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I don't know how long I sit on the floor feeling cold and numb. I don't hear Rick leave, but I know he's gone.
Sometime later, I hear the front door close downstairs. There's muffled chatter before I hear Carl come upstairs. The floorboards creak. I know he's at my door as the noise gets louder. There's a pause where the floorboards make no sound before Carl speaks. "Emmie?" he asks quietly. I don't answer, my blood running cold. He waits for a moment, not saying more before walking away and going to his own bedroom.
I never thought I'd be hoping this, especially not this soon after we got to a supposedly safe place, but I wish I was back out there. When I was out there, at least I had something to focus on. I had something to drown out the thoughts that never wanted to leave me.
I hear the door close loudly downstairs. I rush to the window across from me. It's the window that looks down onto the street. I see Rick strolling off the porch and down the road. He's gone. In the other direction walks Carol, heading to her house. I rub a stray tear off my cheek and go back to the door. I stroke the cold handle with my fingertips, thinking about opening it. I don't have to think very hard or long before the door is being pulled open and I'm tiptoeing past Carl's door.
The house is empty. For being such a big place, the occupants at the moment are slim. I make it to the front porch where Daryl sits, fiddling with his knife. I should've known he'd still be here. He hasn't had much interest in leaving the proximity of the house since we got here. Besides last night when we slept, I don't think he's been inside the actual house much either. He's still covered in filth and the shimmer of grease is still present on his forehead. When I seal the door, he stares up at me.
"What are you doin'?"
"Going to see Carol," I state, walking off the porch and through the lawn to the other house.
I find Carol in the kitchen, her knife clacking rhythmically against a wooden chopping board as she slices away at several canned green beans. "Hi," I say as I take a seat at the island, watching her work. "What are you doing?"
"Preparing the casseroles. It's my job." I'm jealous of how easily she was able to find a job and a purpose. "What are you doing? Rick said you left Ron's house earlier than planned."
"I did." I waver, gathering my words. "I don't like these people, Carol. I don't like how they make everything seem so simple and normal when half of them haven't even been out there before. They don't understand it. I mean, haven't you seen them? They hand out houses, food, and clothing like it's nothing. They have electricity and running water. This isn't normal. No one understands what we lost or who we had to become. While they were taking warm showers and watching movies on their flat screen TVs, we were watching people we loved die."
As I say the last words, Carol finally sets her knife down, pressing her palms to the counter as she focuses her attention on me. "Do you trust these people?" she asks.
"I'm not worried about trust anymore. I think that if they wanted to kill us, they would have done it by now. The thing is, they know they can't kill us because we're the only people keeping them safe here." Carol soaks in my words, squinting her eyes as she does.
"You don't think they're hiding something?"
"I don't think they're smart enough to hide anything. I mean, who in their right minds would think it was wise to let fifteen strangers into their home? They don't even know us, and they want to give us a bed to sleep on and food to fill our stomachs? That's because they don't get what kind of people are out there. There's people like we saw at Terminus. There's people like the Governor. It's not lollipops and rainbows anymore. It's not about doing the right thing for everyone. It's about doing the right thing for yourself and your family so you can live another day."
"You don't think they're just waiting? What if they're waiting for the right day: the day we don't see it coming?" I lower my head to look down at my hands. In the back of my mind, I had been thinking that exact thing.
"I'm not sure. I just know this place can't be right. It can't be all we want it to be." Carol nods her head before going back to chopping the beans in front of her. Once all of them are sliced finely, she ushers the contents on the board into a metal mixing bowl with her knife.
"What do the others think about Alexandria?"
Not stopping her work, Carol answers my question. "Rick is still skeptical. I think Daryl might be, too, but I believe they're starting to sway him."
"Do you believe them?"
Carol stops twisting the pepper grinder and looks me hard in the eyes. "No."
"Then what are you doing?" I ask, motioning to the food in front of her.
"My job," Carol replies, continuing to twist the pepper grinder. She sets the glass contraption onto the counter before picking up a container of tan seasoning. "I cook for the elderly and the others who can't."
"What about the outfit?"
Carol sets down the seasoning and smooths her hands over the clothing she's wearing. "Even if I don't believe them, I want them to believe me." The way she says the words, I know they're dangerous. It's all coming together now. It's just one giant act to keep the people of Alexandria believing she's not dangerous. If she's not dangerous, she flies under the radar. If she flies under the radar, nobody will see it coming if she has to attack. That's why she's kept her neatly pressed outfits and styled hair along with a positive attitude and work ethic ever since we got here. I know Carol is lethal, but others don't.
I watch Carol as she works, preparing more canned vegetables by chopping them and dousing them with a variety of seasonings, some of which I can't even identify. It takes a while before the question forms on my lips. It takes even longer before I can gather the bearings I need to ask it.
"What happened to Lizzie and Mika?" My voice is small and nearly quivers as the sentence escapes. Carol drops the spice container in her hand on the container. It makes a dull clatter. She's lucky the lid was sealed when she dropped it.
Carol's expression sinks and I see something I've never seen on her face, or anyone's face, before. It goes deeper than the recollection of a repressed memory, or even pain itself. "Lizzie was dangerous." I don't know what she means. She was just a girl.
"Wha-"
"Lizzie was dangerous. Lizzie . . . she killed Mika. She-she killed her own sister. Tyreese and I . . . we weren't there to stop her. When we came back, there was just . . . blood." Carol lifts her head and locks eyes with me. "She wanted us to wait for Mika to come back. I told her I would, but I didn't. She wanted to kill Judith, too. She thought that the walkers . . . she thought they were people. She thought they had feelings and names. Lizzie thought this all along! I was stupid enough to never think it would've become a problem. I thought we could deal with it. We couldn't."
"I brought Lizzie out into a field. I had to do it. I-I had to. We couldn't keep her with us. She was a growing hazard every moment. She wasn't only a risk to us, but herself. I couldn't let her hurt Judith. She wanted to."
"I knew a mind like hers would never heal. It was broken. It had to be done, so I did it."
I notice tears filling my eyes. I was never extremely close with either Mika nor Lizzie, but their deaths were tragic just the same. I wipe away the droplets before they can spill over. I notice the same thing happening to Carol. Instead of wiping the tears away to dismiss their appearance, she allows them to drop down her pale cheeks.
Lizzie's obsession, her innocent little hobby of naming the walkers outside the prison gates, had become more than that. It had become her death.
"Have you told-"
"We've told nobody," Carol interjects. "Tyreese and I decided that we wouldn't tell anyone. It was too much. There was no point in anyone knowing. I told you because you wanted to know. I think out of everyone, you were one of the few who had any reason knowing, anyways." The stress coats Carol's face like a thick blanket. "However, what I told does not leave this room, understand?" I nod. "You will tell nobody . . . ever."
"You said you had to do it," I begin. Carol dips her head as if she knows what will come next. "I believe you." Once the words come out, she lifts her head, nodding that she got my approval. "It had to be done." Carol, with a slightly shaky hand, lifts the seasoning container again and resumes her work.
"You don't tell anyone. Understand?" I nod.
"It will die with me." It's the truth. Carol had reason to keep it a secret. I know that I have to do the same now. I feel heavier, however, holding this knowledge in my brain. I feel as though I shouldn't.
I had mentioned something to Carl about it when I first heard, but he hasn't asked since then. I hope he has forgotten. I can never let the secret pass my lips.
"I'm sorry that-"
"I had to know. I asked you to tell me." I stand up from the stool and begin down the hallway out the door, the sounds of a busy kitchen growing distant the further I walk.
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A/N: Just a short chapter! :)