Farmer's Daughter (Daryl Dixon Love Story)

Chapter 25

Daryls POV

"What the hell do you mean she's gone?" Ricks voice booms through the house. Worried eyes look back and forth at each other.

His boots click on the ground as his heel makes contact with the surface. His body was on edge, his muscles tense as he clenches his fist together.

"She just... She just left." My voice didn't seem like my own. It was soft. Almost like hers.

"Well I know that! Where the fuck did she go?!" He turns his body and stomps my way. I stand perfectly still as a voice erupts from the back of the room.

"Rick!"

All heads turn to see his wife. Her eyes were squinted and hands lay heavily on her hips.

"Don't you start with me Lori!" He jabs a finger her way as she jumps at the sound of his voice bouncing off the walls. "So Daryl do you have a plan?" His voice dripped with hatred.

"No." Again, my voice was quiet.

"Well you better think of one before we have to dig another God damn hole in the ground." He spat. Ricks shoulder clashed into mine as he pushed his way out the door. It seemed like he wasn't all to interested in helping us find her. And that's what pissed me off.

She had done so much for us. She was a friend, a mother, a helper. She was a woman. And I'd be damned if I let a woman like that leave our lives.

Melinda's POV

Coldness.

Not the degree of temperature. But the atmosphere.

It was filled with hatred and evil. Nothing about this room screamed home to me. But dungeon did.

The floor was a tan cement, the walls were made of a thin tin. A small wooden table sat in the corner of the room with two chairs at its side.

As I look around I notice all of the small details of the room.

The screws to hold the walls up. The dull metal door knob. The blotches on the ceiling. The drain beneath my feet.

Confusion ran through my brain as I stare at the drain. I try to move my hands but realize they won't move.

I look up to see my hands chained together, which leads to the ceiling. My body was dangling like a piece of meat you sell at the store.

My feet moved freely as I swung back and forth. My heart rate elevated as the recollection of where I am came through.

Just before I had anytime to react, the door swung open. A man walked in, he seemed to be a little older than myself. What hair he had was a light gray. His body was muscular and tall. His face held a smirk, but that wasn't what I noticed out of everything. What I noticed was his hand. Or what was in place of it.

A shiny knife stuck out the end of what appears to be a hand made prosthetic.

"Ye like that there sugar?" His voice was familiar. "I made it myself." He held it up so he could admire his possession.

"Where am I?" I ignore his question. My eyes bore into his as he grabs a near chair. He turns the back to me as he sits with a leg on each side of the chair.

"A little place called Woodbury." He folds his arms together and leans against the chair as he eyes me. "Ye wanna know how ye got here, don't ye?"

I merely nod my head as I wait for his answer. He clears his throat as he begins.

"Well it all started with a few men sitting on the side of the highway, waiting for ye just like we said we would. It was just about dark when ye scurried up the ditch. Didn't put up a fight or nothing. Just walked up to us and said you were ready to go. That makes me wonder what type of person ye are." He leans closer as his eyes squint.