Absalom, Indiana

1966

Louisa

Louisa Hansard did not know where her husband was. This was extremely unusual considering that Niall had always been a firm believer that a husband and wife were of one flesh. He was constantly at Louisa's side, lurking behind her, reading over her shoulder, picking out her book list, picking out her outfits, mapping out her day, forbidding her from using the phone.

He disappeared the day Violetta Hughes stopped coming to church. Violetta was the last one standing, if one did not count Matthew and Gloria - and Louisa did not count them, not at all. The teen had performed a miracle the service before, when she had forced the remaining congregants and Niall to run ten laps around the entire perimeter of the church property through mind control.

Niall stood at the pulpit that Sunday, slowly taking in his congregation of three. Louisa sat in the front, while Matthew and Gloria sat towards the middle, golden blonde and grinning serenely (smugly, Louisa thought). Louisa knew he had not slept the night before or the night before that. They were averaging a loss of one congregant every two weeks since…

Louisa, Matthew and Gloria waited expectantly for Niall to speak, or at least Louisa did. Matthew and Gloria gave an impressive imitation of wanting to hang on her husband's every word, their cornflower blue eyes shining with admiration and the ghost of happy tears.

Niall did not speak for a long while. He stared wildly with dark, bloodshot eyes for the first ten minutes of the sermon, taking in deep breaths through his nose that flared his nostrils and rattled his chest. His suit was rumpled, and his hair was a wind-tossed mess. Louisa noticed him reflexively grasping and crumpling a small stack of papers on the podium. At last, he opened his mouth and released a hoarse breath, followed by a bizarre keening noise. Louisa stood, ready to assist her husband, despite her reservations and suspicions about his recent behavior. "Sit down, Louisa!" Niall barked when he took note of Louisa's action.

"Niall, are you alright?" Louisa asked, a sob rising up in her throat.

Niall raised a silencing hand and shook his head. "I'm… I'm dreadfully sorry, my friends. You were all expecting a sermon - something to comfort you as these days become increasingly more confusing. Why are our friends leaving us, one-by-one? Why do we remain? Why can't I … we feel the presence of our lord any longer? What can I-I… w-what can we do in times like this?" Tears began to fall from Niall's eyes. "He says to bring the girl, bring the girl and we can all be together, but my wife is weak and cannot bring me what we need. So what are we to do? Sh-shall I go out into the wilderness without a dime to my name or a morsel in my pocket and wait? I am undone… I…" Niall's gaze fixed on the stained glass windows, on Louisa's design. His eyes became glassy and his mouth kept opening and closing in a gentle motion, like a fish or a whispering child. Louisa noticed that Matthew and Gloria were furiously scribbling in their little notepads. They weren't even trying to be sneaky about it.

"Stop it!" Louisa shouted at the pair. They looked up from their notepads and graced her with another pair of sickeningly sweet smiles. So sympathetic and patronizing. Louisa was so done with this. Once again, she started to get to her feet and make her way for the aisle. Niall nearly knocked her over as he ran past her, towards the exit. He threw open the double doors and was gone.

"D'you suppose he's coming back?" Matthew inquired, getting to his feet, a wry grin fixed on his absurdly handsome face.

"Oh, who gives a fuck?" Louisa intoned, meaning it. She hoped he never came back, and she definitely hoped he wasn't going to hide away in her home. The home she could have with...

It was time to leave.

Hawkins, Indiana

Two Days Later

Jim

"So, you're going back with her?" Jim Hopper sat on the edge of his sister's bed as Joyce Fairley packed a suitcase. The brunette shrugged, sat next to Jim and pushed errant strands of hair away from her face. "You don't have to, Joyce."

Joyce bit her lip and looked as though she were considering his words. "I think I do."

Jim felt as though he would never understand Joyce in a million years, but the determined look in her deep brown eyes told him that she honestly believed in what she was saying. He made one more move to dissuade her: "She was terrible to you, Joyce. She doesn't deserve you, and you don't need to prove anything by staying with her."

Joyce shook her head. "Something feels different this time, and maybe I'm wrong - again - but if this was your mother we were talking about, could you stay away? Honestly turn your back on your mother?"

