor asshole she let fester away for god knows how long. Or, and I'm bettin' the farm it's this one, she was fixin' to tell y'local Nash Bridges that you was the one, had a hand in the whole damn thing in the first place."

Merle's voice lowered an octave and Daryl tensed involuntarily. "These rich bitches know, if they can just point the finger at scum like you an' me, they always come up smellin' like roses. And, bein' the dumbass that you are, y'just followed her right on down there, to fix her busted pipe, or change a lightbulb - ain't no workin' lightbulbs in that place by the way. S'damn cold too, some'in ain't right about it."

Merle's eyebrows arched minutely and Daryl reeled with nausea at the thought of Merle walking leisurely through Carol's cabin, Laura's cabin, uninvited. He shut his eyes, trying to breathe, trying to pick up the gaps that Merle was skipping haphazardly.

"And the whole time, she had you right where she wanted ya. If Old Man Eyebrows next door hadn't intervened when he did, then, well..."

Something was happening in Merle's face that Daryl didn't understand. His head had bowed, he was stroking one hand with the other, deep lines were pressing sombre shadows into his brow. It reminded Daryl of the time they'd nearly ended up in body bags after a messed up transaction with one of Merle's dealers. Just keep your goddamn mouth shut next time, dummy, Merle had pleaded with him, like Daryl was the biggest idiot in all of Georgia, and Merle had the grave misfortune of having him as his brother. Keep it shut, Merle had hissed, and Daryl had.

"That ain't it," Daryl wheezed, trying to sail the words out over a sea of dust and phlegm. "Wasn' ... weren't Carol."

"Little brother, whatever she's puttin' out, it ain't worth a day o'hard time, believe me. And she don't want you for y'silent 'mystery man' ways either, she don't even want t'play house when she needs it. S'way past time to cut this bullshit. Understand?

A surge of anger was swelling in Daryl, so fiercely, that he almost choked on it. Merle watched it build with faint amusement, the flare of Daryl's nostrils, the way his cough started up again, and he spat it out angrily, his fists clenching weakly as his eyes watered faintly. Merle's mouth turned up at the sight, the shift in Daryl's energy, a string of amusement pulling Daryl along with it, over a line that Daryl didn't want to cross.

"Don't talk about her ... like that. She's only," Daryl trembled as he tried to force the words out evenly. "Been there a couple ... weeks. Just ... moved in."

His cough took over violently, and he started hacking up a string of blackened phlegm that he tried to catch, his hands trembling toward the tissue box, which Merle grabbed, seemingly as bewildered by his brother's anger, as he was by the sooty mucus. He started murmurming to Daryl, as he ripped out a few tissues to throw at him, darts of frustration take it easy lifting, a strange flex of concern shadowing his disturbed eyes.

"That body's ..." Daryl wheezed, while Merle stretched a hand over his face and grimaced briefly. "Older'n ... that, right?"

Merle frowned over Daryl's words, his jaw setting as his tongue shaped against his upper teeth. A long hard stare at Daryl followed. "Carol's only been here a couple weeks?" He asked flatly.

Daryl tried to hold his breath, his right hand pressing against his sternum while he laboured with his breathing. His eyes were stinging, he heard the rattle in his breath, felt that he'd enflamed everything further, and for a moment, he just needed to stop talking, needed Merle to stop talking. He ran Merle's comments through a filter as he tried to make sense of them. How did he know about the body? Dale? Did Merle walk in on a conversation when he'd first arrived?

"So ... how'd it end up in there then?" Merle wanted to know.

Daryl took in a breath as carefully as he could. "Last owner." He wheezed.

Merle leaned back with a start, his mouth gaping slightly, his fingers smoothing over his jaw again, then he looked up at Daryl.

"Alrigh', hold up. Lemme get this straight," Merle took another moment with his reflection. "Y'tellin' me I took your little friend  in the basemen' out for a nice walk in the middle o'the woods ... for no reason? 'Cause y'ball and chain ain't been here longer'n a hooked fish in a coyote's mouth?"

Daryl, who was just starting to get hold of his breath again, held it. "You ... what?" He gasped.

Merle ran a hand wearily over his face. "Did Carol know that sucker was down there? Did you find it, or did she find it?

"You ... y'moved him?" Daryl was still playing catch up.

Merle's face contorted, his eyes drawn to the ceiling. He seemed to be replaying the events, a look of confusion gripping him for a moment that extended, as a confused buzz settled into Daryl, marring his breathing, the tension crawling across his skin. After a moment Merle shrugged and his entire body seemed to relax. He chuckled softly, rubbing his fingers over his jawline.

"Huh," he tapped lightly, fingers over the bed frame, and he glanced at Daryl curiously. Another shrug rolled over his shoulders and then his face twisted with apathy. He picked up the remote and pointed it at the television. "Ah well. What shit a'they got on today?" He drawled.

He turned back to Daryl after flicking over several channels, another thought forming.

"Guess .. if she ain't turned you in by now, maybe that weren't it, then. Y'still makin' a little from carvin' up those dead birds?"

Merle only knew about the taxidermy because he'd visited Daryl when he was in the middle of restoring Billy, as though their mother had summoned them together. Merle had found the whole thing hilarious.

"Some." Daryl eyed his brother warily.

That seemed to satisy Merle. A wry smile wound over his mouth as he adjusted his hips in his chair and stretched back, the ghost of his fingers over the stubble on his chin.

Carol and Roxy returned then, Carol opening the door, as Roxy's voice sailed into the room, her warm laugh lifting the corners of Carol's mouth, while Merle straightened up in his chair, then practically leaped out of it, as he stood up and ushered Carol toward the bed.

Carol paused, then held a cup out to Merle. He took the drink from her gladly, thanking her with a faint smile, and Daryl tensed as he watched the exchange, noting Merle's abrupt change in demeanour toward Carol, and the way she turned slightly inward, the expression on her face sharpening as she hesitantly nodded her acknowledgement.

Merle then regaled her with the story of his and Roxy's visit to her neighbourhood, omitting the specifics of his actions, his uninvited entry into her cabin. He leaned close as he tried to assure her, that he'd been over to check on both properties, and that he deemed them safe.

