Chapter 17: The Death Residue
POV: Jake
The death residue around Shane Walsh had been growing darker by the day, and Jake found himself studying it with the morbid fascination of someone watching a slow-motion car accident. What had started as a faint oily shimmer—the psychic stain that clung to anyone who'd taken a life—had deepened into something altogether more sinister.
Jake sat on the farmhouse porch, ostensibly reading one of Hershel's veterinary journals but actually tracking Shane's movements across the yard. The deputy was helping Glenn load supplies into the Cherokee, his movements efficient and controlled, but the darkness that surrounded him writhed like smoke given form.
It wasn't just that Shane had killed. Rick carried a similar residue from his encounters in Atlanta, as did Daryl from his hunting and self-defense. But their stains were different—cleaner somehow, justified by necessity rather than choice. Shane's residue was something else entirely, thick and oily and wrong in ways that made Jake's death sense recoil.
"Murder. That's what this is. Not self-defense, not survival—cold-blooded murder."
Shane must have felt Jake's scrutiny because he looked up suddenly, his dark eyes locking onto Jake's with predatory intensity. There was a moment of silent assessment, then Shane was walking across the yard with the purposeful stride of someone who'd made a decision.
"You got a problem with me, college boy?" Shane's voice was deceptively casual, but Jake could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rested near his holstered pistol.
Jake closed the journal and met Shane's stare without flinching. "You killed Otis."
The words hung in the air between them like an accusation written in fire. Shane's face went through a series of micro-expressions—surprise, fear, calculation—before settling into cold denial.
"Accident," Shane said, but his voice lacked conviction. "He was bit. Walkers got him while we were running."
"No." Jake stood slowly, his own hand moving instinctively toward the knife at his belt. "You shot him and ran. Left him for dead so you could escape with the supplies. I can feel it on you—the guilt, the blood, the choice you made."
Shane stepped closer, his bulk casting a shadow across the porch. "Don't know what you're talking about, freak. But you better watch your mouth before you say something you can't take back."
The threat was unmistakable, but Jake didn't back down. The residue around Shane was so thick now it was almost visible, like oil slicks reflecting corrupt light. Whatever humanity the man had once possessed was being slowly consumed by the darkness of his choices.
"I know exactly what I'm talking about," Jake said quietly. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
For a moment, violence hung between them like a live wire. Shane's hand twitched toward his gun, and Jake's death sense screamed warnings about imminent danger. Then Rick's voice cut across the yard, breaking the tension.
"Everything alright over there?"
Shane stepped back, his face smoothing into a mask of false concern. "Just having a conversation with our resident miracle worker. Nothing to worry about."
But Jake caught the look in Shane's eyes before he turned away—calculation mixed with something that might have been fear. Shane knew that Jake knew, and that knowledge made him exponentially more dangerous.
POV: Shane
The freak was becoming a problem.
Shane watched Jake from across the yard, noting the way the young man interacted with the group—too comfortable, too integrated, too fucking observant for his own good. There was something unnatural about the college boy, something that set Shane's teeth on edge and made his trigger finger itch.
It wasn't just the weird powers, though those were unsettling enough. It was the way Jake looked at people, like he could see straight through their bullshit to whatever ugly truths they were trying to hide. The way he'd called Shane out about Otis with absolute certainty, like he'd been standing there in the woods watching it happen.
"Freak probably reads minds. Knows things he shouldn't know. Can't let him destroy everything I've built here."
Shane had worked too hard to establish himself as Rick's right hand, too hard to position himself as Lori's protector and Carl's father figure. The dynamic was delicate, built on trust and shared history and the gradual erosion of Rick's authority. One wrong word from Jake could bring it all crashing down.
He watched Jake teaching Carl how to track, saw the boy's face light up with hero worship that should have been directed at Shane himself. Watched Jake talking quietly with Lori, earning the kind of grateful smiles that Shane had been working toward for weeks. Watched Jake's easy camaraderie with Rick, the way the sheriff actually listened to the younger man's opinions.