"My mother-"

"-is a saint, Jim. That's why you can't even fathom what this feels like. I really, really tried to let her rot - tried to ignore her. Every single time I had a terrible thought, or wished she was dead, or told her as much, felt like I was stabbing myself in the gut because I thought I would be stronger for it." Jim pulled her against his side when he noticed the tears making an appearance in the corners of her eyes. "It just hurt. Maybe it will stop hurting for a little while if I try again." He held her as she wept and felt absolutely terrible for questioning her reasoning. Of fucking course he'd feel terrible if their roles were reversed and his mother was the… whatever Louisa was at this point, he wasn't sure. He hoped against hope that it was something good.

Jim laid back in the bed, taking Joyce with him as her weeping began to die down. "I suppose it helps that her creep husband isn't around."

Joyce sniffled and rested her head against Jim's chest. "Oh, absolutely."

"If this turns out wrong - if she hurts you again, come straight here."

Joyce laughed. "Do you ever get tired of trying to be my white knight?"

"I'm being serious."

Joyce kissed his cheek. "I know you are, Hop. If it goes wrong, I will come straight here. I'll crawl through your bedroom window and climb into your bed and-"

"I like where this is going."

Joyce nudged him in his side. "I wasn't finished, perv - I'll lean over and whisper, 'You were right, Hop,' into your ear."

"And it will be the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me." Jim reached over and took one of Joyce's hands in his, stroking his forefinger along the fine bones of her knuckles.

They were silent for a long while, and the rhythmic sound of her breathing nearly put him to sleep. A knock on the door gave them both a start. They scrambled to sit up as Louisa stepped into the room. The older woman immediately looked apologetic and fixed her gaze to the floor. "Joyce, I'm so sorry, sweetheart,I was just checking to see if you were about ready to go back ho- … go back."

Joyce nodded and stood. Jim followed suit and walked over to a mortified Louisa. "Ma'am, I just wanted to let you know that it wasn't what you think."

Louisa just laughed nervously and waved a hand at the young man. "Good lord, I was a teenager once. You're both making better choices than I was at that age, so who am I to judge?" She gave Jim a stern look and a chiding finger wave. "I won't tell your parents. Thank your lucky stars I walked in and not them." Louisa helped Joyce pick up a few bags, smiling to herself and shaking her head as she did.

"Yes, Ma'am. See you around, Joyce." Jim's heart skipped a beat when Joyce looked up at him and graced him with a shy smile, her intense brown eyes twinkling.

"See you at school," Joyce replied.

"Let me know if you need me to take you into the city to shop for a prom dress," Jim added, unable to stop himself from reminding her of her promise.

Joyce blushed deeply in response. Louisa looked intrigued. "I think we can manage, son," the older woman responded as she led her daughter from the room.

Despite his reservations about what was happening in Joyce's life, Jim found himself flooded with optimism and grinning like an idiot. They didn't hate each other anymore, Lonnie was long gone, and she was going to prom with him. He sat back on the bed and touched the rumpled spot where the two of them had been lying moments earlier. There was still a ghost of warmth clinging to the eider down quilt.. The world was suddenly bursting with possibilities. They would go to prom, he would ask her to go steady, and that would be that.

Jim's brain busily worked at the meaning of 'that would be that,' seeing college and marriage flash before his eyes - a concept that frankly would have terrified him with any other girl, but with Joyce it made sense. It was as though the universe had set these events in motion the day she got off the plane from San Francisco, all frightened and owl-eyed and eager for his friendship. They were merely fulfilling destiny, she and him.

It was awful and weird that their destiny had to involve Jonathan getting so badly hurt, and that tidbit made Jim feel terrible and selfish for the optimism he had let slip into his outlook. It wasn't right or fair, planning his future with Joyce while her grandfather shriveled away on a hospital bed, his once fine mind seemingly gone. Jim frowned as the spot on the bed grew cold. He wondered if it was okay to be ecstatic over the fact that he had a shot with Joyce and still recognize that the goings on in her life were tragic and deserving of some measure of gravity.

Three Weeks Later

Joyce

Joyce stared across the little round cafe table at her mother, studying her, as the older woman sipped at a large cup of coffee. The two of them were in a coffee house several blocks away from the Indianapolis rehabilitation center where Jonathan Fairley was recuperating. The visit had been miserable. He still was not speaking or even acknowledging Louisa and Joyce, even though he was conscious and somewhat mobile. Joyce had been distraught at the lack of improvement in her beloved grandfather, and Louisa had been… hard to read. She had observed it all so stoically, staying silent as Joyce tried time and time again to get Jonathan's attention. Joyce wasn't sure if the woman was heartless or tired.

