Chapter Text
Slowly Beth wrapped the oversized shirt around her, tying the excess fabric in a knot near her waist. Her knees wobbled and she continued to shake but not as violently. She fought the urge to simply sit down and give in as the adrenalin burned out of her muscles. Her assailant had pulled her into the kitchen where they now stood face to face, she with her back against the kitchen counter while he stood on the opposite side of the table. She watched him warily; shifting to make sure she kept the table between them. He was not tall, barely her height, thin, dressed in an oversized black suit jacket, pants and a white shirt that hung from his frame. He might have filled that suit once, but now he was gaunt and drawn, his skin sallow and unhealthy, his eyes sunken as though he had been ill for a long time - ill, perhaps but also disturbed.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, breaking the tense silence. She hated the way her voice quivered as she spoke.
“Not what he wanted.”
Beth shuddered, not wanting to think how close this man’s partner had come to raping her.
“I’m not that kind,” he added.
She didn’t give a crap what kind he was. It didn’t matter at all to her what he might or might not have planned. She knew she had to get out of this place, to run far and fast. She was not going to spend another night here. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to go, and go now. .
Trying not to be too obvious, her eyes darted around the kitchen for a weapon, any weapon. She and Daryl had explored every corner of this room and she knew where the knives were stored, but he was too close to that drawer.
Beth needed to distract him, to keep him off guard. “Could I have some water?” Licking her parched lips she realized how truly thirsty she was.
He nodded. “Don’t try anything foolish.”
He never completely turned his back, as wary of her as she was of him. Pulling a jug of water from under a cupboard, he poured her a glass and set it on the table where she could reach it then nodded for her to pick it up. She gave no thought to whether it might be drugged or poisoned, but drank it down greedily then held out the glass for more. He refilled it a second time then capped the jug and returned it to its shelf.
“We didn’t mean no harm,” she said quietly, not wanting to antagonize him further. “I was hurt. We needed shelter. We weren’t going to take all of your supplies. Just a little.”
The man would not look her directly in the eye. Instead he stared at the ground near her feet, or over her shoulder. There was a rapid tick at the corner of his eye. “Don’t matter. You ruined everything. You made me kill him. Kill him.” A whimper started deep in the man’s chest and ended in a hiccupping sob. “He was here for me. And now he’s gone. Because of you.”
“It wasn’t our fault. We would have left if you’d asked, or we could have worked something out.”
“You’ll have to go back to your room.” His voice was flat, not menacing.
She did not respond.
“You need to go back to your room,” he repeated.
“I need to go to the bathroom first.” She stalled as she started to work her way around the table. She was not going to get locked in anywhere.
“Don’t move,” he warned.
“Seriously,” she said, “I need to pee. Then I’ll go back upstairs if that’s what you want. If you won’t let me use the bathroom, let me go outside.”
“NO.” he said so vehemently it startled her.
“You can’t keep me here forever.”
“Not forever.” He shifted his gaze, still not meeting her eye to eye and she felt her stomach clench with fear. Whatever he had planned, he was going to do it soon.
She continued to inch around the table forcing him to move to remain opposite her. When he bent down to put the water jug away she had seen what she needed. A heavy, cast iron skillet sat on top of the stove on the other side of the room. If she could get near it, she might get the chance to use it. Taking a larger step around the table, she now stood on the same side as her captor. He was undersized but in no way did he seem threatened by her. Beth had taken a second step when she saw his hand point in her direction. His knuckles were white so tightly were his fingers curled around the handle of a knife he held ready. There was a strange, hot gleam in his eyes.
“You can make amends,” he said. “You can help bring them in. He used to bring them in for me.”
“Them?” she whispered, her eyes not leaving the knife as she inched towards the stove.
“The risen dead. I need to put them to rest. You can draw them in so I can put them to rest.”
She felt the blood drain from her face as he waved the knife in her direction.
“I can make it painless. A quick cut to the jugular. You won’t feel any pain. I need to collect your blood. It draws them better than any other lure.”
Beth did not respond, continuing to inch around the room.
“If you fight it will be harder.” The look on his face had turned manic, his lips twitched and his eyes gleamed, a thin line of spittle dribbled down his chin. “Please don’t fight.”
Beth lunged at the stove, grabbing the cast iron with both hands and putting all her strength behind one hard swing. He was startled by her sudden move. Instead of slashing at her with the knife, he froze, and in that second the metal impacted his skull with a sickening crunch. Teeth, bits of bone, blood and saliva splattered the room as he fell to the floor, crumpled in a heap, a puppet with no strings, the knife falling from his senseless fingers.
Beth stepped back, the skillet slipped from her hands as blood from his fractured jaw slowly pooled onto the floor. Her stomach threatened to turn itself inside. Remorse filled her as fear had moments earlier. She recovered the butcher knife he had been holding and carefully placed two fingers on his throat to feel for a pulse. There it was. His heart was still beating. He was still alive.
She needed to move fast while he was unconscious. Tearing through drawers she found a sack. Quickly she loaded the bag from the supplies in the cupboard - matches, canned food, and bottled water. She could not carry much. Hobbling to the front door she peered through the slats, making sure no walkers were on the other side, and slipped through the door. As she started across the yard, she realized his car was parked on the road. With a car she had a better chance. She emptied the sack into the back seat of the car, and then checked the front seat. No keys.
There was nothing else to it but to go back in search of the keys. Gripping the butcher knife firmly, she limped back to the house and slipped quietly into the kitchen. He was still unconscious on the floor. Carefully she searched all of his pockets until she found what she was looking for. Shoving the keys into her pocket, she loaded the sack with more food. Remembering a closet in the entry that held coats, she grabbed a hooded jacket, and warm coat, stuffing them into the sack. Near the door she picked up a hatchet from the wood pile.
Beth was just rounding the corner in search of gas cans when she heard the guttural vocalizations of the walkers. She dropped down behind the wood pile and watched as they shambled toward the funeral home. They could easily smell her from this distance but they seemed drawn to the side door of the building where something was hanging. They attacked voraciously. With a sick sensation in her gut, she realized he had been feeding them - attracting them so he could ‘put them to rest.’ That’s how he drew them to the front door the night she and Daryl were attacked. She had the sick feeling she knew who was being used as bait.
She was only fifty feet from the car but she froze, watching the inexorable advance of another group of six walkers - six too many for her to handle alone. But instead of moving towards the others and the carcass they were consuming these six pressed against the front door, pushing to get inside. Beth was slammed by overwhelming guilt. She had left him lying in a pool of blood. The smell was luring the walkers in. Exactly what he planned on doing with your blood she reminded herself, but it was no excuse. She had as good as signed his death warrant.
Lowering her supplies to the ground, Beth hefted the hatchet. It was heavy and she would have to swing it two handed. The first blood curdling screams ripped through the sounds of the feeding walkers before she even got to her feet. She was too late. Oh god what have I done, she thought. She did not have time to consider it further. The last of the group of walkers had turned in her direction. Grabbing the sack Beth limped as fast as she could to the car, threw everything in the front seat, slammed the door and started the engine. Jamming the car into gear she took off down the road leaving the walkers in her wake.