[DISCONTINUED] FIND YOU ( T. WALKING DEAD )

- XVII.

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FIND YOU

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN;
( veneer. )

❛ jack struggles with her
dependency. ❜

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AT JUST THE slightest of noise, the young Asian man wielding a shotgun spun to face Elijah, whose bloody hands immediately shot into the air in submission, feigning petrification. Another man appeared, a revolver in hand, which he instantly pointed to Elijah's forehead, cocking it slowly.

"Please don't shoot me, p-please," Elijah desperately begged. "I-I just wanted to help, I-"

"You shot at us!" the older man accused, to which Elijah frantically shook his head. "You tried to kill us."

"No, no, no," Elijah denied. "I just came to scavenge for bandages, but then all the gunfire started so I've been hiding and then h-he started screaming and I... I just wanted to help."

The man glanced at Elijah's bloody, swollen hands and then back to his scraped face, examining almost every feature, looking for some hint that he was disingenuous. However, Elijah made sure to contort his face pathetically, hands just slightly shaking. "Why?" the man slowly asked.

"Why not?"

Elijah jolted awake. An old, one-legged man stood in the doorway of his cell.

It'd been too long since slight noise was enough to wake him. He supposed that his vigilance spoke for itself; it wasn't much of a secret how cautious and prudent Elijah was in his new home. The desolation of his cell wasn't much comfort, leaving him to his thoughts and nothing else. It seemed like he'd been at the prison for days, wondering where Jack was and if she would ever show up. But it was just one long, long night.

"I heard you took a bullet," the old man said, still towering in Elijah's door. He wasn't very intimidating, but Elijah didn't want to jump to conclusions. He knew nothing about these people, except that they almost executed him 9 months ago and that Jack wasn't a fan of them. However, in spite of his pessimism, Elijah tried to remain respectful and give them the benefit of the doubt.

After all, they were nice enough to at least give him a mattress.

"Barely," Elijah replied groggily, sitting up on his mattress.

"Well," the older man sighed, stepping into the cell, "you should still let me take a look at it." Elijah's eyebrows furrowed as he kept his eyes fixed onto the old man. Once he stepped into what little light the cell harbored, Elijah realized what had him so uneasy: he recognized this man, too. 9 months ago, outside a little bar, ready to cut off a teenager's leg. This was the man who tended to his wrist - and now he'd be tending to Elijah's poor excuse of a gunshot wound.