"Stop staring, Joyce. You're making me uncomfortable."

"Do you care about Grandpa?"

Louisa nearly choked on her coffee. She set down the cup and frowned at Joyce. "What kind of question is that?"

"You didn't say anything to him."

"He didn't say much of anything to either of us." Louisa raised a hand when Joyce opened her mouth the protest the callous reply. "Baby, I don't know what to tell you. There has been… a lot has happened since the last time I saw your grandfather. A lifetime of things - and I apologize if it looks like I'm being cruel but I-I… guess I don't know how to react to things anymore. I feel hollow inside. On the outside, I know that what is happening to my father is horrific and that I should feel guilty and grief-stricken but… the awareness of the situation isn't…" Louisa paused and took several deep breaths, studying her hands as though they held the key to what she was trying to say. "It's like I'm watching these things from outside of my body, like a movie I know I should be invested in, but I'm not. … does that make sense?"

"I've felt like that a few times," Joyce confessed. "Sometimes, when things get to be too much, and they've gotten to be too much a lot lately, something in me says 'that's enough for today' and I kind of -"

"Check out?"

Joyce nodded and gave her mother a weak smile, grateful that someone finally understood. "Yes."

Louisa stood and held out a hand to Joyce. "You have prom tomorrow, and we haven't picked out that dress for you yet."

Joyce took her mother's hand; it was warm and small, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like home.

"Look at you, baby."

Joyce was looking. Preening really. There may have been a bit of twirling involved as well as she studied her reflection in the full length mirror. Her mother was beaming at her from the edge of the bed, holding a pair of elbow-length white gloves in her nervous hands. Joyce held out her hands for the gloves, and Louisa obliged, covering her mouth to suppress a tiny sob.

"I think we picked the right dress," Joyce murmured, hesitant to to verbalize how becoming she thought she was in that moment. The dress itself was secondhand, bought from a consignment boutique in downtown Indy - the form-fitting mermaid cut was not what was considered 'vogue' at the moment, but such a detail was meaningless to Joyce in light of how she felt, encased in the midnight blue satin. It was somewhat low-cut, and combined with the the thin straps, her arms, shoulders, collarbone, and most of her back were exposed.

"Let me fix your hair, you've got a few flyaways." Louisa stood and ran a shaping hand over Joyce's pile of artfully arranged curls. "You've got such a lovely neck. I'm glad we went with an updo." She pinched at Joyce's cheeks to bring out color, which made Joyce's cringe.

"I have rouge."

Louisa clucked her tongue at Joyce. "You are hopeless at makeup. That junk is too dark for your skin." She pulled a few strands of hair out of Joyce's updo, so that the young brunette had a whisper of curls to frame her face. Louisa finished fussing in time for the doorbell to ring and for Joyce's heart to lodge in her throat. "I guess I didn't have to pinch after all. You've always had a first class blush, baby." Louisa teased, turning to leave the bathroom and answer the door.

Joyce spent a long moment standing in one place, staring at the empty space where her mother had stood. The anticipation she was feeling for one night of normalcy spread from the tips of her toes to the top of her scalp like a wildfire. She was going to a dance, like a normal teenager with a normal life. The little thrill of getting to sway so close to Jim was pleasant, but the promise of being able to do what everyone else was doing was downright intoxicating. She grabbed her white, rabbit fur wrapper, her purse, and headed towards the living room.

Jim was making small talk with Louisa by the front door when Joyce entered the living room. Louisa gave her daughter a gentle smile, and Jim looked at her with the wide, astonished eyes of someone who just received terrible news (or at least, that's how Joyce thought it looked). His face went pale, and he took an exaggerated gulp of air. Despite his ridiculous expression, Joyce thought he looked tall and dashing in his black tuxedo.

"That bad, huh?" Joyce teased. She made a move to cover her shoulders with the wrap, but Jim closed the distance between the two of them and plucked the garment from her hands. "Hey!"

"Here," he mumbled, holding up a white orchid corsage. His glanced down at the bodice of her dress and Joyce heard his breath catch in his throat. "I h-have to pin it on you," he stammered. Joyce chuckled and guided his hands a spot high on the bust, near one of the straps, and pulled at the fabric so that he could pin the corsage without puncturing her skin. His breath came out hot against her skin and made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. When he pulled away, they were both blushing fiercely.