"Safe as houses." He repeated, with an intensity in his eyes that she didn't understand, as he told her exactly what he'd done, while she frowned uneasily, her eyes shifting to Daryl.

--------

Merle and Roxy stayed for another day, in Daryl's trailer, and Daryl explained to Carol what Merle had done to rid them of Justin forever. The situation muddled further, when Dale and Irma returned for a visit the next morning.

Daryl held his hand out to his neighbour, shaking Dale's hand with his limited strength, thanking him and Irma for saving his life, his voice rasping and faltering, as he glanced up at Carol.

Dale, more humbled by the gratitude than Irma was, was as outwardly dismissive of it as he was grateful to see Daryl sitting up, breathing on his own, to see Carol's relief, edged though it was with the stress of the past few days.

Dale tentatively changed the subject to Merle, to his and Roxy's temporary occupation of Daryl's trailer, concern and bewilderment shadowing the words he tried to choose carefully.

"Do we know what happened to the body?" Dale hissed, his hands waving up in submission, as his eyes darted to the door. "Did we even see it?"

Carol shook her head, her lips pressing together, and she squeezed Daryl's hand as she considered Dale and Irma's apprehension.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "And, I'm not sure there's anything we can do about that. Not now."

"Eugene ..." Daryl wheezed with some difficulty, looking to Carol for help as his cough started, and Carol's eyes shimmered as she smiled sadly, turning back to Dale and Irma.

"At least we don't have to worry about Eugene now." She explained. "He had nothing to do with any of this."

The Horvath's nodded without hesitation. They were quiet, reflective. Daryl and Carol gave them time to process the situation.

"I just wish," Dale wistfully turned to the courtyard. "I wish Laura had known she could have come to us."

He shrugged, his lower lip trembling, and Irma lifted her hand to his shoulder, leaning against him as they lost their gazes in the morning light. Carol watched them sigh, sensing through all the things they didn't say, that Dale and Irma needed peace as much as anyone else did, and she hoped they'd be able to find it.

---------

Daryl left the hospital late that day, and his recovery over the next few weeks was slower than he anticipated. His burns left faint scars, a small patch disappearing under his stubble, his left forearm marked more noticeably. His breathing improved within the first few days, but then he'd stop to catch his breath when he cleared out his freezer, or tried to help Carol and Dale tidy up the basement. Then he needed a few days to get his strength back, and the cycle repeated, as he tried to resume his life as normal, and found that he needed more time than he was prepared to give.

Carol joined him on his first few hunts, promising quiet steps, and a few simple hand signals she'd invented for the occasion.

"Oh yeah? Got some handy signals o'my own, c'mere," he'd insisted, pulling her into a kiss, his hands working their way gently up under her blouse while she laughed happily.

His memories were a little scattered for a stretch of time as well, he needed a moment or two longer than usual to retrieve them. But that improved as time moved on.

""Daryl?" Carol asked, as they were sitting out on his back deck one afternoon.

"Mmhm?"

"Why'd he do that? Justin?" She pondered, her eyes tracking his glance out to the surface of the lake. "Why do you think he ... broke the walls down? Like that. For you."

Daryl shrugged. "Guess he knew the gig was up. Wanted to still try'n control it somehow? Y'know, with smoke and mirrors." He explained. "Literally."

Carol frowned. "And did Merle really just ... take his body out to the middle of the woods? Because he thought I was gonna ..."

"Yeah." Daryl turned to look at her, the softness in his eyes a strange adjacence to the intensity he felt for her.

Carol studied him tenderly. "He has a strange way of showing you he loves you, doesn't he?"

Daryl didn't answer her, because a lump was forming in his throat.

---------

Princess visited somewhere in the midst of the aftermath. She sensed the change in the cabin, in Laura. She eyed Carol sympathetically, taking her soft hands in her own, just managing to catch one of Carol's tears before it fell.

"Whatever's goin' on between the two o'you? You'n Laura? Y'gotta sort it." Princess held Carol's gaze.

"She nearly killed Daryl," Carol blurted out, frustration clinging to her, as she crushed her lower lip between her teeth.

"Gotta let it go." Princess urged, and Carol shook her head. "Carol. Laura ain't bound to this place, not the same way Justin was. Her ashes were scattered. She'll fade away eventually, but that can only happen if she don't have nothin' bindin' her here still."

Carol considered Princess's words, but didn't seem able to comprehend them. So it wasn't until Laura appeared to Carol when she and Daryl were walking across her back yard the following day, hand in hand, that Laura's small fingers closed tight around Carol's arms, and Carol finally faltered.

She fell to the ground, as Laura hovered over her, sending an endless stream of images through Carol's mind, in the same way she had in the basement, when Carol had lost her way in the water. But these were not Laura's anxieties about the future. They were her memories, Carol realised, the ghost revealing to Carol what had happened to her all those years ago, and what she'd done to Justin. Carol cowered against the imagery, of Justin dragging Laura through the house, his fist in her hair as he calmly told her that he was going to kill her. Carol watched in horror, as the young woman managed to free herself, escaping to the basement, when Dog miraculously appeared, his teeth sinking into Justin's heel.

Laura had only enough time to grab her sledge hammer off the workbench, scrambling to hide herself in a shadowed section of the basement. That's where Justin found her, or she found him, getting the first strike in, stunning her ex with a blow to his head. Carol felt Laura's terror throughout the ordeal, felt the young woman's limbs trembling, as though they were her own. Justin swung at Laura again, but she managed to get another hit in, and then another, striking Justin repeatedly, until she lost control, her fury taking over. The years of abuse were laid out before her, and Carol felt every moment of terror, of shame, and degradation that Laura had endured.

But then they saw what was left of Justin, and the image reeled through Carol with Laura's stark dismay bleeding through it. In the replay of memories, neither woman seemed to anticipate the ghost of Justin, rising up from his body, and standing over it, an overpowering dread cementing their realisation that Laura could never find escape.

