In the pulsating silence of the house, it was taken quite literally to say that even a pin drop could be heard.
It was Daryl who had first heard the footsteps from upstairs, inside the ransacked kitchen where he and Rick stood. Those four lone footsteps, each after another had confirmed the pairs' worst fear.
There were people here.
It was bad enough to come into contact with other people after what had happened at the farm, let alone the fact that the tension was so thick even with familiar people. After what Daryl had heard from that kid's tales, there weren't many good people left in the world.
But it was the perceivably thunderous clattering of a weapon falling to the floor, the repetitive sound of metal against wood that stiffened the hairs on the back of Daryl's neck.
His already tight grip on his crossbow only tightened further, his knuckles turning white as he kept his finger tightly on the trigger. The only thought that dominated his racing mind was this:
Amy was in the hallway.
Amy, who had almost definitely dropped that weapon in her clumsiness, was probably standing in the open, awaiting the incoming footsteps of whoever was upstairs.
He had no idea why he was so aware of where Amy was, but it seemed he had just realised that it had been on his mind lately. The woman had been plaguing his thoughts since they first met, with her soft features, and that small determined look in her eyes.
These thoughts were only making Daryl's heart beat faster than he could justify. Just the thought of her waiting, unprotected and out in the open, as whoever it was upstairs made their way down, set him on edge.
Daryl had already spun on his heel, prepared to race into the hallway himself, when Rick's heavy hand tugged back on his shoulder.
He had this strange feeling in his chest, like his lungs were compressing too tight, while his heart was beating much too hard. He didn't understand it himself, but it was certainly something he had never felt before, and it was something he didn't like. As much as he hated the thought, he seemed to have gained a sense of responsibility for Amy.
The look of complete discomfort was clear on his face as Rick stared solemnly into Daryl's alert eyes, almost in warning.
The impatient hunter was about to growl at the man who, in Daryl's muddled mind, was the only thing preventing him from going into that room and stopping whatever was about to unravel. He didn't know who was up there, whether they were good people or not, but he wasn't going to wait to find out.
The piercing quiet was creating an even bigger pressuring feeling in Daryl's chest, when Rick raised a finger in silence, urging him to listen.
Daryl didn't have the patience for this. He took another step towards the door, only to have Rick's grip on his shoulder tighten.
It was only the sound of a door shutting that kept Daryl from swiping, in a fit of frustration, at Rick's hand.
In this silence held a huge amount of tension. Whatever was going on out there was certainly not silent, as a hushed scuffle seemed to be going down in the hallway. It only brought Daryl's sense of danger to an even higher peak, as the footsteps continued to tread down the hollow staircase.
"What the...? Whose knife is this?"
It was at that moment Daryl decided to step in. Rick knew his intentions as he shrugged the man's hand off of his shoulder, this time making no attempt to stop the man. Even Rick himself knew that nothing was going to stop Daryl when he had his mind set on something.
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...
Instead it was Rick, his face red, his breathing uneven, as he clutched onto the two doors.
This intense feeling of fury, of hatred, that had been building up throughout the weeks was swirling around me... I didn't know what to do with myself, my hand was twitching against its grip on Glenn's arm as he dropped his other hand from my mouth. It was as though the only thing I could focus on at that moment was Rick, his steely blue eyes, his thin-lipped glare.
And I did the only thing I could in my situation.
I snapped.
With all speed, I lunged from the closet, arms outstretched, pushing myself at Rick. The only sound I could hear, amid Glenn's gasp, Maggie and T-Dog's sudden entry, the sound of more footsteps coming from the staircase ... was the awful memory of those two gunshots. They felt more like hints toward my possible growing insanity, but in that moment they were just stony reminders of what Rick had done to my family.
Before I could even come to grips with what I was doing, all hell broke loose.
Different images, different noises flushed through my mind in a sudden flurry, each disjointed in my blinding rage.
Before my very eyes, I saw my hands grasped around Rick's neck, almost deafened with rage as I fully lost control... It felt as though my mind had lost contact with my body, whilst my thumbs pressed down on his quaking throat.
I heard gunshots from strangers... shouts from Maggie, pleading for everything to stop, as the room continued in its cacophony of chaos...