"Let me take a picture before you both run off into the night," Louisa announced, running to the kitchen where Grandpa Jonathan's cameras lined the mantle of the fireplace. She came back with the last camera he purchased before the accident, a little black Pentax. "Joyce, put the wrap down and pose nice with your boyfriend."

Joyce ignored the label levied at her by her mother and posed next to Jim for the mandatory prom photographs. She felt his fingers stroking idly at the small of her back and wondered how he could keep such calm composure, when she felt as though she might ignite from his touch.

"I think I have all I need. You two have fun and be safe tonight!" Louisa announced, moving to the door to open it for Joyce and Jim. "I'm not going to give a curfew, but I would like her back before dawn, James."

"Yes, Ma'am," Jim mumbled as he placed the wrap around Joyce's shoulders. Joyce shivered when he pressed a kiss on the back of her neck while Louisa was distracted by something on the porch. She allowed him to be chivalrous, smiling as he opened the passenger side door to his Oldsmobile for her. "You look so goddamn beautiful tonight," he complimented once they were both inside the vehicle.

"You combed your hair," Joyce replied, bringing her hand up to push an errant strand of dark blonde hair from his forehead. He caught her gently by the wrist and pressed a kiss at her pulse point, which made her giggle spontaneously (and idiotically, she thought). "Stop that, she'll be able to see from the window."

"So?"

"So, I don't want her to get an eyeful. She almost caught us last night."

"You really need to clean out underneath your bed. I can't believe how cluttered it is."

Joyce rolled her eyes. "I don't need a lecture from the boy who's been sneaking in through my bedroom window at night."

"It was perfectly innocent."

"Because we almost got caught before it wasn't."

Jim gave Joyce a wolfish grin and leaned over to kiss her cheek before starting the car. Her stance on giving herself time to mourn Lonnie had ended a week prior, when she realized that she had nothing to mourn, and that Jim looked really, really nice in that white t-shirt and jeans he wore the day he had to fix his car. Those realizations occurred almost simultaneously, and Joyce had surprised her old friend with a kiss when he emerged from beneath his car to take a socket wrench from her.

Well, that won't fix my car, but I can't say it's unwelcome.

Let's give this a try, Hop. I mean, why the hell not?

Jim's response was to grab Joyce around the waist and maneuver her so that her back was pressed against the roller-thing, and he was upon her, peppering her face with kisses and staining her chambray shirt with oily hand prints.

So that was that. They had not wasted any time getting further acquainted either. Joyce had found, through her experience with Lonnie, that sex was fun. One of the things that had left her distraught about getting dumped by the asshole, was the fact that she would not be having it anymore. Naturally, when she decided to make things work with Jim, she made it clear to him that they needn't wait to enjoy certain things. He had no objections, being a hot-blooded seventeen-year-old coming off of a considerably lengthy (for him) dry spell.

The prom was held at the local VFW, and the normally bland hall was festooned with silver, blue and white balloons, streamers and ribbons. Joyce gawked at the decorations, and the boys from the school gawked at her, which made Jim a little testy. "I like this place better when they have Fish Frys," he grumbled, shooting a death stare at Fred Berger, who was taking a little too much time to drink in Joyce's figure as she shrugged off her wrap.

"I think it's beautiful. Lonnie never took me to dances. He said they were for children."

"Maybe he should have stopped dating teenagers, if that's the way he felt." Jim led her to the dance floor, just as a slow song started to play. Joyce was not much of a dancer and neither was Jim, but they swayed together with a natural ease, and she liked having an excuse to be held close to his strong, youthful frame. "I think I'm the envy of every single guy here tonight," he gloated.

"Shut up, you sap."

"It's true. All these other dresses look like tents." He hissed when she stepped on his foot.

"I don't know why they're envying you, I'm the one who put in all the work of eating cheeseburgers and malts during my shifts at Benny's to create this figure."

"Yeah, but I'm the one who gets to enjoy it at the end of the day - don't pinch me, Joyce!" Jim jumped to one side to dodge Joyce's twisting fingers. She hugged him tight in response and tilted her head to receive a kiss for her efforts. He obliged, and they stood in the middle of the floor for a long while, engaging in urgent and slightly risqué kisses.