The rest of the story came to Carol in fragmented pieces of light and sound. Justin told Laura that Eugene would pay for what she'd done, and the waves of her fear, of Laura's terror surrounding Eugene's demise, of him succumbing to Justin's violence, or leaving the cabin in handcuffs, rolled through Carol sharply. Laura cleaned up the basement and sealed Justin's body in the wall, to appease him, but he killed her anyway. The despair emanating from Laura seeped into Carol's bones and lingered. The fierce protectiveness the young woman felt for Eugene, overlapped Carol's love for Daryl, despite their many differences. They were two threads twisting through her, as Daryl came back to her unsteadily, his voice leaking through the darkness in broken patches, as the images faded, and travelled out of reach.

"Y'okay?"

Daryl had crouched down beside Carol. His hand was heavy and comforting, gripping her shoulder with a tenderness that Carol leaned into gladly.

She shook her head, trying to find him in the light, as tears streamed down her face, as she lifted her arms for him, and Daryl pulled her onto his lap. They stayed joined together in the embrace, as Carol finally let go of her anger, as a sense of hopelessness and sorrow crept through her, for Laura, and for the life the young woman had lost.

----------

Six months later

Carol hadn't heard from Al since the day the editor had come out to the cabin and tried to interview herself and Daryl. They saw each other in town from time to time, at the shop, where they exchanged pleasantries, but Al still had a look about her that unnerved Carol, a silent reminder of the debt she'd spoken of.

Carol read the local paper diligently, looking for story angles that might appease the prudent woman. Occasionally there was a small piece included about a death, or accident, with unclear circumstances surrounding it. The local police were investigating. Usually a woman, sometimes younger, a well liked member of the community, a mother, with a partner the police had spoken to.

Carol collected the most recent of the articles and went into the office of the Maryville Enquirer, an air of determination about her, causing Al to end her phone call abruptly.

"What have you got for me Carol?" The editor's eyes shone brightly, and she stood up in her excitement, her hands fanning out over the desk as she leaned over them.

"I might have an idea for a story." Carol said slowly.

"Lets hear it."

"The cabin," Carol shugged, her chin dimpling, her eyes bright. "You, the paper, reported a little about what happened to Laura. About Justin, and what he was suspected of doing. And you said you get cases like that from time to time, but, looking through the Maryville Enquirer articles over the last few years, it just seems like ... reactive reporting."

Al leaned forward, her brows furrowing, her chin lifting with interest.

Carol didn't sit down when Al offered her a chair. Instead, she shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot and fixed her jaw carefully.

"Have you ever considered doing a piece just on domestic abuse? What it looks like, what help is available, and I don't just mean a number to call, or a shelter." Carol took a deep breath. "These women," Carol scattered the articles she'd collected, across Al's desk in a gentle curve. "They were stuck out here with limited public transport. There are no shelters in town. Everybody knows everybody here, but nobody says anything. They can't hide, they can't just move on with any hope of privacy. How do they really get away? What are their options?"

"Women like you?" Al pressed gently, her face scrunching tightly a moment later. "I'm sorry." She apologised.

"No, it's fine." Carol said levelly, her shoulders lifting. "Yeah. I guess. Women like me."

Al nodded slowly. "I like it," she said firmly, doubt traced throughout her face. "We'd need someone to ... give us some guidance, feedback. Make sure we ... get the angles right." Al's gaze sharpened as she looked at Carol. "Would you be interested in helping out?"

Carol sighed with relief, with exhaustion, and she nodded, picking up the newspaper cut-outs, gently folding them back into her hands.

"You need someone who specialises in domestic violence," Carol eyed Al thoughtfully. "Someone with the proper training. But I can ... help out where I can." She said.

"Great." Al nodded. She started scrolling through her phone. "Let's get started. Enid?" She called, and from the depths of the office, a young woman with blue eyes emerged.

"Now?" Carol asked, surprised. She shifted her weight again, her eyes darting to the door, before she sat down in the chair opposite Al, and leaned over the desk, offering a number of organisations for the editor to try first.

----------

As soon as Carol mentioned the gazebo, Carl and his workmates got to work on building the structure that had appeared to Carol in her dreams. It looked exactly the way it had appeared to her, and Carol watched, biting her lip with amusement, as Laura walked unseen amongst the workmen, giving tips and advice that went unacknowledged. The ghost finally appeared to Eugene in her plea, when he visited to check on it, and the store owner embraced her fiercely, looking back to Carol and Daryl in shock, tears streaming into the clear, tousled hair. With their blessing, he made sure the fixtures were corrected, and in the end, the gazebo was built exactly the way Laura had wanted it.

Daryl had floated the idea of taking the trailer to Tuscon for the winter, leaving the cabin to Eugene and Laura, so that they could have some of the time together that they missed out on the first time around.

The empty lot that Roxy had pitched to Daryl was still available, so they rented it for three months, taking time away for day trips on Daryl's bike, and multiple nights away, from Las Crusces to Santa Rosa. Al had asked Carol for some pieces on her travels, devoting a column for her, Maryville Meanderings, and the modest pay contributed a little to their travel expenses.

Carl and Sophia had recently moved in together, and they took a vacation of their own, to Cancun, Puerto Vallarta. They sent photos to Carol of their luxury apartments, and Carol held her phone up proudly, her grin spilling over onto Daryl, and he took hold of her, tossing her device gently to the side, kissing her deeply, stroking the curls from her face.

They returned to Maryville in early Spring, and Eugene greeted them at the property line, a tranquillity sitting with him, that they hadn't encountered before they'd left.

"She's at peace now." He explained, and his voice had trembled with a reverence they immediately understood. "Laura."

He described how Laura had moved on, a few days earlier. They'd been sitting in the gazebo, gazing out across the lake, and Laura had suddenly stood up, to press a kiss to Eugene's forehead, to wrap her arms around his neck. She'd drifted out to the edge of the water, with Dog following her closely, and lifted her hand in a wave, looking as happy as he'd ever seen her. Her smile had faded in the sunlight, as she'd stepped out onto the water. He said that Princess had told him Laura might do something like that, when she was good and ready.

"Laura was given to the wind the day you brought her out here, Eugene. She's resting in the soil, and the water, the leaves of the maples. She belongs nowhere in particular, and wherever she wants to."

