"You can head home now, Chief."

Jim Hopper looked up from the paperwork he was filling out on his desk, a half-smoked cigarette dangling precariously between his lips. Officer Jones stood in the Chief's office doorway, his eyebrows raised and waiting for his superior's response. He had started his shift nearly twenty minutes ago, but Hopper hadn't budged from his seat.

It was the same at every Christmas. And Thanksgiving. And Halloween. Usually the station had to fight to get Hopper into work. Big family holidays and other occasional days that were significant to the Chief, however, posed the opposite problem; getting him to leave work. But Jones couldn't blame the man for that given what he, and everyone else he worked with, knew about his past.

He watched as Hopper plucked the smoking stem from his mouth and stubbed it out in the filled ashtray on his desk.

"Alright, alright. I just gotta finish this report and I'll be on my way."

"You should probably finish it when you come back in on Monday. The snow is starting to pick up out there. Don't wanna be caught in that mess." And before Hopper could reply, Jones moved away from the door and headed to his own desk leaving Hopper to stare at the empty space with a disgruntled look. The man wasn't that much older than Hopper, but he occasionally felt the need to talk to him like he was his father, an impulse no doubt born from the fact that Jones had been working at the station for nearly twenty years without making more than sergeant and Hopper arrived back from the city four years ago as the department's new chief in one swift move.

Hopper gave a quick glance over his shoulder out his office window and noted the swirling gusts of white specks under the streetlights of downtown Hawkins, Indiana. The weatherman was right after all: it was going to be quite the white Christmas.

He grimaced.

Ignoring the biting urge to light up another Camel, buckle down and just go ahead and finish the stupid report, he puffed a heavy sigh and pushed back from his desk, shrugging on his winter coat. He grabbed his hat from where he had tossed it hours earlier, snapped off the lamp and headed out of his office, locking the door behind him. As he passed through the reception area, he called out to Jones,

"Try not to fall asleep again," before forcing himself out into the progressing winter storm.

He didn't see Jones roll his eyes, but he knew it happened just the same.

The drive from the police station down Route 421 out to his single wide mobile home normally took approximately twenty minutes, in both directions. If he was running late for work, he could make it in about ten. Tonight, he hazarded an ETA of thirty five minutes the way visibility was running and also on account of the road conditions which meant he could be drinking his first beer in sixteen hours not long after midnight.

He would be enormously mistaken.

His favorite stretch on the way home was the last four miles where the roadway passed through large areas of farmland and then finished with densely wooded scenery that coughed him up, eventually, onto his property on Loon Pond. His fellow officers liked this same bit of asphalt because there were a couple of good hiding spots they could set speed traps on unsuspecting drivers passing through or the occasional carload of energetic and overly confident youth. But tonight Route 421 swallowed Hopper's Blazer in a whirling, muffled tunnel of steady snowfall that kept his wipers beating rhythmically and his pace slow and cautious.

Even at his glacial clip, he didn't see the stopped car until he was nearly on top of it.

Slamming on his break pedal, Hopper swerved to his left, uttering curse words that would've made his mother cringe, but avoiding the heap of snow-covered metal. His Chevy gave a small slide before stopping, where then he turned around in his seat to look back at the vehicle sitting darkly off to the side of the road.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Hopper turned on his police flashers.

"Jones this is Hopper. I've got a vehicle on the side of the road, looks disabled. I'm gonna go check it out, please stand by," he called in on the truck radio before reaching down into his glove compartment for his flashlight. Swinging open his door he pressed his hat firmly down on his head as the wind blew a gust of cold flakes into his face. Raising the beam of light towards the car, he began his approach slowly, squinting through the possessed flurry of snow, trying to detect a form inside the cab.

The car was covered in about two inches of drift, the windows collecting a pattern of undulating lines making it difficult for him to see inside. Wiping clear the driver's side window, Hopper cast his light into the front seats and found the car empty.

Well, empty of passengers.

The entire rear of it was packed tight with several large suitcases, jammed cardboard boxes, and engorged trash bags.

Unstrapping his hand-held, Hopper walked towards the rear of the vehicle, dusted off the license plate and said over the airwaves as he crouched down into a squat,

"Jones, Hopper again. Do you copy?"

An unnecessary amount of seconds passed before the staticky voice of dispatch finally replied,

"Uh, yeah, Chief, Jones here. I copy."

"Are you awake enough to run a license plate for me?"

"Go ahead," came Jones' clipped reply.

"Florida plate. X-ray, uniform, bravo, seven, eight, seven. It's a dark green Datsun."