Jake was inserting himself into every relationship Shane valued, becoming indispensable through a combination of useful skills and inexplicable knowledge. It was a masterful strategy, whether intentional or not, and it was working perfectly.
"He's gonna tell them. Sooner or later, he's gonna tell them about Otis, and then what? They'll ask questions I can't answer. Look at me like I'm some kind of monster."
But Shane wasn't a monster. He was a survivor, someone willing to make the hard choices that kept people alive. Otis had been dead weight, a liability that would have gotten them both killed. Shooting him had been pragmatic, necessary, the right call in an impossible situation.
The problem was that Jake didn't see it that way. The freak looked at Shane like he was something diseased, something contaminated by his own choices. And if Jake felt that way, how long before the others started seeing Shane through the same lens?
Shane fingered the grip of his pistol and considered his options. Accidents happened all the time in this new world. People went missing during supply runs, got separated from the group, fell victim to walkers or hostile survivors. It would be easy enough to arrange, especially if Jake's weird powers made him overconfident.
"For their own good. Before he destroys what we've built. Before he turns them against me."
The rationalization came easily, as they always did. Shane had gotten good at justifying necessary actions, at framing hard choices as moral imperatives. Jake was a threat to group cohesion, a destabilizing influence that could get them all killed.
Removing that threat would be an act of protection, not murder.
POV: Jake
Rick found him an hour later, sitting by the creek that ran through the back of Hershel's property. The sheriff's face was troubled, his usual calm authority replaced by the kind of uncertainty that came from having too many questions and not enough answers.
"Shane said you've been acting strange around him," Rick began without preamble. "Says you've been staring, making accusations."
Jake had been expecting this conversation. Shane was nothing if not politically astute, and getting ahead of potential problems was standard operating procedure for him.
"He killed Otis," Jake said simply. "Shot him in the leg and left him for the walkers. I can sense it on him—death leaves a mark on killers."
Rick was quiet for a long moment, processing the implications. "You can see when people have killed?"
Jake nodded. "It's part of the... the thing with dead things. Death resonates, especially violent death. Especially murder."
"Can you see it on me?" Rick's voice was steady, but Jake caught the undercurrent of vulnerability there. The sheriff had killed in Atlanta, had done what was necessary to protect his family and survive in a hostile world.
"Yes," Jake said honestly. "But yours is different. Clean, if that makes sense. Justified. You killed to protect people, to survive. Shane killed to save himself at someone else's expense."
Rick rubbed his face with both hands, the weight of leadership etched in every line of his posture. "You're sure about this? About Otis?"
"I can feel the guilt coming off him in waves. The way he looks at Carl, knowing that boy almost died because of his choices." Jake met Rick's eyes. "I'm sure."
"Jesus." Rick stared out across the water, watching the current carry fallen leaves toward whatever destination awaited downstream. "What am I supposed to do with this information? Shane's my partner, my best friend. Has been since before Lori, before Carl, before any of this."
"I don't know," Jake admitted. "But I thought you should know. He's... changing. The residue around him is getting darker, more corrupt. Whatever line he crossed with Otis, I don't think it's going to be the last one."
They sat in silence for a while, two men carrying burdens too heavy for easy solutions. Finally, Rick stood and brushed dirt from his jeans.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For telling me. For trusting me with this."
"Just... be careful around him," Jake replied. "I don't think he's done making hard choices. And I'm pretty sure his next one involves me."
Rick's hand moved instinctively to his weapon. "What do you mean?"
"He knows that I know. And Shane doesn't like loose ends."
The implications hung between them like smoke from a distant fire—visible, troubling, but not yet close enough to demand immediate action. Rick nodded slowly and walked back toward the farmhouse, leaving Jake alone with the creek and his growing certainty that conflict was coming.
Shane Walsh was a man balanced on the knife's edge between civilization and savagery, and Jake's accusations had just given him a hard push toward the wrong side.
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