"And so, I'm just about ready to head on out now too," Eugene explained to them. "Already moved my stuff back to my unit, was just lookin' after the place until you both got back." He held the key out to Carol and she took it in her palms.

Eugene eyed her seriously, his voice growing softer as he spoke. "It's yours now, Carol."

Carol smiled and stepped forward to thank Eugene, embracing him warmly, before he side stepped her carefully, giving Daryl a solemn nod. He adjusted the collar on his jacket, and made his way up the side of the property, to the gravel driveway, where he disappeared from sight.

Daryl stepped behind Carol, pulling her close to him, one hand gently clasping around her fingers, as they clutched her keys for the cabin. He brought their hands up as both of his arms curled tight around her middle, and he leaned into her, his lips brushing softly up against her neck.

"Welcome home, sweetheart." He murmured against her jaw.

Carol relaxed in his arms, feeling safer than she ever had, as she leaned back to watch the tree limbs bend. Her free hand travelled back to his hair, her fingers stroking gently, as she hummed and smiled. The sky was clear, the water sparkled.

"You too." She said, twisting her head for a kiss.

Echoes of the lake swept over the cabin, in ripples of light and sweeping shadow. It was only when the sun crept over the maples swaying gently along Daryl's property line, that the bending shapes stilled and came to rest, in a cloud of gray that crept over everything. There in the twilight, the shadows finally freed themselves, and Carol thought only of Daryl as she led him up toward the deck, to the place she'd first dreamed of him, the place she'd first wanted him. She smiled with the knowledge that he wanted her too, not just for what she could offer him, or for what he could take from her, but for who she was, whatever it was that he saw in her. He'd already shown her that in so many ways, he'd told her, and she felt it still, in his arms, and now, as they walked together.

Chapter Text

Five years later.

---------------

Daryl stretched and rolled over into what felt like a dream, and to his relief, wasn't. Carol was staring at him patiently, one lake clear eye fixated on him. She could use more sleep, he sensed, from the low fall of her eyelashes, but she kept the one eye trained on him, her lips curving gently as his gaze shifted to them, so he knew she wasn't going anywhere. Not to the shower, not to work, and not back to sleep.

He reached up to smooth a long silver curl behind her ear, then pressed his lips to her forehead, her jawline, groaning with delayed approval when she swivelled her hips and rolled onto her other side, so that he could shift his body over the mattress, to spoon her. He brought his hips up behind hers', pressing his morning erection carefully against her ass. Then he gripped her thigh gently as she arched back against him, and her small hand twisted back over his hips and clutched his nearest buttock, to pull him closer. She hummed softly, the vibration burrowing warmly into his cheek.

"Mm. Morning."

"Mornin'." Daryl exhaled quickly.

He bent to trace his mouth down across her shoulder, moved his hand over each of breasts, squeezing them gently through the trap of her cotton sleepwear, his fingertips lingering over her nipples, finding stiff peaks as they hardened under his touch. He made a trail down to the hemline of her nightie, down her thighs and back up again. He slid his hand up under the soft cotton, shifting his hips back so that he could squeeze and mould Carol's curves with his fingers, the heel of his palm. He took in a ragged breath when he realised she wasn't wearing underwear, his cock arching longingly in response, and he pushed up against her again, his fingers fumbling to clutch her hip so that he could anchor himself as he gasped into her neck.

"Y'been like that all night?" He whispered, and Carol smiled, expelling a single note of delight into her pillow, as Daryl growled a little, his hand working faster.

He grabbed the soft material and pulled it eagerly up over Carol's ribs until it bunched in the crease of her armpit. He kissed her upper torso while she stretched to peel the garment over her head, and he blindly tried to help. The nightie disappeared into a void with a soft thud, and Daryl's mouth slid to Carol's nearest breast, before he lost her nipple as her body shifted again, warm against him, her back to his chest, her ass rubbing up against the hardness in his satin boxers. Her hand appeared over the bulge suddenly, stroking Daryl, her fingers bending to reach under the waistband of his boxers. He eased out of them and sent them sailing into the abyss, and Carol grasped him fully, her fingers sliding over him, her grip tight and perfect, before Daryl cradled her torso, and pulled her firmly up against his chest. He rolled them both, easing Carol's arm out of the way as he flattened out onto his back, so that Carol's spine was resting up against his chest, and they were both staring up at the ceiling. Daryl shifted Carol higher, until her shoulder jutted under his chin, and her head rolled over his left shoulder. He dragged a pillow over to offer support, and he felt her breath catching as she tried to adjust, a wave of tension rolling through her.

"Comfy?" He murmured, shifting his hips again. He cupped her ass firmly as he adjusted his cock to rest underneath her buttocks.

"Hm? Oh yeah, love strangling you." She joked uneasily, and she squirmed a little, but his hands came up to stop her.

"Told ya, m'fine like this."

Carol sighed and Daryl felt her relax then, felt her hand trail down to his hip, then back up to his face, where she stroked him gently, her fingers dipping across to his mouth until he kissed them.

"Just wanna feel ya. Feel so good." He groaned, stretching as he kissed her shoulder, tasting her skin, moving his hands down to clutch her hips. "That okay? Y'wanna change it up?"

"No, I like it like this," she admitted, a smile stretching her lips as her fingers smoothed across his jaw.

"Mhmm. Thought so."

Daryl eased his knees up between Carol's thighs and spread them further, opening her up as she gasped softly, and his hands flattened out over her stomach, until the tips of his fingers were resting in her curls.

"Dreamed about ya," he murmured, kissing her fingers again as his hands shifted up to squeeze her breasts.

"Yeah?" Her breath hitched and snagged again. He felt her smile radiate throughout them both. "Were we doing this?"

"Not exactly. Show ya, when I'm done with ya here."

Carol snorted softly at that, and traced his own words back to him, amusement cradling the tone of gentle reprimand that he knew well. "When you're done with me?"

"Yeah, gonna make you happy." Daryl squeezed her breasts gently, his thumbs tracing firmly over her nipples. "Wanna hear how happy y'are."