Jones repeated the information back before going silent to check on the car and plate. As he waited for dispatch to return, Hopper took a look around the wagon and noticed a pair of tracks in the untouched snow on the right side of the vehicle. They were heading into the woods.

A familiar sensation clamped down in his stomach pumping adrenaline into his system. Swallowing the prickling feeling, he cupped his hands around his mouth, bellowing an echoing 'Hello?' towards the grave and silent trees. He waited a beat and then repeated the call, louder. When he heard nothing in response, he buckled his radio back on his belt and unholstered his firearm.

A strange noise suddenly murmured in among the woods, one he couldn't place and wondered if he had misheard, it was so slight. Bringing his flashlight up under his gun and them both up to eye level, Hopper stepped out of the road and guardedly traced the tracks up to the tree line. He paused, his breath caught in his throat, trying to listen to the forest over the hammering of his heart. He lit up the path as far as his light could reach, but the footprints veered off over a small rise.

The woods seemed to sense his hesitation, perhaps smelling the fear that began to stand out in beads of sweat on his face, dampening his shirt. It was easy for him now to hear every creak and scrape of a tree branch, every loaded clump of snow hitting the ground like a soggy body bag. And was there another sound, too, coming from just beyond that hill?

"Hello?!" he hollered as he steadied the flashlight on the crest, taking a few more tentative steps deeper into the brackish copse. "This is the police! Anybody there?!"

A movement flashed in the corner of his eye. He wheeled to his right, his weapon kept steady in the point shooting position, as he felt his lungs expand with a large intake of air. His light caught a black figure lumbering stiffly towards him. A figure with no face.

Ice water coursed through his veins as the breath left his body.

The Byers monster.

In another second, Hopper would have squeezed the trigger to his revolver sending a bullet careening through the Christmas blizzard to meet the creature's undefined head. But a voice wafted out to him on the rippling currents of snow.

"Hello! Hello, I'm here!"

And it lifted its thick arms over its head in a signaling wave as it continued its clumsy approach through the trees, a pathetic dribble of light bobbing in front of it from some inadequate source.

Hopper dropped a number of expletives as he slouched over, the relief sending the blood to his head too quickly, making stars appear in his vision. Leaning against an obliging tree for support, he put his gun back in its holster, keeping his hand on its grip, as the person drew closer. His body, meanwhile, did its best to catch its breath and quiet its thundering heart. When they made it to a comfortable speaking distance, they began,

"Oh, I'm so glad-"

"What is wrong with you?! Do you realize how close you got to getting shot?! I could've killed you! Why didn't you answer me when I called out?!" Hopper's voice erupted over them.

Somewhere hidden in the folds of black fabric the voice responded,

"I was peeing." Then a shrug and, "Sorry."

Hopper blinked rapidly. He lifted the shaft of light to the figure's face but found it completely swathed in a dark woolen ski mask, scarf, and deeply recessed into the hood of the men's snowsuit they wore. He could barely make out a pair of eyes staring back at him through the material and ski goggles they were shielded under. Roving the beam over their form, he noticed that the snowsuit was too big for them, the sleeve cuffs hiding any hands and the pant legs bunched up at the top of their boots. He narrowed his eyes. He opened his mouth to ask if they were alone, but Jones' tinny voice split through the air cutting him off,

"Chief, nothing comes up on that car. Do you need any back up or" -Hopper began pulling out his radio to respond- "should I see if Murphy's will send out a tow?"

"Oh, not a tow, I don't think," the form interjected, "I'm hoping I only need a jump. I have cables... I think."

Hopper so badly wanted to hand the mess over to Murphy's, letting someone else deal with getting this... he guessed teenage girl... squared away somehow. But it was late and it was Christmas and he was already here and, sadly, he had the cables.

With grudging resignation, Hopper depressed the 'Talk' button and answered,

"Naw, I'm good, Jones, thanks. I'll take care of it. Hopper out."

All he wanted was to be home on his couch having a beer and maybe watching TV. He had been so close to starting his time off from work it almost physically hurt him to think about it. Instead, he was trying to maneuver the jumper cables from his truck's healthy battery to the dead Datsun's in a raging snowstorm after working a double shift on Christmas Eve.

"What do you want me to do?!" the motorist asked over the wailing wind, the weather having decided that now would be a good time to get worse.