Then, there was a sharp sound of Daryl's arrows whooshing, Glenn's voice shouting my name, the sudden yelp of a stranger...
All the while, my eyes narrowed down on the reddening face beneath me, images of my brother flickering through my mind as Rick stared up at me.
And then... Silence around me.
I blocked out everything that was happening, I forgot the audience, the intrusion of those strangers from the stairs, as I focused on Rick's reddening face and choking breaths, lifting a shaking fist in the air.
These images in my mind only added to my confusion from where I sat on Rick's stomach, after we had both fallen to the ground when I tackled him. I couldn't stop, I couldn't hold in this awful choking anger that reverberated through my body in my own moment of pure insanity.
The only thing I could indeed focus on was the disturbing colouration of Rick's reddening face. And even worse than this...
Was that I was enjoying it. In some sick way, I didn't care about the consequences, the pain I was causing...
I let out an angry scream as my fist made an angry connection with Rick's cheek, the pain in my knuckles barely even noticeable.
"Rick!" A woman's scream pierced the chaos, as I lifted a shaking fist, ready to punch again.
The man spluttered beneath my grip, looking up at me with almost pleading eyes.
"Fight back!" I screamed, instead hitting him in the chest. I didn't have the guts to go for the face again, as blood was already visible from inside his spluttering mouth. "Just do it... Just kill me, damn it! I can't live like this!" Punch after punch I unleashed onto his chest, each becoming weaker with every attempt. Whatever sick kind of euphoria I had gained from hitting the sheriff had faded into shame, into desperation.
"C'mon," A voice grunted, as I was pulled up to my feet. I didn't have the energy to fight back this time, as I looked down to the blood quickly gathering in Rick's mouth, trickling down his chin.
From this sight, I looked up to find the bodies of three other strangers, each slumped before the staircase. These must've been the men from upstairs, now slumped onto the ground... Dead.
"I dunno... She just started -- freaking out," Glenn's voice whispered, only added to my mortification. "What was I supposed to do?"
Daryl held my arm tightly, leading me outside the front door. Everyone inside the room was watching me in shock, surprise... And in Lori's case, immense concern for Rick. As Daryl tugged me past I was able to see Lori, Hershel, T-Dog, Maggie... All of them staring at me in disbelief.
I ducked my head down to avoid these stares, blinking back another wave of stupid tears.
"W-What happened in there?" Carl popped his head out from the open window of the SUV, sat beside Beth and Carol.
"There's been an... accident," Daryl lied, purposely looking anywhere but at me as he did so, his hands tucked as far as the could go into the pockets of his jeans. I hid my face in shame, the sight of Rick's swollen face bringing back the horrible memory of what I'd done.
He led me down to the bed of the blue truck, which was thankfully out of hearing distance from the packed SUV. We both remained silent as I pulled myself up, so I was sitting alone on the faded bed. I studied my hands and wondered whether I was ready to have blood on them, whether I was even ready to kill a living person. I knew the answer was no, but somehow in that awful moment, I didn't care about right or wrong.
Daryl scratched at his stubble for a second, turning so his back was facing me. I couldn't control what was going through my mind, and as much as I wished I could deny it, I was riddled with guilt.
It felt like a dream, the flashes of images that all seemed to blur by after I jumped from the closet. I remembered clasping my hands around Rick's neck with a cry, and the two of us toppling over. I ended up sitting on his stomach, my fists clenched, when I must have pieced two-and-two together. But just how I ended up letting myself get to that stage was beyond me.
And, there were men... Actual, living, men there too, possibly from upstairs. They must have come down after hearing the commotion, tried to fire a few shots, only to be met with the cold metal of Daryl's arrows.
"Please..." I whispered, "Please don't shout."
I must have sounded like a child, but it made sense to the two of us, as almost every time I screwed something up, Daryl would end up insulting me.
"I'm not gonna." He still couldn't look at me.
I wanted to run so much, to just run down the empty street, and find Jane. I couldn't even understand why I was still there.
What was keeping me with this group?
The answer was standing right in front of me, running a calloused hand through his dirty hair.
"Daryl?"
"Mm?" He grunted, seeming rather distracted.
"Am I going crazy?" I wondered aloud. I didn't expect him to answer, which he didn't at first. We were engulfed in silence again, a kind of silence that somehow chipped away at my dignity.