Carol smiled again, another hum of mirth, her soft vibrations travelling along her spine, and into his chest. He trailed his fingers down through her curls and over her clit, into the delicate folds of her labia, parting them, before he pushed two fingers inside her, sighing longingly when he felt how wet she already was. He couldn't reach as far as he wanted from his position, though he twisted beneath Carol, angling his arm to manage the length of two knuckles, trying for the third, before he eased back out of her, trailing her moisture up to her clit, and began to stroke her gently. Carol's ribs lifted as she arched, inhaling sharply, and Daryl's mouth closed over her shoulder as his other hand remembered her breast. His fingers pinched and rolled indulgently, and he tilted one of his hips, so he could push his cock up against her ass cheek, his forearm pinning her torso to him, so he could meet her resistance, his sigh elongating as his heart beat steadily, the pace of it increasing with every touch.

Daryl knew how Carol liked it now, how to help her last longer, because she seemed to come so much quicker these days. He'd learned her well, in the early days, even though the haunting of the cabin, and his injury, had lingered. In the months after the fire, he'd recovered enough to fuck Carol properly without having to stop halfway, to catch his breath, or because Carol wanted to stop, her face twisting with concern, as he gasped and trembled, as coughing fits took hold of him.

These days, the sound of his breathing seemed to bring her relief. She didn't flinch when he gasped or forgot to take a breath, and she'd noted that his sounds had changed, changed back, and she'd memorised them as he recovered, said he'd found the rhythm she remembered from their early days.

Daryl knew how to drag it out perfectly for Carol. He knew exactly where to press, how hard, and for how long. He knew when she was getting close, and when to ease the pressure off. She wasn't shy in telling him either, not after they'd started and she was able to relax. But sometimes he'd lose himself a little, in her scent, in the warmth and movement of her body in his hands, between his thighs. He'd stretch out those moments with her for as long as he could, until she didn't want to wait anymore, until the perfect tone of desire escaped her, the one he couldn't help but aim for every time.

He was lost in her now, in the way her breast fit perfectly in his palm, the way it yielded to his pressure, the way his fingers knew exactly what to do with her nipple, and her clit, engorged as he caressed it with all the care and devotion he could muster. He'd learned every sigh, and gasp, and every murmur of Carol's, what they meant, that when Carol groaned like this, her breath sharpening suddenly, the way she spoke, and moaned his name, with a brief spark of urgency, meant she was ready, and she wanted to come against his fingers, while he teased her nipple with his other hand. Daryl sucked lightly at the ridge of her shoulder as his hand sped up, and he increased his pressure, the fingers of his right hand a blur over her clit.

He rocked with Carol as her hips arched helplessly, as she shifted with increasing tension, squeezing his arm, her fingers gripping him firmly as each wave strengthened and elongated within her. Her moans quickened and sharpened, and Daryl thrust up against the soft curve above her thigh, trying to find a moment of relief as his own resolve began to waver. Carol held her breath suddenly, tensing even further, and her grip on Daryl's forearm tightened unforgivingly.

"Loud and proud, sweetheart," he encouraged, and she tried to laugh, but the sound was sucked away as her orgasm hit, pulsing through her with a force that tensed her limbs further against Daryl's.

Carol didn't quite shout, but moaned sharply, a high, punctuated sound, wrapped in the senseless haze of their morning light. Her hips lifted and Daryl chased them with his pelvis, and Carol rode her final wave to the end, shuddering, and collapsing weightlessly on Daryl, her voice catching, as it hitched in pulses, and she tried to find her breath.

Daryl pressed his lips to the freckles on her shoulder, leaving a wet trail stretching out toward her neck. He waited an agonising, blissful moment, before rolling Carol back on to her side. Longingly, he stroked the length of her thigh up to her ass, and squeezed the curve firmly. Then he pumped his hand over his cock several times, as he waited for Carol's breathing to slow. She twisted to kiss him, slow and deep, thanking him with a hazy smile.

Daryl swung a leg over Carol's legs and rolled her on to her stomach, before scooping an arm around her middle and lifting her carefully up onto her knees. He gave her a moment to test her balance, before gently guiding her over to the head board. He shifted their pillows out of the way, and gently nudged Carol forward, until she was resting up against the padded board, her hands loose over the edge. Daryl shuffled up on his knees until he was resting snug behind her, still holding her up, his hips pinning her gently against the padded frame.

"Want you like this." He murmured into her neck, his lips resting over the skin below her earlobe. "That okay?"

Carol drew in a shaky breath. "What do I always say about that, Pookie?" She smiled slowly, twisting her head so that he could kiss her mouth properly.

It was another slow kiss, despite his faint blush, soul deep, and hungrier than most mornings he made love to her. What she always said, was that he could have her any way he wanted her, anytime he wanted her. But he always asked, and always listened.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" She murmured and Daryl nodded, an uncertain sigh spilling out quietly.

"Mean, it ain't nothin' crazy'," he set a trail of kisses over her shoulder blades, sweeping her long silver locks out of the way, before his fingers reached down underneath her, dragging his fingers between her labia again.

"We ain't done it this way much." He hesitated.

"I want to." Carol reassured him. "And I trust you. You know that."

Two of Daryl's fingers slipped easily inside her, further in this time, up to the final knuckles, before he withdrew them to lick them clean, moaning his appreciation into Carol's shoulder. Then he shifted himself back as he tilted her hips carefully, nudged her legs apart, and lowered himself until he was able to fit his cock against her entrance.

"S'just ... what I dreamed is all. You'n me."

He pushed fully into her then, as far as he could reach, lifting them up with the motion, before withdrawing to the head of his cock, and then thrusting in again, quickly, several times, as Carol gasped, and he breathed erratically into the gap behind her shoulders.

"Well I'm," she tried to hold her own breath, tried to keep her voice steady enough to tell him, "I'm very ... happy ... to make your dreams come true."

The beginnings of laughter caught somewhere low in her throat as Daryl stilled behind her, filling her entirely and pausing, his right hand travelling down between her thighs, his fingers searching.

"Every second," his breath coated her shoulder blades, waves of heat brushing the shadow of her spine. "With you, is a dream come true, sweetheart. Mean it." He promised, as he let his fingers smooth over her clit again.

