Bethany Sutton Chapter 3

Morning dawned to the smell of wood oil and musty air from the AC unit. Beth rolled off the couch, her face sticky with slobber that had drooled out during the night, and checked her phone. It was five forty-five in the morning. She stretched, feeling rested but still lonely and sad.

And hungry.

A look in the fridge showed it was empty and smelled stale. She decided to take a quick shower, even though she’d have to put her dirty clothes back on, since that was all she had to wear. She’d clean the fridge out later and fill it with food from the grocery. She was still toweling her hair dry when she heard a hard knock on the door. She dreaded a confrontation as she opened the door to Rick Grimes’ angry face.

“You missed your ten p.m. and your six a.m. check-ins,” he said, before pushing his way into the room.

“Good morning to you, too.”

“This isn’t a joke, Bethany! A missed check-in is a cry for help. Stop crying wolf and take this seriously.”

She threw the towel down in frustration. “I am trying to take this seriously! I’m trying to get used to it all! I missed last night because I fell asleep. I was exhausted. This morning I got up and took a shower.”

Rick seemed to deflate and let his hands fall from their place on his narrow hips. He’d lost his temper and he knew that wouldn’t do either of them a bit of good. He took a moment to sniff the air. “What’s that smell?”

“The air conditioner.”

“We haven’t used this apartment in over eighteen months,” he explained. “We’ll get you a new AC unit.”

“I need food and clothes, too. Do I just use the card for that?”

“The card is for emergencies. We’ll supply food and clothes, at least until you can find a job. What’s your mother’s name?”

She wasn’t prepared for the pop quiz. She hesitated and then said “Marjorie LeAnn, I think.”

“You think or you know?”

“It’s Marjorie LeAnn,” she said with more confidence.

“Your father?”

“Clive Michael.”

“Your sister’s name?”

“I’m an only child. I’m also a high school dropout but I’ve got my goddamn G-E-D.”

He laughed outright at the sass and nodded. “That’s correct. Your birth-date, Miss Sutton?”

“August 7^th. I’m twenty-one until my next birthday, upon which I’ll turn twenty-two.”

“You were born where?”

“In Savannah. Which is fucked up because I know nothing about Savannah. What if I meet someone from there and they start talking about the place and I don’t know anything about it?”

“Tell them you were raised somewhere else,” he replied smoothly.

“Where would that be?”

“Griffin.”

“I know Griffin pretty well. I can pass that off. Look, will I be allowed out by myself at all?”

“When you’ve made all of your check-ins for two straight days I’ll consider it. Make the check-in even if you’re with me or Michonne.”

“Fine. Will do. Can we go out now? I’m starving.”

“I’ll let Michonne know,” said Rick, before leaving and closing the door quietly behind him.

*~*~*

The café at the end of their street served great food. They also needed help, according to the sign that hung from the front door. Beth could believe it. There were two harried waitresses rushing to serve customers, which were really piling in.

“Order up, Bianca!”

“I heard you the first time, Dale!” Beth and Michonne’s waitress, a trim, middle-aged Latina snapped back at the short order cook. “That’ll be your order. I’ll be right back,” she said, as she passed their table.

“I’d like to apply here. They could use the help and it’ll give me something to do,” said Beth.

Michonne nodded. “Sounds like a good idea. Just keep a watch-out for anyone following you or staring at you, or asking you too many personal questions.”

“Do you know anything about the other tenants in the building?”

Michonne smiled shrewdly, having an idea of who, specifically, Beth was going to ask about. “We know about all the tenants. Why?”

“Well, there’s a guy across the hall that I was curious about.”

“Daryl Dixon. Age 40. Suspected gigolo.”

Beth burst out laughing. “You’re kidding!”

Michonne shook her head. “I’m not. He’s had a license to practice massage therapy since 2006 but that’s usually a cover for prostitution.”

“And you let him live there?”

“He’s never been caught,” she said on a shrug. “He’s not really our concern. You are. Do you find him attractive?”

Beth shrugged. “I did until I found out he’s a whore.”

Bianca brought their food to their table.

“I’d like to apply for a job,” Beth said.

“Oh, honey. Please do! I’ll tell Ruby.”

She disappeared and Beth hungrily cut into her waffles after drowning them in maple syrup. The bacon on the side was crispy and delicious. She ate half her breakfast before slowing down enough to talk.

“How long have you been an FBI agent?”

“I’m not FBI.”

“Oh, right. Department of Justice agent?”

“Not with the DOJ, either,” said Michonne.

“Who are you with?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“CIA?”

Michonne laughed. “No, not CIA. I honestly can’t tell you, but you needn’t worry. We’ll keep you and your family safe.”

That answer was a bit vague and not quite good enough for Beth. If Michonne wasn’t FBI, or CIA, and wasn’t with the Department of Justice, then who the hell was she? “Who are you, Michonne?”

“I’m not at--”

“That’s not good enough,” Beth said, before sliding out of the booth, her breakfast now forgotten. She almost ran into a short matronly woman with iron gray hair and brown eyes.

