The day the truth came out about Chicago, about Eight, about El's little escapade, it was raining. That afternoon, a Sunday in early February, the rain came down in torrents—blurring the windows, pouring off the roof of the cabin, bathing everything in soft darkness and dancing sound. And there was tension in the air, too. Energy.
The last of the season's snow washed away with the rain, turned to slush and, eventually, puddles. It had been a warm winter. Every day, as the sun reached its peak, the snow began to sweat, only to freeze over again as the temperatures plummeted at night. The result: a sheet of ice, coating everything, making even the shortest trips (to the car, up the walk, down porch steps) a dangerous endeavor.
Hopper parked the Blazer and walked the short distance to the cabin, hood pulled over his head, shielding himself from the rain, the futility of the attempt not lost on him. He was already soaked to the bone, shivering, wanting nothing more than to escape to the safety and warmth of the cabin, to pull on some dry clothes, to pour himself a mug of coffee, maybe read the Sunday paper.
Finally, finally, he reached the steps. The locks clicked before he had time to knock. He huffed, exasperated, and went inside. El sat, perched on the kitchen counter, a book lying open on her lap, a half-eaten apple in one hand.
"El, what'd we talk about? Wait for my secret knock, alright? What if I'd been one of those lab bastards?
El shrugged.
"Knew it was you."
"Oh, you did, huh? And I assume you know exactly what I ate for breakfast this morning, too?"
"French toast." She said, without missing a beat. "I made it for you, remember?"
"That's not the point."
She shot him a look, incredulous. Hopper sighed.
"You're too smart for your own good, you know that?"
El shrugged.
"I know."
Hopper shook his head, shedding his rain-soaked jacket, hanging it up.
"Smart-ass." He muttered, under his breath.
"Mouth-breather." She fired back.
After he'd replaced his wet clothes with dry ones, he went into the kitchen to make sandwiches for the two of them.
"El, you hun—"
There she was, curled up in a tangle of arms and legs and blankets a mop of curly hair, fast asleep. He smiled, and settled himself on the sofa, careful not to disturb her. He switched on the T.V., muted it, and contented himself with watching football reruns. Barely an hour passed when El began to toss and turn, muttering to herself. Hopper glanced at her sleeping form, tense, creases forming in the space between her brows. A muscle pulsed, in her jaw, and Hopper thought she must be clenching her teeth. She shook her head, frantically, eyeballs darting beneath her eyelids.
"No . . ." She moaned. "Kali, don't . . ." She began to scream. "Kali! Kali! Kali, don't! No, Kali . . ."
"El!"
Hopper sprang to his feet, hands on her shoulders, shaking her. She snapped awake, and an invisible force slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He staggered back, gasping. El sat up, clamping a hand over her mouth, real fear in her eyes. She jumped to her feet, backing with quick, careful steps into the corner of the room, not taking her eyes off him. Frantic, chocked sobs forced their way out of her mouth.
"El . . ."
"I'm s-sorry." She choked. "I . . . I didn't m-mean . . . I'm sorry . . ."
"It's okay, El." Hopper said, holding up his hands.
"Just knocked the wind out of me, that's all. You didn't hurt me. I know you didn't mean it." He assured her, taking a measured step towards the her. She flinched, pressing herself flat against the wall, fingernails grazing her temples as she knotted her fingers in her hair, on the verge of another panic attack. Hopper swore, under his breath.
He thought she'd gotten better. She hadn't had an episode in nearly two months. And the nightmares, though ever-present, were far and few between. But that was a damn lie, a false assurance. She'd never heal, completely. That was the shitty thing about trauma. It could (would) get better, but the nightmares would never really go away. She'd have to learn to live with the panic attacks, the anxiety, the flashbacks that took her from him, took her away to that terrible place that lived and festered and grew inside her own head.
He spoke to her, desperate to keep his lips moving, to keep talking. Hoping his voice would be enough to keep her from crossing that line. This one wasn't the worst they'd gotten through. She seemed to be in-between, fighting off the demons, inches away from the precipice.
"El, just breathe. I'm here, okay? You don't have to do this alone. You didn't hurt me. You could never hurt me, kiddo. I just need you to be here, with me. So I can help you, El. Please let me help you . . ."
She blinked. Once. Twice. She squinted, as if looking into a bright light. He could see the traces of tears on her cheeks, the doubt in her face. Her hands fell, defeated, to her sides. He crossed the space between them in two easy strides and enfolded her in his arms. She fell, heavy and weak, against his chest. She sobbed.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. Shhhhhh, you're alright."
"I'm sorry." She said, again. "I'm so sorry."