And that is how Jim and Joyce got ejected from prom. Joyce's 'far too low-cut' gown was also cited as a reason, which prompted Jim to call the principal a 'dried up old prude' who should probably stop leering at Joyce just because he couldn't get any at home. Jim was then told not to show up for school on Monday or Tuesday. Joyce's exasperated 'oh, for fuck's sake' bought her a long weekend as well.

After their early departure from prom, Jim drove Joyce to the lake, to his family's getaway trailer. The second home had been Carl's retirement present to himself, more a refuge for the older man to collect his thoughts and be one with nature than a vacation house for the entire clan. It was small and had a shabby masculinity that suited the elder Hopper. Mimi had little use for it, especially when her offers to decorate had been rejected. Jim had found many uses for it in the past few years, albeit through stealing the key from his father's office.

"Remember, home by dawn," Joyce reminded Jim between kisses, as he fumbled with the long row of buttons on the back of her dress in front of the bed in the guest room. "You - mmmm - you can't do that with one hand, dummy, it's not a zipper."

Dawn was breaking over the horizon when Jim drove Joyce back home. Her hair was mussed and springing from her bobby pinned coif, and her eyes were smeared with mascara. They both had satisfied grins on their faces.

"We're both in for it," Joyce remarked.

"Yep."

"Also, we have to start being more careful about other things."

Jim blushed and nodded. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that."

Joyce shrugged. "No use crying over spilled milk, I guess."

"I guess. It would be nice to have a little get-out-of-Nam free card of our own though, wouldn't it?" He was joking, and Joyce knew he was joking, but she felt a little twist in her gut at the implication.

"Haha."

Jim reached over and covered the clasped hands in her lap with his large, warm one. "Hey. We'll start being more careful. We don't need that sort of thing at this point in our lives, right? It would be hard to get each other through Indiana State that way, wouldn't it?" He laughed nervously.

"Picking my school for me, Hop?"

"I mean - you can go where you want but I just -"

"Relax. It's my first choice, you idiot. That's where Grandpa is."

Jim gave a relieved sigh at her words and smiled softly. "Well, here we are. Good luck, dead girl walking."

"Same to you."

Jim

Jim Hopper slept until three pm the morning after prom. His parents apparently had not stayed up waiting for him, so he managed to avoid a well-deserved grounding. He found himself whistling through his weekend routine of showering, brushing his teeth and preparing a meal of toast and bacon. It was a glorious, glorious day. He picked up his mom and gave her a twirl, for god's sake. He hadn't embraced her in years, and she told him as much after he set her down, blushing and perplexed.

"It's just a good day, Mom."

Mimi grinned knowingly. "You had fun at the prom with Joyce."

Jim nodded and then remembered his suspension. "I'm going to go pick her up for a walk and a late lunch. By the way, I don't have to be in school Monday or Tuesday." He walked out the front door before he could see her reaction, but he heard her outraged sputter.

The sun was shining, and it was turning out to be a perfectly warm spring day. Hawkins was finally getting over the freak cold snap and snow storm from a few weeks back. Jim felt as though a blue bird would land on his hand if he stuck it out the window of his car, the day was so gorgeous. A perfect day for a walk with a girl he…

Huh. He had meant to tell Joyce he loved her the night before, really had meant to say so dozens of times, but it was something that always slipped his mind. Surely she knew. She had to. She was planning on going to the same school as him, after all. No matter, he was going to tell her on the walk around the lake.

Jim pulled into Joyce's driveway, frowning as he took note of a sleek black car already parked. He knew that car anywhere…

The door opened after three knocks. Jim was taken aback at the sight of Niall Hansard, finely tailored and smiling his unsettling crocodile smile at Jim. "Can I help you, son?" he inquired in a mild, musical tone.

"I - uh - can I please speak to Joyce?" Jim tried to see beyond Niall's shoulder. The house was dark, but he could make out the figure of Louisa, lying on the couch, fast asleep. Something was not right. Something was…

Niall chuckled softly. "Son, I'm dreadfully sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Joyce ran off a few hours ago."

Jim's veins suddenly felt like they were shot with ice and electricity. Impossible. "Ran off?"

"That boy - well, that man, really - he came back. What was his name again? Ah, Lonnie. He showed up sometime this morning begging her to come away with him. There was a terrible row between Joyce and her mother -"

"Lonnie?"

"Yes. They're long gone by now. It's such a shame, really."