"Just get in your car and stay there! I'll let you know when to try to start it up!" Hopper said, trying to keep his voice from being carried away by the noise of the rushing air. He thought he saw the hood move as if in a nod of agreement before the bundled up form shifted toward their car door. But then it stopped and turned back to him, one of its padded arms extending out as they hollered,

"I'm Anne, by the way! Anne Garrett!"

Hopper realized she was offering a handshake, her gloved fingers barely reaching past her sleeve. He accepted her hand quickly and without warmth, the pressing matter of getting her on her way at the forefront of his focus.

"Jim Hopper!"

One pump and he was back to attending the cables, leaving Anne Garrett to get into her vehicle and wait for his further instructions.

After securing the clips, Hopper climbed into the cab of his truck and started the engine. He took the moment to have a cigarette as he waited for his car to juice her battery. Heat from his exertion over the last twenty minutes made him unzip his suddenly stifling winter coat as the windows began fogging up around him. He knocked down the fan on his heater.

He waited the few interminable minutes before figuring he'd given it enough time and clambered out of the Chevy. Raising his arm against the frozen moisture pelting him, Hopper made it to the Datsun and knocked on her snow-encrusted window. When she had the glass lowered enough he made a motion with his hand to indicate turning the ignition key. Another hooded nod and he watched as she gave the car a crank. Nothing happened.

Swearing, Hopper checked the clamps, verifying they were all firmly attached to their proper places.

"Try it again for me!" he yelled from in front of the dead engine.

The motor remained silent.

His face soured.

His night was about to get a lot longer.

Murphy's wasn't answering their phone and Joe's Garage over in Newburg wouldn't be able to get out there for another couple of hours due to an accident on Interstate 65 they were helping clear.

So reported Jones over the truck's radio.

Hopper and Ms. Garrett were sitting in the Blazer trying to thaw out while he asked dispatch to attempt to find a nearby towing company. During the time it was taking for Jones to call around, Hopper had plucked another cigarette from his thinning pack of smokes and impatiently lit up before scrutinizing the license and registration she had handed over to him when he asked for them back at her car. The face that looked up at him was of an attractive woman a few years younger than himself with a steady gaze and hair pulled back into a pony tail. Her make-up, if she had any on, was light and natural.

"Mind pulling back your mask so I can make sure this is you?" he asked around the butt between his lips.

After finagling with her multiple coverings, she finally managed to reveal her face only, her expression the same as in the picture. Satisfied, Hopper nodded and handed her documentation back and watched her struggle to rewrap herself. She then scrunched forward towards the vents that were mildly blowing hot air into the cab, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle and began making those undecipherable noises with her mouth that people do when they're freezing. Without saying a word, he turned the fan on to a higher setting.

She tilted her head to him.

"Thanks."

"No reason you should freeze while we wait."

Obscured once more within the chunky layers of clothing, she presented a disconcerting image to Hopper that reminded him of his time spent inside the bulky hazmat suit when he and Joyce Byers went to look for her son in that hellish place the kids called the "Upside Down."

Since Will Byers had disappeared about a month ago, anything that sniffed of the unknown, the veiled, had no appeal for Hopper. So sitting next to a woman he couldn't see did not exactly sit well with him. Yet, he couldn't really say he felt threatened by her either.

Then again, that's probably how Benny felt before the undercover agent he let into his restaurant put a bullet into his skull.

Hopper pushed the memory of his friend's death scene from his mind, stretching his back to a straighter position as a scowl matted his features.

"So what's with the get up?" he asked unexpectedly. The enfolded head bobbed a glance down at their costume before seemingly returning their gaze back to him.

"I just hate being cold," she said with a shift of her shoulders. It was a short answer and he was content with accepting it as is. His acknowledging nod, though, must've been too slight for her obstructed notice because she continued,

"I'm from Florida, so... Not used to this kind of weather. I mean, I knew it was going to be cold, but still... kind of a shock to my system, you know? I'm just glad I thought enough ahead to pick this snow gear up before leaving. I found it all at a thrift store in Groveland...that's where I'm from... Most of it was in the Men's section so it's...you know, too big. But I couldn't find anything in the Ladies' section. Not a lot of snow gear in Florida." She gave a fluttered chuckle. "So, yeah, it doesn't fit me well and it smells kind of gross, but it was super cheap and I knew I was going to need it up here, so... And, boy, did I ever need it. I mean, this" -she gestured a hidden hand towards the windshield- "this is crazy, right? My first experience with snow and it's a whopping blizzard. It's all so exciting! I mean, obviously I'm not thrilled with my car dying on me in the middle of nowhere late at night, but man, talk about an adventure. And it'll all turn out ok, I'm sure. We'll get a mechanic out here to give me a new battery and I'll be on my way again, no harm done. But lucky for me your showing up. It would've been a cold night in my car, that's for sure. But anyway, thanks. For stopping."