He led her to the couch and sat her down. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. He offered her a Kleenex, and she took it, grateful, dabbing at her eyes. She knotted it between her fingers, staring at the ground, fixedly. Thunder rumbled, outside.
"Who's Kali?" He asked, after a period of silence, punctuated only by her occasional, quiet sniffles.
El blinked, stunned.
"You said her name, in your sleep. Who is she?"
"No one." El blurted, looking frightened.
"El . . ." Hopper prompted, brows knitting. "No more secrets, remember?"
"I . . ." El began, and stopped, paling. Hopper, concerned, put a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, it's okay. We'll talk when you're ready, if that's what you want . . ."
El squeezed her eyes shut, took a long, trembling breath.
"No." She said, in a hushed, breathy voice. "Friends don't lie." She looked at him. "Kali is my sister."
"What?"
"She's . . . like me. She can do things. Things other people can't." El said, pulling up her sleeve, revealing her tattoo, the numbers stamped into her skin, a permanent reminder of the lab, of the nightmares that lurked there.
"Number Eight."
Hopper rubbed a hand over his stubble, struggling to comprehend this revelation. He'd looked over the case files, everything about Hawkins Lab. He knew there had been others. He'd seen Eight's picture, but the file listed her whereabouts unknown. He'd been too preoccupied with keeping El safe and out of reach of Brenner and his goons to devote much thought to the other numbers, wherever they were.
"And you . . . you've met her? Do you see her in those dreams of yours? In your head?"
El nodded. Her face fell, and her eyes welled with tears, yet again.
"I . . . I lied." She says. "I went to see Mama, and then . . . and then I went to Chicago."
Hopper's mind reeled. His body grew cold.
"Chicago?"
It all came bursting out, after that. El told him about her trip to Chicago, about meeting Kali and her cronies, about hunting down Ray and nearly killing him. Hopper listened, stone-faced, feeling sick, as El recounted her story. She spoke until she can't speak anymore, until tears choked her words. At that point, she dissolved into terrible, heaving sobs, inconsolable, and Hopper's arms encircled her, once again. He could feel the beginnings of a headache itching in his temples, fought the desire for a cigarette. He held her, leaning his chin against her curls.
He knew she hadn't told him the whole truth, but this . . . this was beyond anything he'd imagined. His gut coiled into tight knots, and his heart ached with guilt and fear and blame.
It was his fault. He should've been here, with her. Parents don't leave their kids. How could he have been so fucking clueless? To leave her, when she'd spent her entire, short life aching for a constant, loved conditionally, raised as a lab rat and force-fed lies, used and manipulated and cast away . . . God, he was a fucking idiot. And he fucked up big time. Of course she ran away. Of course she sought out the only remaining ties she had left, because he had his head so far up his ass he couldn't even bother to get home on time. It was all his fault . . .
He squeezed her shoulders, tighter, as if he could keep her there and keep her safe, forever. As if she could ever forgive him for the terrible things he'd done.
Eventually, she calmed down enough to pull away, to ask him, with big, brown eyes full of tears, if he was mad at her.
"Mad?" He laughed, but the sound was warped and twisted and broken. "El, I'm not mad. I don't blame you. It's my fault, alright? I screwed up."
El sniffs.
"Promise?"
"I promise. I'm not mad. Not even close. I'm just happy you told me." He said, and he meant it. "Okay?"
El nodded.
"No more secrets." She said.
Hopper nodded.
"No more secrets."
El waited until the sound of Hopper's rumbling snores filled the cabin. Carefully, she climbed out of bed and retrieved the folder she'd kept, stowed away, under her mattress. She crawled back onto the bed and settled herself, cross-legged, the folder balanced on her lap. Inside, she retrieved Kali's picture. She didn't need the picture to reach her, across the void, but it certainly helped. Carefully, painstakingly, she tied the blindfold around her head, clutching the picture tight to her chest.
She felt her body sinking, felt the bed and the walls and the cabin dissolve, around her. She sifted through the voices and the radio waves and the vast, empty space between them. When she opened her eyes, she stood in shallow water, surrounded by black.
El swallowed the lump in her throat, squaring her shoulders, taking a step. Two.
She squinted, as a shifting object appeared, far away. She crept toward Kali, and the only sound was that of her own breath and the water lapping at her ankles.
Kali lay on a thin mattress, covered only a threadbare blanket. The young woman was sleep, hands tucked up by her chin, curled in the fetal position. El knelt by the bed, tears welling in her eyes, a conflicted storm of emotions swirling inside her chest, so tangled and smeared together she couldn't begin to separate one from the other. Tentatively, El reached out, placed a hand on Kali's shoulder. Her eyes snapped open. A drop of blood appeared in her left nostril. Her hand closed around El's wrist, eyes locking on her face.
"Jane?"