Carol gripped the top of the headboard, her knuckles slowly whitening, as Daryl repeated his earlier motions, faster this time, his fingers firm and skilled, drawing out another wave of intensity in less than a minute. He fucked Carol slowly as she gasped his name, in a plea, and an accolade, and Daryl felt her walls start to contract around him before she cried out again, octaves higher than before, her jolt sharper than before, reverberating intensely throughout them both, into Daryl's cock as his hips rocked relentlessly. His pace picked up then, increasing steadily until he felt he couldn't stop for anything, not unless Carol asked him to. Then he'd need a strength he hadn't had to test before, but one he knew he'd find for her if she needed him to. She didnt ask him though, she only slackened momentarily in his arms, and gasped a barely intelligible Daryl, yes, as though she knew he needed to hear it.

Carol released her right hand's grip on the headboard, and reached back to clutch Daryl's upper thigh, her other hand their only anchor to the headboard. Daryl's fingers threaded over hers', as he slammed into her gratefully, as her words resounded, his breath ragged and desperate, his other hand flattening her breast in his palm. He jerked harder and faster, as Carol's walls gripped him, clung to him, and his vision faded, and he was back in his dream, but he was here, and the Carol he was inside was real.

"I love you," he gasped, and the words felt desperate, inadequate, as Carol hummed the same note of happiness he'd played through his mind a thousand times before. "I love you so much."

Then he came suddenly, crying out as the force of his climax flattened him up against Carol, pinning their lower halves to the headboard. Daryl's fingers were tight as newly threaded cotton around Carol's fingers, her breast was shaped new in his other hand, but she didn't seem to mind. They were breathing the same splintered fragments of ecstacy, locked into a world of their own making, as Daryl's thrusts slowed, and he repeated his declaration to her, asking her if she was okay, even though her face was a picture of tranquillity. When they parted, reluctantly, Daryl closed the distance between their upper torsos, and rested his mouth against Carol's neck.

"I'm wonderful." She turned to kiss him. "And I love you too, Daryl."

He kissed her back, and held her tight.

----------

In the shower, Daryl soaped Carol's shoulders, let his hands slip down over her breasts, his eyes stalling appreciately over them.

"Want another round, Pookie?" She grinned, watching as his lips curved upward.

His groan was shadowed with regret, but he was still grinning softly as he drew Carol close to him. He kissed her slow and deep, and pushed her gently up against the tile, before sighing into her neck, then pulling back so that she could watch the water droplets sparkle as they fell from the ends of his beard.

"Ain't the kids comin' 'round soon? That today?"

"Mhmm after lunch." She smiled. "So ... plenty of time for more." Her fingers traced down his biceps. "If you want?"

"Want," Daryl kissed her, "always want you, but ... need t'be a decade younger," he sighed, and Carol watched a familiar haze drift into his eyes, some almost otherwordly plane of existence he only seemed to find with her. She watched him try to shake it off before he kissed her again, too briefly for her liking. "Still need a minute. Can help you out though?" He bent to kiss her breasts, lingering attentively over each of them, before he followed the cascades of water, drifted to her ribs, the slight stretch of her stomach.

"Never thought I'd say this Pookie, but I think I'm spent too." Carol blinked rapidly, twisting her face out of the water stream as Daryl straightened up and fixed his eyes on her.

"Stop the press." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Well in that case, big spender, why don'tcha finish washin' y'hair and lemme go fix breakfast? 'Fore them gremlins get here, 'n start terrorisin' the neighbourhood?"

"Sounds perfect." Carol grinned and kissed Daryl deeply, a winding kiss that made him sigh with longing when she pulled away and turned to pick up her bottle of shampoo.

"Think that kiss just added five years to my life," Daryl pressed his lips to Carol's shoulder. "Meet me back here after breakfast?"

"You've got yourself a deal." She smiled.

Daryl dressed and blew a kiss in Carol's direction as he left the bathroom. She finished washing and drying her hair, and ran a comb through her silver strands, smoothing her palm over the bathroom mirror as she swiped a few bands of clarity across its surface. Carol didn't always see what Daryl told her he saw in her. But she did see happiness, the lines of it crinkling lightly around her eyes. Her skin was flushed and smooth in places she was thankful for. Her nipples were still rosy from being suckled in the shower, her mouth was swollen too, but there were no other marks left by Daryl on her body. He'd bought her a small silver ring a few years earlier, which she wore on her right hand. The chain around her neck had been a gift from Sophia and Carl.

Carol dressed in light sweat pants and a t-shirt, and made her way toward the kitchen, finding Daryl at the stove, the frypan tilted in his hands as he spooned breakfast out onto a plate for each of them. When he looked up, he smiled, and Carol smiled back at him.

They ate breakfast on the back deck, watching the sparkle of water sweep calmly behind the maple trees, saw the large leaves shimmer their own glossy light under the glare of morning sunshine. Daryl took Carol's nearest hand in his, and studied her with his usual earnestness, an open screen of devotion.

"I love you." He squeezed her hand gently.

Her smile grew, and she squeezed his fingers happily. "I love you too." She said.

---‐-----

One of the panels in the gazebo had bumped loose, the cedar warping slightly in the months of humidity. Daryl smoothed his hand over the curve and set to work, tightening the bolts with his hand drill, and smoothing away the edges that had frayed over time. He didn't want either of the girls finding a splinter with their small limbs, or snagging an article of clothing on a loose shard, especially given the dresses Carol and Sophia so often insisted on putting them in. Millie was crawling just about everywhere now, and her chubby little knees were tough, but the floorboards were unforgiving. Looking up, he watched the sliding door open, and saw Daisy, the older girl, climb out, the skirt of her green dress rustling immediately in the breeze. He watched her three year old legs navigate the steps down to the grass, her small torso overcorrecting and her fingers planting into the soft blades, before she lifted herself up and began a twisting bolt towards Daryl and the gazebo.

