the killing of a sacred deer - carl grimes

IV

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iv.

the good, the bad, and the ugly
"those who load guns and those who dig."

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We wait at the table for my father to return. The clock ticks on. The food sits untouched.

"Does he usually take this long?" Negan asks me, Judith asleep in her arms.

"He takes however long he needs. He's gone for days at a time."

She nods. "God, everyone is so damn low on resources. Shit, you ever wanted to go into farming? Like legitimate farming? Not just plants and crap. Like full on."

"We've tried." The information slips out and I quickly seal my lips. "Somewhere else. Before we were here."

The girl's eyebrows lift, impressed. "You were a little farmer? Did you do lifestock, that's what really matters? Like, cows, I mean. That hat always made me a assume you were into playing cowboy, I just never said anything because it's kinda dorky. But, hey, you sling a gun around and talk real tough so you make it pretty badass." Then she sits up a little straighter, as though something very brilliant just occurred to her. "I get it now. You're not Grumpy Grimes. You're Cowboy Carl."

I remember how she said she was fond of westerns and I feel a strange flutter at new nickname. "I'm not a cowboy."

"You can hate riding horses and still be a cowboy." She's smiling at me. The kind of grin that says she knows me. I involuntarily hold my breath, as if though even the smell of it can tip her off. "Unless you can think of something else that you are?"

"Well, what are you? What do you think you are?"

Her response is simple. "I'm Negan-"

"-No, you're not. That's just a name. Not even your name, I know that for sure." I try not to press, try not to reveal that I'm attempting to reel answers from her as she does to me. I'm curious, it's true. I want to know a little more. Scrape the surface. "What were you before all this?"

"I was just like you. A kid. Went to school. Took my vitamins. Played some baseball." Both of our eyes glance at her infamous bat, leant precariously against the corner across from us. "My dad was the coach. I was the only girl on the team. The boys said I only got on because of my little connection. Every practice I had to prove that I was supposed to be there. I mean, I didn't even like baseball but I was pretty God damn good. I played to prove a point, not for ambition."

"Sounds like you only played the game to make your dad happy."

She shakes her head, her smile a little more pained. "Don't we all?"

I guess I do agree with her. I played farmer with my father, locked away my weapons, stored away my hat. Pretended to be something I wasn't. Just to please him. Make him think I was normal. Even now I did so. Interacting with the other Alexandrians, flipping through math and science books, attending church. It was all farce, but it made him happy. To think I was stable and growing steadily.

She leans across the table as if she has a terribly important secret, holding Judith close to her chest. "Have you been a good baby boy? What do you think your daddy thinks about you?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because you do." She reads me like a book. "He wants you healthy, good, moral. My dad started off like that, too. But the group got bigger. Decision got harder. Trusting became almost impossible. Things had to be put in their place. You notice that? The more people he's in charge of the more blood gets on his hands? His grip on you is slacking, you don't see him for days at a time and when you do, he barely looks your way. He's got bigger damn fish to fry. You could go into the woods and kill someone and he wouldn't give a shit. You go into the woods and say you let someone, some stranger, go without even a warning, and he's gonna ask you why. Being hard on people makes them stronger, more inclined to survive. Soon, you're going to start missing your daddy that told you to say your prayers at night. Missing the daddy that wanted you to be principled. Because once he's gone, he's gone for good. And you're just another one of his henchmen."