my tears ricochet

Chapter Ninety

Dwight took him to the room of nightmares in apathetic silence, his hand grasping Daryl's shirt like he might try and run at first chance. But it was stupid, Daryl thought. There wasn't any point in running. Anything he wanted to run back to was dead and gone.

A few men were mopping the floors and Daryl tracked their expressions as they passed through. Dwight made a point of stepping directly across the clean tiles and leaving dirty prints of his boots behind and one face went tight with dislike.

He hadn't been powerless like this since Terminus.

The red door swung open and Negan was there, like always, rocking his chair back so the weight rested on the back two legs. Daryl contemplated taking a swipe at the chair with his foot to send him backwards but froze at the sight of a new man in the corner.

Every time they brought him to that room, someone was waiting for execution.

Negan seemed to take a thrill from it and Daryl was barely holding himself together from the misery of it. "Boy, do I got a treat for you."

The man had a label stuck to his shirt reading 'Rick'. It was the newest game Negan had started, naming the people after Daryl's group. Abraham had been the first and Glenn was second, but they were slowly going through the line.

He didn't look anything like Rick but Negan seemed pointedly smug about it. "You ever do one of those baseball camps growing up? You've got a mean swing. Dwight, go take a lap. This room gets crowded."

Someone had shoved a television into the corner of the room and the screen glowed blue.

Dwight left and it was just Daryl with his nightmare.

"Come on. Take it. I know she has to feel good in your hand," Negan sneered lightly as he extended the baseball bat out. It was a test, Daryl knew. Dwight was gone and he wanted to see what kind of reaction was coming from Daryl at the illusion of opportunity.

They had left his cell door unlocked and Daryl hadn't even cared. Whatever trapped they rigged up, he wasn't risking Glenn taking on anymore damage because of his impulses.

Daryl took the bat. It would hurt less if the world forgot his name and simply kept on living without him. 

"This guy? He stopped working for me. We had a good arrangement worked out and suddenly Rick here decided he wasn't good for it anymore."

The man glowered at Negan. His left eye was so swollen it couldn't open properly but hate was carved into the lines of his face, scrawled around the bruises and cuts. His left hand was missing two fingers.

Negan's temperament had been up and down ever since they got back from Alexandria. Whispers floated around the complex and even Daryl caught bits and pieces of the gossip, heard the story passed around about the crew that got shot checking out the golf club.

More people had been sent out and they found nothing but an empty building and the remains of their people. It had been burnt down to make a point but the man was livid from the casualties, angrier every day one of his drivers went missing from the roads.

Whoever was shooting needed to start running, Daryl knew. Negan was getting antsy to settle the score and no one could survive that anger, that retribution that would come down like the jaws of a bear trap.

"So. Have at it. Take a swing, make it good. Sometimes I like going easy on that first hit. Makes the process messy," Negan chattered as he leaned a little further back on his chair. They could hear the men in the corridor mopping still, getting a little closer with every movement. "Now. I wanna see you start now."