Daryl smiled to himself as he ran his patch of sandpaper over the edge of the floorboard, fixing one eye on the toddler to ensure she didn't get distracted and pitch her aim for the lake instead. She didn't, her little voice escaping her in an extension of her wobble for the gazebo steps. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carol's head poke out of the gap in the screen door before disappearing back inside. Daisy arrived at the gazebo in slow motion, stumbling onto the second step with a thud, and Daryl braced himself silently. He wasn't supposed to react when she fell, in case she cried because she saw his reaction. Remembering, he glanced down quickly, his face scrunching as he awaited the outcome. When the delayed cry finally swelled, he scooted quickly over to the top step and held his hands out for the little girl.

"Hey now, c'mere," he encouraged sympathetically. "Come an' tell ya Grandaddy all about it."

It had taken some time for him to accept that he was actually part of Carol and Sophia's family, married in, like Carl, but without the vows or bloodlines. The bond he shared with Carol and Sophia, even Carl, had drawn tighter, their connection cemented by the girls' arrivals. Daryl had even managed to drop his use of "your" in his discussions with Carol, about their first grandchild.

You are just as much her grandfather as Rick is, she'd gazed at him sceptically, time after time, until he'd given in.

The gradual change in habit had altered Daryl's mindset. The same protective instinct he felt for Carol and Sophia had immediately extended to the bump, and then the infant, that became Daisy. His movements and actions when she arrived had been encouraged, and rewarded, so his confidence had grown. By the time they learned Millie was on the way, he'd already found a rhythm and ease with his interactions. Sometimes he'd look up from a puzzle, or a book he was reading aloud to Daisy, and see tears in Carol's eyes, in Sophia's, happy tears, they'd both insist, and he'd just nod, and pick up where he'd left off.

Daryl stretched his legs out over the gazebo steps as he lifted Daisy onto his knee. He quickly scanned her for damage while she hiccuped out the preceding events, as though he hadn't seen her fall. He sighed harshly, shaking his head in great exaggeration as he pointed his index finger at the steps, and issued a stern warning.

"Hey, you leave my grandbaby alone." He admonished them.

After dropping her small head against Daryl's chest, Millie perked up and leaned forward, issuing the same warning, her tiny finger pointing fiercely as her voice caught over the latter part of the sentence. Daryl smiled softly to himself again. The girl had the same fire flickering inside her that Carol had.

"Good. Alright now, what are y'Mama and Daddy up to? Li'l Talker been talkin'?"

Millie nodded decisively and squirmed out of Daryl's grip before clutching his pinkie finger in her little fist, and pulling his hand as she started her journey up the hill. Daryl let her take the impression it was all her, that she was dragging him with her.

"Mummy wants photos." Daisy announced and Daryl’s head lowered minutely.

"Photos, huh? Well that don't sound like y'Mama. Y'sure 'bout that?"

Daisy led Daryl up the steps, wobbling gently while he held his arm steady for her. She nodded with great, sweeping movements, oblivious to his sarcasm. Daryl helped her with the sliding door and she ran happily into the living area. He took in the scene as he carefully closed the door behind himself. Carol was inspecting Sophia's earring, a soft frown creasing her delicate features.

"I think the clasp is bent," Sophia was saying.

"No, it's not bent," Carol clarified. "It's just very small. There." She leaned back, her fingers still hovering at her daughters ear, while Sophia looked up and greeted Daryl with a smile.

Daryl nodded and turned to watch Daisy throw herself against Carl's legs. The man peered down at his dress pants with a mixture of amusement and concern, as he juggled his wailing seven month old.

Daryl cleared the space to lift Daisy up, and she squealed happily as he set her down with a gentle ruffle of her ringlets, before twisting back up to scoop Millie out of Carl's arms.

"Lemme take her," he offered, and Carl's face relaxed as Daryl lifted the squirming bundle, the round face already scarlet with exertion. "You’re fine," he assured Carl with a nod toward his pants. "She took a tumble out there, but ain't no blood or dirt or nothin'."

"As long as I pass for photos," Carl glanced in Sophia's direction. "Thought she'd be into something from the kitchen by now," he scooped up his older daughter and started inspecting her limbs for traces of sugar. Daisy leaned back as far as she could, one arm reaching for the ceiling, the other clutching Carl firmly around his neck. "Can sniff out your Grammie's cooking from home, can't you Princess?"

"You can too!" Millie shrieked with laughter, while her sister's cry picked up.

Daryl hastened his gentle bouncing, and his voice rumbled down to the wailing infant. "Hey Li'l Talker, can't be that bad. Got lots to tell us, huh? Yeah, I know. One day you'll get all those words I keep tellin' ya about, then everybody's gonna understand what y'sayin'. Alright?"

Carol wrapped an arm around both of them, pressing her face to Daryl's, so they could watch Millie's lower lip quiver its last quiver, the dark, ocean eyes staring up at Daryl in wonder.

"I think she already knows you understand her." Carol smiled, nestling further against him as Millie's expression softened.

"Here," Carol stepped back to hold out a clean, pressed t-shirt. The black cotton fell in soft drapes over her arm as her smile widened endearingly. "Gotta change, Pookie. It's photo time."

Daryl juggled Millie onto his hip, checking in with her again as a smile hinted at the corner of one mouth.

"Swap you," Carol held her other arm out, pressing kisses to the infant's plump cheek as Millie's tiny arms reached out for Carol, her small face turning back in search of Daryl. "Be quick." Carol mouthed, her eyes widening in amusement.

Daryl accepted the shirt with gratitude, the smile in his eyes mirroring the warmth of Carol's. He ascended the stairs as Carol and Millie watched Carl dip Daisy while she shrieked, her arms flailing wildly as a grin spread across Sophia's face.

A knock highlighted the dense timber of the front door, and Dale's voice tumbled into the cabin. Daryl changed his shirt quickly, tossing the worn one into the hamper before checking his pants and his face in the mirror. He paused at the top of the stairs and Dale spotted him, lifting his arm high, as Daisy started jumping, and Millie's face fell at the sight of him, her arms instantly reaching up in his direction. He quickened his step as the group arranged themselves in front of the fireplace. Dale stepped back with the camera and spoke to Carol about the light.

"But then we want one with you," Carol was insisting when Daryl reached her side.

