[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 781 - A Man and a Woman Alone — You're Telling Me It Was Just a Massage?

The surveillance room on the second floor of the Sanctuary.

Negan paced the cramped space wall to wall.

His hands were locked around the barbed-wire baseball bat in a white-knuckled death grip.

The subordinates stationed at the monitors had shrunk into the corners, not daring to breathe.

"Search! Search every goddamn inch of it!"

He screamed at the man sitting at the console.

"Pull up every camera in every corridor! I want to see exactly who took her!"

The man's hands flew across the keyboard. Feeds flickered across the screens in rapid succession.

Then the fingers stopped dead.

He swallowed. Pointed at one of the monitors.

"Boss... found it..."

Negan shoved him aside and pressed close to the screen.

The footage was grainy, but clear enough, Tania with Sherry Birkin's hand in hers, the two of them hugging the wall, slipping through the corridor like they were trying not to exist.

"That bitch Tania! She had the nerve to pull this shit right under my nose!"

He ground the words out through his teeth.

"Where did they go!"

The man stammered.

"Uh. They — they went to the third floor..."

"The third floor?" Negan went still.

"Yeah. Tania brought Sherry into the room at the far end of the third-floor corridor..."

The subordinate finished and immediately dropped his head, not daring to look up.

The expression on Negan's face locked in place.

Every last drop of his rage came to a screeching halt.

The far end of the third floor.

The room where that monster lived. The one who could tank a nine-millimeter. The one who had ridden an iron plate down from hundreds of meters in the air like it was nothing.

The muscle at the corner of Negan's eye twitched violently.

He jerked the bat up, arm swinging back, ready to cave the console in and get some of this out of his system.

His arm stopped mid-air.

He didn't dare.

If he made too much noise and disturbed the man upstairs, his head wouldn't survive the day.

Negan was so pent-up he was practically choking on it.

He bit down hard and slowly lowered the bat.

"Fine... just fine..."

He squeezed those words out from between his teeth.

What else was there to say?

Go knock on the door and demand she be handed back?

Go interrogate that man about why he was sleeping with a woman Negan had his eye on?

How was that any different from digging his own grave?

Negan turned around, kicked the surveillance room door open, and trudged out with his head hanging.

A fire smoldering in his chest the whole way.

Playing the groveling lapdog out on the highway today was already bad enough. Now someone had poached the woman he wanted right out from under him. He was a goddamn joke.

He reached the landing at the second-floor staircase.

Negan stopped.

He spotted Dwight.

Dwight was kneeling on the floor, a ragged cloth in his hand, scrubbing laboriously at a stain on the ground. The half of his face destroyed by the iron looked especially grotesque under the dim corridor light.

Watching Dwight in that degraded state, Negan suddenly smiled.

Why the hell should I be the only one stewing in misery?

Why the hell should I be the only one eating shit like some doormat?

You don't get to have it any better.

He hefted the bat and sauntered over.

Dwight saw those leather boots and his whole body gave a shudder. He immediately stopped what he was doing, dropped his head, and held his breath.

"Negan." He said it respectfully.

Negan crouched down and looked at him.

"Dwight. Did you know your wife is missing?"

Dwight's stomach dropped.

He assumed Sherry had angered Negan again, or gotten caught trying to run.

"She... she might have just gone out to get some air. Bad mood, you know how she is..." He rushed to get the words out. "Please don't hurt her. I'll take whatever punishment she's got coming."

"Punishment?" Negan shook his head, slow and theatrical.

"No, no, no. She's doing just fine right now."

He raised one hand and pointed toward the third floor.

"She's in that room at the far end of the third-floor corridor. Right now."

Dwight froze.

The far end of the third floor?

Everyone in the Sanctuary knew by now. A terrifyingly dangerous man had moved in up there today. A monster that had put even Negan on his knees.

What was Sherry doing there?

"What... what is she doing in there?"

He raised his head, eyes completely blank.

Negan watched the color drain from Dwight's face and felt the pressure in his own chest lift by half. God, there was nothing like transferring your pain onto someone else. It was just so goddamn good.

He stood up and clapped Dwight on the shoulder.

"What is she doing?" Negan stretched his mouth into a slow, ugly grin. "A young, beautiful woman runs into a strong man's room — take a wild guess."

Dwight looked like he'd been struck by lightning.

Negan saw the expression, that look of a man who'd rather be dead, and gave a satisfied whistle.

"Believe it or not, that's up to you. You'll know soon enough."

He hoisted the bat onto his shoulder and walked away with a light, easy stride. He still had to follow Leon's instructions, get someone to bring over the leaders from the Kingdom and the Hilltop.

He left Dwight alone on the floor.

Dwight didn't know how he got to his feet.

He made it up the stairs like a ghost that had lost its way, stumbling at every step.

Third floor.

The door at the far end of the corridor was shut tight.

Dwight pressed himself against the wall at the corner, eyes locked on that door.

He didn't dare go closer. He was afraid of angering the man inside. And he was even more afraid of what he might hear.

Time moved second by second.

The corridor was deathly quiet.

Every now and then, a woman's soft laughter drifted through the door.

Dwight listened carefully. Sherry's voice wasn't among them.

One hour.

Two hours.

Dwight felt like his heart was being held over an open flame and slowly turned.

The ruined half of his face twisted from the sheer weight of it.

Then.

Click.

The door opened from the inside.

Dwight's whole body jolted. He pressed himself back into the shadows.

Several women filed out of the room.

Amber. Frankie. Tania.

They looked wrecked. Steps unsteady, leaning on each other just to stay upright. Every face carried the deep flush of someone who'd just pushed their body hard, fine beads of sweat still clinging to their foreheads. Amber was swaying as she walked, slumped against Tania and breathing in shallow pulls.

And behind them.

Sherry walked out.

Her hair was disheveled, and her cheeks were flushed so deeply they looked ready to bleed. She braced herself against the door frame, drew a slow breath, her body going visibly soft.

Dwight watched it happen and felt the world fall out from under him.

He had known Sherry for years. He had never once seen her wear that expression.

That exhaustion on her face was a blade going straight into his chest.

The women started back down the corridor.

As they reached the corner, Dwight stepped out of the shadows.

"Sherry."

His voice came out cracked.

"We need to talk."

The women startled.

Sherry's body went rigid.

She looked up and found Dwight's face — tear-streaked, carved up with pain.

The color left her face instantly. She dropped her eyes, quickened her step, angled to move around him.

She didn't know how to face him right now.

"Sherry!"

Dwight lunged forward and seized her wrist.

His grip was iron. It made her wince.

"Let go of me." She kept her voice low, twisting against his hand.

"What happened in there!" His eyes were red all the way through, locked on her flushed face, his voice cracking open under the weight of everything he was holding back. "Tell me! What exactly happened in there!"

Amber and Tania exchanged one look, quietly stepped aside, and gave them the space.

Sherry smoothed the loose strands of hair away from her forehead. Her voice came out calm.

"We were only giving Leon a massage. Don't get the wrong idea."

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