Hopper blew out the smoke he had been holding as she chattered away, his lungs finally relieved from the strain of keeping still. He kept his face as neutral as he had the strength for.

"Sure."

He then turned his face to his window, guillotining the exchange and focusing his eyes on his muggy reflection, praying that Jones would come back any second with the happy news that someone from Murphy's was already on their way.

So when Jones' voice finally did squelch over the speaker to inform him no tow truck could be had, Hopper was less than thrilled.

"No, no, you've done enough already, just let me-"

"I am not... leaving you here," he interrupted, his voice level.

"Look, I'll be fine. Snow's an insulator, right? I'll be toasty warm in no time... probably."

"I am not... leaving you here!"

"But where could you even take me? It's almost one in the morning on Christmas Day, everything's closed up or filled, I'm sure."

"There's a little motel over in Montauk, its usually got all kinds of vacancies."

Hopper had made use of their accommodations enough to know that to be true. What he didn't tell her was why there were usually all kinds of vacancies. He gave his head a small shake to clear out the grating signals of warning that sounded in his conscience. One night there wouldn't kill her, he reasoned with himself.

The pile of second-hand snow clothes in the seat next to him sighed.

"Alright, fine." And she opened her door.

"Hey! What're-"

"I'm getting my overnight bag. I'll just be a second." And she slid out of her seat, slamming the door closed after her. He watched her plod back to her Datsun to retrieve what seemed to Hopper an overly big overnight bag.

He barely waited for her to get back into his truck before throwing the gear into drive and setting off towards Sunnyside Motel in Montauk. Which was, of course, in the opposite direction of his couch and television set. He would be sure to honk as he passed the station just to wake Jones up.

"Look it, I'm really sorry about all of this."

"It's fine," he replied flatly.

There was a light exhale from her side of the cab. He watched in his peripheral as she crooked her elbow on the armrest of the door and leaned her densely padded head against the cold glass of her window.

Her breath was creating a gray glaze where he imagined her mouth was hidden inside the cavern of her hood, steaming a light cloud across the transparent surface. Hopper ignored her for a few minutes, finishing his cigarette and stamping the butt out in the ashtray of the car. He was doing his best not to drive too quickly, the roads having gotten worse since his previous trip down them which now felt like ages ago. This entire time out he had only seen two plow trucks on the road.

She lifted her arm making him glance over and see her spell her name in the mist on the glass. A-N-N-E.

"'Anne spelled with an E,'" her muted voice floated through the scarf wrapped around her face. She wasn't speaking to him necessarily, just voicing her thoughts.

"What?" Hopper seemed to mutter before he could stop himself. Somewhere in his cognizance a drum was struck, resonating something familiar to him, but couldn't quite place.

"'Anne spelled with an E,'" she repeated, "It's from the book Anne of Green Gables. Anne Shirley asks her adoptive mother to call her Anne spelled with an E because she thought it looked more distinguished that way. It was my mother's favorite book; read it to us all the time. She named me after her. So whenever I spell it I always think of that part of the story and I end up saying it out loud. Funny, right?"

He didn't respond. Her words were fingers plucking the synapses of his memory and conjuring up an anamorphic image shadowed in pain. That had been the book he read with Sarah as she lay dying in the hospital, the last story he was to read with his baby girl and never get to finish.

His grip on the steering wheel constricted as he inhaled through his nose deeply, the well-known enflamed agony engulfing his chest. His vial of Tuinal lay snug against his leg in his pants pocket. Overriding his usual cautiousness when it came to taking a pill, Hopper dug for the plastic bottle like a man reaching for an itch he'd been waiting to scratch for too long a time. He dexterously opened and shook out a single capsule, popping it swiftly into his mouth and swallowing it dry. As he casually stuck the container back into his trousers, he noticed the shrouded face observing him.

"Heartburn," he said, realizing it wasn't altogether a lie.

After ten minutes of silence between Hopper and Ms. Garrett, he wondered if she had fallen asleep. He was finding it difficult to keep awake himself, the long day at work catching up with him. He could feel the effects of the medication kicking in, too, relaxing him, easing the tension he had been feeling the last hour or so. Risking a glimpse at his passenger, Hopper surmised she was still awake.

"So. Ms. Garrett..."

"Anne."

"Anne," he corrected, "With an E." He heard a light flickering laugh in response.