"No." He turned back to me, looking more tired than ever.
At that point I just wanted to sink into the floor, to sob and cry and hide from the world. It was hard to decipher just how I was feeling, as this torrent of emotions was creating a tornado of rash decisions.
Another lonely tear trickled down my cheek as Daryl stood close, watching it fall to my jeans, creating a dark blotch on the denim.
"I d-don't know what to do... I miss my brother, and it feels like every day I stay around Rick..." My voice shook as I blurted the words, hurrying to get them out so when another wave of tears emerged my voice wouldn't go all strange. "It's like every time he looks at me, I'm just reminded of what he did."
"And Dave's my brother... It feels like I'm betraying him... Staying here."
Something in Daryl's eyes softened, once again giving me that sincere stare. It was that gaze... the kindest, most beautiful expression that could appear on his face.
"My brother, Merle," He paused in the strangest place, swallowing deeply before continuing. "Rick left him handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta before we found the farm... Jus' left 'im there. We went back and we only found his hand, his hand, next to a bloody hacksaw."
"What?" Just the fact that Daryl was telling me something about himself had muddled with my mind, beside this insane sentence.
"The crazy fucker sawed off his own hand. 'N I still haven't seen him since he left..." God, he looked so uncomfortable talking about this. "But wha' I'm sayin' is..."
"But Rick left him... He left him handcuffed, to a roof?" I tried to comprehend, I truly did. "And you didn't do anything about it?"
"Damn near beat the shit out of him." Daryl nodded, which somehow made me feel just a little better about the situation. I didn't question further, gathering the "near" part.
"He's gonna kick me out. I know it."
Daryl didn't answer, and I took this silence as a "Yes, you really are going to be kicked out".
"And... I'm sorry to hear about what happened to your brother," I added, pawing at my eyes with shaky hands to try to rid myself of the tears.
"Nah, Merle's a tough asshole... He's gon' be just fine."
I nodded slightly, out of things to say at that point. Was Daryl... Daryl, the man who refused to even tell me his last name for weeks, really talking to me about his family?
It felt so strange, but it was such a comforting thing from him that it only made me more upset about the whole situation probably unfolding inside that house.
I hopped from the truck, so that I was nervously standing in front of Daryl.
"I don't want to leave..." I muttered, staring at his shoes. Just the thought of being exiled, as much as I'd wanted it at first, sprung tears to my eyes. I was an emotional mess.
We were impossibly close. I could feel the small breaths from his nose fanning against the top of my head. And as I couldn't meet his eyes, I focused on our feet, the tips of our shoes almost touching, I could almost feel the rise and fall of his chest.
Daryl didn't reply, but his body shifted a little from where he stood. His almost - cute - attempt at comforting me had reinforced my previous thoughts on the hunter, as I looked up to meet his intense eyes.
What we were doing here, it didn't feel right, as though I wasn't just awaiting my "sentence", which was what this essentially felt like.
Somehow there was a lingering unsaid message behind his softly grumbled words, something the both of us didn't want to say in this strange silence.
In a split second decision, possibly the best... or the worst... I'd made all day, I reached up to softly press my lips against his cheek.
His cheek was slightly bristly, from the short layer of facial hair that spread along his jaw line and down to his chin.
This only made it more noticeable when he flinched away from me, just for a split second, when he finally realised what I was about to do. I didn't care anymore, about whether or not he liked me, respected me... Whatever. I had to let him know how I felt before Rick could leave me behind.
His reaction was a little slow, but by the time I'd pulled back, his cheeks were an undoubtable shade of red.
Just this gentle affirmation of my feelings towards him seemed to have frozen Daryl to the spot again, his eyes probing mine for any kind of indication he was reading this situation incorrectly.
"I don't want to leave, Daryl." I repeated, staring nervously up at him, his expression unreadable. My stomach was flipping and twisting inside of me, but that horrible feeling still lingered.
Daryl seemed to have no words left. His hand twitched from beside him, as though he was contemplating moving it towards me, but suddenly thought against it. Instead of some kind of meaningful reply, he just nodded shortly and looked past me.
Was that a goodbye?
"Amy?" Lori's shrill voice called to me from the front door. I quickly turned around, figuring out now what Daryl was looking at. "Can we talk?"