Chasing Amy (Daryl Dixon/The Walking Dead)

Chapter 31 - Blood

He didn't know why he was so furious, so panicked, at the thought of that young woman getting caught. Thoughts of what Randall had told him still haunted him, of what had happened to innocent people around bad people.

As he approached the doorway, he raised his trusty weapon further, prepared to aim quickly and unleash the awaiting arrow. He slowly stepped from the doorway with silent feet, so he could see whoever that voice belonged to. There, bent over one of his, Amy's, throwing knives, was the stranger. His greasy, shoulder-length hair was covering his face as he inspected the weapon, his back facing Daryl.

The hunter took this opportunity to sneak up on the man, carefully ensuring his steps couldn't be heard on the creaky floorboards.

Daryl raised his crossbow, and instead of using the potentially killer arrow, slammed the butt of his weapon down onto the back of the man's head, applying enough force to knock him unconscious.

The stranger's limp body fell forwards to the floor with a thud.

He didn't enjoy doing this, but the faint cries from the closet were enough to send Daryl towards the dark wooden doors of the cupboard, with eyebrows furrowed in curiosity.

The sensation in his stomach had returned again, as it had for the past week - almost every time Amy had sat with him, until she eventually fell asleep. It was often this curious feeling that prevented him from speaking to her, not out of anger, or of anything of the sort, but more out of the fact that he just didn't want to feel this way at all.

Daryl was about to take hold of the closet handles, already fearing the worst, when Rick stepped forward, pushing his arm out of the way.

The doors were swung open, revealing a red-faced Glenn and a hysterical Amy squished together in the closet.

"What the--?"

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"Umph!" I pushed against Glenn's grip on my mouth as hard as I could with my free hand, as claustrophobia began to take its effect on me. I was so desperate to get out I was contemplating biting him.

"What the...? Whose knife is this?"

There was a silence, as I paused slightly, tears rolling down my cheek and onto Glenn's hand.

"Shh..." Glenn urged, trying his best to sound comforting, but instead sounding incredibly uncomfortable.

Just these words were enough to set me on edge again, as my stomach flipped and my breathing became even more uneven than before. I had to remember to control my breaths, but it was a bit harder since my mouth was covered.

It was hard to breathe... So hard to breathe. It felt as though every breath I took in through my nose was never enough, which only increased my need for air. Images of my younger self, lying on the floor of the closet, while also out of breath came to mind instantly, only adding to the panic stirring in my gut. I couldn't control myself, as my foot kicked out in alarm.

Thud.

The noise from outside was loud enough for both Glenn and I to notice, as I blinked back the blurriness in my eyes, and as Glenn sucked in a huge breath of air to try and silence us both.

The doors were pulled open forcefully, and in my delusional state, a teenage Dave stood before me, swollen eyes and all. Just the sight forced a huge breath of air from my nostrils, my heart aching at the blurry sight. He was even wearing the same t-shirt and jeans that I remembered so well, his dark hair spiked up like he used to have it at that age.

"What the--?"

Almost as soon as the image had settled in my mind, a prominent Southern accent tore at the delusion in my mind, snatching the peaceful reminder from my scrambled mind... somehow I believed that my brother was on the other side of that door, that somehow he'd swear blue-bloody-murder at whoever was upstairs, and somehow make everything okay...