"So, Anne. What, uh... brings you so far from home?"

He thought he heard her take in a grave breath.

"Well, Chief Hopper-"

"Jim... How'd you.. how'd you know I was the Chief?" he asked a little too quickly to sound anything less than paranoid. Which he was. But she didn't seem to catch the suspicion in his voice as she answered nonchalantly,

"That guy Jones called you Chief. And it says so on your badge. Anyway,...Jim,... it's a long story and you don't seem the long story type, so I'll just say Life brought me so far from home. Keep it short and sweet for you."

Was that...was that a jab?

He looked over at her, but of course he couldn't tell if she was trying to be funny or not because she was miles deep inside that mountain of fabric. Finally, he could only shrug his eyebrows and say,

"Fair enough."

There were a couple of beats before,

"Ever been?"

"Huh?"

"To Florida. Ever been?"

"Oh. Uh, no. No, never been. We almost made it there one year, but, uh...," But then Sarah got sick... "But Life. Right?" he finished with a lopsided grin, forcing the corners of his mouth to rise despite himself. Anne gave a humorless giggle of agreement.

"Yeah. Right. I've only ever been in Florida myself. This is my first trip anywhere."

"And you chose to come to Indiana?"

"Just passing through. I'm on my way to Michigan. The Upper Peninsula actually. I'm going to see my brother."

"Are you moving there?"

"Yeah. Well, no. I don't know. I've got some friends in Maine that I could go see once I'm done in Marquette. I might stay with them for a while, until I can get on my feet. Or I might just end up going back to Florida. I don't know. We'll see."

"Man," Hopper breathed. "Must be one heck of a story you're not telling me."

"Oh, it's epic," she said taking up his light-hearted thread and spinning it into a bigger, more playful yarn. "They're gonna make it into a movie after my book comes out. Meryl Streep is going to play me."

"Meryl Streep?" He caught himself thinking his passenger prettier than that.

"Yup, or else I won't sign off on the contract. I need a quality actress to portray me, ya' know? I'd consider Dustin Hoffman dressed up as a woman again, but he's gotta work on his southern accent."

Hopper flat out laughed.

"I'd see it if Hoffman played you," he quipped.

"Oh, you'll see it anyway 'cause your character is gonna be in it now. This is all part of the story," and she gestured between the two of them.

"Aw, jeez. But who would you have play me?" He found himself actually curious to know who'd she pick. Curious and a little apprehensive.

"Hmmm," she brought her unseen hand to where he suspected her chin to be, "Maybe Burt Reynolds? He could pull off the grumpy-but-good-hearted cop pretty well, right? But he's not tall enough. Ooh! Clint Eastwood is tall and plays a pretty hot cop...except he's too old. Well, who would you suggest?"

"Uhhh..." His brain was still repeating 'pretty hot cop.' Did she mean she thought he was a pretty hot cop? Or just that Clint Eastwood looked pretty hot as a cop? "Maybe Burt Reynolds wearing platform boots?" he finally delivered. He reminded himself that she also said 'grumpy.'

But good-hearted, his brain fired back.

Shut up.

"Yeah, I guess that could work," she assented with a quick laugh.

"It's just too bad that he'll have such a small role in this 'epic' movie of yours."

"I know. And he won't be cheap either. Most of the budget will end up going to his paycheck, the greedy jerk. Oh, well. Them's the breaks."

Hopper felt the side of his mouth inch up.

She started rooting around in her overnight bag. His calm rattled as he watched her paw through her things, imagining all sorts of arsenal she could produce from the chasm of her sack. When she finally pulled out an orange, he unclenched his stomach with a gusting sigh.

"I've got several in here if you'd like one. Fresh from Florida," she offered as she began peeling the fruit, the air now being teased with the citrus tang of the rind.

"I'm good, thanks."

"I'm getting pretty sick of them myself. I've been eating them the whole way up. Does this motel you're taking me to have a continental breakfast by any chance?"

A fresh pang of guilt frayed his chest.

"Sorry, not that I know of."

"S'fine, was just wondering."

He listened to her chewing as she ate, a surprisingly non-abrasive sound, as the lull in conversation settled back in between them. Second thoughts about dropping her at the Sunnyside Motel began scratching away at Hopper's mind. It had been months since he made use of one of its rooms, but he didn't imagine it had gotten any better. But, he tried to reason with himself, she needed a place to stay and that seemed the best solution given the circumstances.

He just hoped someone other than Gary was working the check-in desk tonight.