“You wanted a job?” the woman said, holding up an application.

Beth took it, wanting nothing more than to get out of the place, but also unwilling to appear rude. She felt an anxiety attack coming on.

“Thanks. I’ll fill this out and get it back to you ASAP.”

“Don’t waste too much time, Doll,” the woman said. Her vocal cords sounded as though she’d spent her youth marinating them in whiskey and curing them in cigarette smoke. “I need help right away.”

“Right. Understood,” Beth said, anxious to get out of the café while her pulse climbed. She heard Michonne thank the woman and then her shoes thud against the floor as she followed Beth out onto the sun drenched sidewalk.

“Beth, what’s the matter?”

Rather than answer, Beth started up the street, heading back toward the apartment. Michonne fell into step beside her.

“What’s wrong?”

Beth stopped and turned to face Michonne. “Who are you people? You’ve got me, you’ve got my family, and you won’t even tell me who you are? You could be dangerous!”

“If we were dangerous the FBI wouldn’t have handed you over to us. If we were dangerous, Bethany, you would be dead right now,” Michonne reasoned. “Would you?”

Beth shrugged. “I don’t know. God knows what uses I could have, what uses my family could have.”

“You’re short on trust. I get that. I don’t blame you in the least but you’re going to have to learn to trust me. You need to trust Rick. We’re on your side, Beth, and we’re here to help you get through this until we can put Negan away.”

The waffles Beth had eaten felt like a heavy stone in her belly. She rubbed at it and hoped she could hold it down. She was, literally, worried sick about her father and sister. She didn’t even know when she’d see them again, or even get to speak to them via the phone.

“Listen, let’s get our shopping done and try to take our minds off this. We’ll get you some clothes first. There’s a cute shop across town that we can start in,” Michonne said, trying to lighten the mood and cheer her.

Shopping would normally have put a smile on Beth’s face but today she wasn’t in the mood. Still, she needed some clothes and a change of shoes.

“I’ll tell you what,” Michonne said. “I’ll talk to my superiors and see if I can’t arrange for a phone call next week between you and your father.”

“Really?” Beth said, feeling tears sting at her eyes.

“Really. I don’t promise anything,” Michonne hastened to add, “but I’ll do my very best.”

Beth nodded, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted. The idea of talking to her father buoyed her spirits enough for her to concentrate on clothes. She didn’t hate everything she saw and by the time one p.m. came around she’d not only picked up a new summer wardrobe she had enough groceries to last for a few weeks.

“Need help with that, Sutton?”

Beth turned around to find the gigolo who lived across the hall. He was wearing Ray-Bans and was covered in speckles of paint. He was sweaty and dirty and god, if he didn’t look good enough to climb on right there.

That thought brought heat to Beth’s face. She was about to refuse when Michonne said, to Beth’s surprise, “We sure could. Thank you.”

Michonne loaded him up with four paper bags of groceries while they handled the rest. He even helped bring up her clothes and then Michonne left. Beth found herself alone in her apartment with the man from across the hall.

*~*~*

Michonne decided to leave Beth in the company of Mr. Dixon from 2A. He’d been thoroughly vetted and was monitored to ensure he wasn’t a threat or associated, even loosely, to Negan, Martinez, or any other dangerous criminal organization. He checked out. Besides, if Beth’s vitals registered distress they would be alerted.

“How did the outing go?” Rick asked, as soon as Michonne came through the door.

“Good. She started to question which agency we work for. She panicked when I told her we’re not with any of the agencies she assumed we were with.”

“She doesn’t need to know we’re a private security team,” said Rick.

Michonne nodded.

“I saw her vitals spike while yours remained calm. I take it y’all had an argument of some kind?”

Michonne ignored how good Rick looked stretched out in the leather executive chair as he regarded her. She was ignoring a lot about Rick that attracted her to him. Those days were over. She was determined to keep it that way.

“I told her I would try to arrange a call to her father next week.”

“Oh, Michonne,” Rick sighed.

“I didn’t promise her. I just said I’d try, and I will.”

“Walsh will probably refuse it. He’ll probably say it’s not worth the risk,” Rick speculated.

“Probably,” Michonne agreed. “Still, I’ll ask. She’s a nineteen-year-old kid. One call to her daddy shouldn’t hurt.”

Michonne hit the kitchen to make a salad. Beth had cut out on breakfast, which meant she’d had to cut out too. She was starving.

“Any news?” she asked.

“Nothing that pertains to our job. We protect the witnesses. We have nothing to do with the investigation.”

“I know that, Rick. You don’t need to remind me of my job.”

He watched her drizzle dressing over the stuff from a prepackaged salad he’d brought in last night to go with a dinner of baked chicken.

“We gonna talk about it?” he asked.

It was the moment Michonne had been dreading. She knew Rick would dredge up their past. He’d want to talk about their future and how they’d almost kissed the night before.

“No. We said we could work together without drama and we will. As to what almost happened last night, well, it didn’t actually happen. Let’s leave it at that.”