She looked beautiful, the light finding its way into her eyes as she smiled at him. For a second it felt like it was just the two of them again, and he realised that in a way it was, that moments like this stretched into forever, if you let them. But the spell wasn't broken when she twisted away, still clinging to his arm, as he stepped willingly into his place beside her.

"Daryl, can you please take Millie?" Sophia asked him, and he turned just in time for the small body to fall quickly against his shoulder.

Millie giggled, a single syllable, and everyone fell into surprised laughter around them, with a touch of what Daryl guessed, was relief. Dale was already clicking away, and Daryl straightened up and stepped back, shifting his other arm to curl firmly around Carol. He tried to keep his face steady as Sophia draped her arm around his other side, and nuzzled into Millie happily. The significance of the moment hit him, and he saw Dale clock it, eyeing Daryl fondly as he smiled to himself, before gesturing to Carl, his eyes widening in a smile for Daisy.

Carol took the photos of Dale with the girls, with Sophia and Carl, and assured him they'd get a photo framed for Irma's room in the hospital.

Sophia and Carl were finally ready to head off to their work dinner, and Millie's lower lip and arms stuck out, when she realised her mother was leaving her.

"We'll be back soon," Sophia kissed the button nose, and Daryl nodded.

"She'll be fine." He assured Sophia and the woman grinned as she straightened up and studied him, her face softening in the same way it did when Daisy brought her a flower, or when Carl told her mother a joke. There was a second before the teacher's eyes rolled fondly.

"I know, Daryl." She smiled.

‐-----------

Carol followed Sophia and Carl out onto the front porch and stood at the railing, her hand lifting to shield the glare of the sun as it bounced over the roof of the new house next door. Carl gave her a quick wave and told her not to do anything he wouldn't do, and Carol reminded him it was too late, she'd already done it all, and more. He jogged down the steps and climbed into his truck, while Sophia hesitated at the railing, her skin glowing, as she studied her mother.

"Thanks Mom."

"You’re welcome honey. You can leave them anytime, you know that."

Sophia leaned forward to brush a strand of Carol's hair behind her ear. "Looks good on you." She smiled.

"You like it up like this?" Carol touched the clip at the back of her head.

"It's really pretty Mom. But I don't just mean the hair. I mean everything. The cabin, Daryl, the lake." Her daughter looked around thoughtfully, her eyes crinkling softly. "I like it." She murmured, letting the words sit between them for a moment, before she gathered the skirt of her dress with one hand and carefully navigated her way down the front steps.

Carol waved to Sophia and Carl, her eyes watering faintly, as Carl's truck curled out of the driveway and onto the road.

Daryl had Millie set up in her high chair at the table when Carol made her way back in. Daisy was laid flat across his arms, feet kicking softly as one of her fists clutched a spoon heaped with apple sauce. She was grinning to no end, as Daryl dove her, airplane style towards Millie's open mouth, while he announced clearly, "Gent'l plane, gent'l spoon!"

He paused Daisy mid-air so that Millie could grasp the generous mouthful, and her older sister shrieked with delight. Carol stopped still at the sight, her eyes stinging sharply again, and Daryl looked up, a flash of understanding pooling in his eyes. He set Daisy down and crossed the floor to Carol, folding her into his arms with a sigh.

"That more happy tears I'm seein'?" He leaned back to press his thumb against her cheek as she nodded. "Still beautiful." He frowned softly. His eyes were dark, an echo of the lake's deep waters, a scorching sky at the height of summer.

"Not as beautiful as you," Carol smiled, and Daryl's nose wrinkled as he shook his head, before he kissed her, his lips lingering, his eyes open and searching.

They sat out on the grass in the backyard while Millie rolled about, and Daisy skipped and danced. Dog appeared, his tongue lolling happily, sending a gentle spray of water over the side of the gazebo. Daryl wrapped an arm around him, scratching him thoroughly under his chin.

"Like that don'tcha boy? Huh?" He murmured contentedly.

Carol watched Daryl stretch back on the grass, his fingers threading over Dog's fur with the same devotion he gave everything he cared about. She watched their grandchildren quietly greet new wonders and discoveries in the gentle world around them. The lake as always, held its own brand of magic, but Carol knew the only spells she needed, were cast in the breaths of her loved ones, who were never far from her. Daryl let go of Dog and pulled Carol down onto the grass beside him, pointing up at the mottled sky with one curved finger.

"Looks like a pie." He commented and Carol snorted happily.

"A pie?"

"Yeah, looks almost as good as that first pie y'ever made me. Remember? Best first pie I ever had."

Carol laughed happily as Daisy flopped down over Daryl's chest, demanding he point out the cloud and tell her what was in the pie. Millie reared up over Carol's right side a moment later, a trail of drool gathering and sparkling at her chin.

"You want to see the pie too, Millie Girl?" She asked the infant, scooping Millie against her side as she tried to track her gaze to the sky. "That was a pretty good pie. If I say so myself."

"Damn good pie." Daryl grunted with approval.

He threaded his fingers through Carol's between them, softly stroked Daisy's curls, and turned to study Millie, his brow furrowing gently.

"Girl, y'givin' my sweetheart a bath over there, is that it?" He asked the baby, his eyes darting to Carol as she lifted Millie's collar to mop up the overflow gathering beneath her gummy grin.

Carol hadn't imagined anything of this magnitude in her future. Not someone gentle and loving by her side, like Daryl. Not Dale, lifting his hand up over the fence as he walked down to his backyard, his hat bopping brightly behind it. Not the lake, full of the sky, and brimming with fish that Daryl had taught her how to catch. Not even these beautiful girls, who had made her daughter so happy, who got to roll around on the grass and the dirt, knowing their Daddy would barely see anything else beyond their bright faces.

She hadn't imagined sharing a home with her soulmate, so full of life and ease, and love. But it was here, and it was real. She squeezed Daryl's hand again and he tightened his fingers further around hers'. Millie tracked a butterfly up into the fading palette of dusk, and Carol followed her gaze, watching as the pie flattened slowly into a thin, sunset band of peach and plum, and floated across the sky.