“It’ll ‘not’ happen again if we don’t deal with it,” he insisted.

“No, it won’t.”

The phone rang. It was Beth with her 2p.m. check-in.

“She finally learned,” said Rick, answering it. “Hello…You’re okay? You’re not making this call under duress? Good. Talk to you at ten.”

He hung up and saw that Michonne had settled onto the couch and turned the TV on.

“I made a shopping list,” she said. “Mind running to the store?”

He knew she just didn’t want to talk about it so he decided it was best to drop it. For now.

“Sure. See you in a bit.”

She ignored him.

*~*~*

“So, you’re a painter?” Beth asked, once she hung up with Rick.

“Among other things,” he answered cryptically.

Daryl was helping to unpack her groceries and she found she kept eying his hands. He had big hands. He had big hands that moved with purpose and grace. If he noticed the way Beth looked him over he didn’t seem uncomfortable or put off by it. Then again, Beth supposed, he wouldn’t be if he was a prostitute, as Michonne said he may be.

“That’s it, Sutton,” he said. “You’re all squared away.”

“Thanks for helping out.”

“No problem.”

Beth offered her hand, which he took. His palm was slightly very slightly calloused. Nothing that was unpleasant.

“I’m Bethany Sutton.”

“Bethany. Pretty name for a beautiful young woman.”

He released her hand and started for the door. She had an impulse to invite him to stay for lunch as a thank you for helping her out. She didn’t expect to see either Michonne or Rick for the rest of the day, and she wasn’t keen on being alone.

“Would you like some lunch?”

He stopped with the door open and turned to her. “I have plans, sorry. Rain check?”

“Sure,” she said, hoped she didn’t look as disappointed as she felt.

“I’ll see you around, Bethany Sutton,” he said, and closed the door.

Beth caught scent of the musty air conditioner and felt a pang of embarrassment. She hoped he hadn’t left because of that, or the state she was in. After all, her clothes didn’t exactly smell fresh.

Why do you care what he thinks? Beth said to herself while trying to ignore the disappointment she felt that he’d turned down her lunch invitation. He’s basically, probably, a whore anyway.

Beth decided to put Daryl Dixon out of her mind and concentrate on laundering her new clothes.

*~*~*

Though she had no way to know it for sure, Daryl Dixon was indeed a whore. More specifically he was the lover to a select few wealthy women. One of those women was coming over and he had to get ready.

Daryl took a long shower, first using cool water to cool down from a long morning of painting he’d done for his ‘day’ job, and then warm water to clean the sweat and grime from his skin. Once he was clean he emerged from the shower and perused the clothes that hung up in the bedroom he’d converted to a walk-in closet.

Because it was Sunday his lover for the day, Ophelia, would want to go with a religious theme. He pulled out a cassock and Roman collar, and made sure that he had her favorite black bikini briefs ready before he began to moisturize, trim any stray hairs from his body, and styled his hair.

After he was dressed he set out the wine that she would lick off his cock for a mock communion. The doorbell rang as he was finishing spreading red rose petals over the bed. Daryl frowned and checked the clock. Ophelia was punctual, always preferring to arrive precisely on time or a minute or two late, but she was never early.

He pulled open the door to Bethany Sutton. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. She allowed her mouth to open and close and Daryl found himself smiling down at her. She looked so young, so innocent. He’d enjoyed their casual talk as he’d helped her put away her purchases. He liked her.

That’s why he considered avoiding her, if he could. She had an air of purity and he was as corrupt as a man could be.

“I’m sorry, Father!” she said. “I had no idea you were a priest!”

Before Daryl could respond the stuffy hall was filled with derisive laughter.

“Oh, my! She thinks you’re a priest! Isn’t that just precious?” said a woman who spoke with a mild German accent.

Ophelia had arrived. Daryl knew her to have a jealous streak a mile wide and he could see some of that jealousy in her bottle green eyes. Beth took an instinctive step away from the woman who was clad completely in black. She had long blond hair that hung in a silky sheet to her waist. There were also lines around her eyes and mouth that the makeup couldn’t quite conceal. Her face, indeed her body, was a collection of sharp, unfriendly angles.

“What can I do for you, Bethany?” Daryl asked kindly. He could see she’d turned a brilliant shade of pink under Ophelia’s cruel scrutiny.

“Oh, nothing. It’s okay. Bye.”

He watched her all but run into her apartment and slam the door behind her. Ophelia put her hands on Daryl’s chest and pushed him inside before kicking the door shut with her stiletto-clad foot.

“You could have been friendlier,” he admonished.

“You want to fuck that cute child. I can see it. You want to corrupt her. You want to make her as dirty as you are.”

Daryl gripped her roughly by the face. “You want dirty, bitch?”

“Oh, yes,” she sighed, her eyes brightening with lust. “Forgive me, Father. I have sinned.”

“Then it’s time you made penance,” he said, and shoved her onto her knees before him. Her hands reached up and began to undo the many fastenings of his cassock.

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