CHAPTER THREE: I SAW EDDIE MUNSON WITH THE DEVIL
*Explicit sexual situations
Steam rises from the fresh black coffee that's poured into the small porcelain cup as the butter knife and fork cuts into the stack of thick pancakes, William watching patiently as Constance takes her first bite of food, the smell of cigarette smoke still fresh on her breath, and she waits for him to stop looking at her like a lost puppy and spit out whatever it is he's thinking.
"Why am I here, Willy?" She finally asks, pushing her glasses up her nose.
"The recent murders...?" He starts, raising his brows as if she knows what he's hinting at, to which she looks at him blankly.
"It's not me if that's what you're getting at." She states with a shrug as if that's what he means, and he leans back and crosses his arms.
"Well gee-golly, Connie, thanks for being honest." He replies in the same tone as she bites into a piece of sausage before he pulls the newspaper from the empty place in the diner booth beside him.
"Nobody likes a smart-ass." She flatly shoots back, taking a swig of her coffee as he plops the paper in front of her, pointing at the beginning of the article he's got underlined.
"They found another body. Same condition as Chrissy Cunningham." He raises his brows. "Same as..."
Constance slows her chewing, looking at him for a moment before shaking her head.
"William, you've got to let this go." There's no sarcasm or jokes, gracefully aging face void of expression.
"I know what I saw, Connie. I know what happened to me, and the same thing that happened to me is happening to these kids...it happened to Rosie."
"Rosie left, William. It has nothing to do with what's happening here. They would've found a body by now."
"It's not a coincidence that Rosie had the same symptoms I had — terrible headaches and nose bleeds — and I come home one night and she's gone."
"Whatever is happening, this thing leaves the body. She left a letter explicitly telling you she was leaving, and she was indeed gone." Constance reminds him.
"Without taking any of her things?" He questions, furrowing his brows. "Without the stones in the garden she kept in memory of her babies?"
He knows for a fact she would've never left those.
"William." Constance breathes out, tiredly.
"It got Rosie, alright? And it tried to get me after she was gone but it couldn't, for whatever reason I got away—"
"—It probably realized how damn annoying you were and decided to give you back." She interrupts him.
"Constance, this is serious." He states, staring at her. "You were my biggest help in the hospital after it all happened...you know what it was like...I got free. These kids didn't. Rosie didn't." His voice breaks at the statement and she stays quiet for a moment, remembering how bad of shape he had been in.
His arms and legs were shattered, his jaw had been stretched out, and had it been any worse it would've been completely broken.
He claimed a demon had tried to kill him, and of course nobody believed him.
But Constance believed him because she had seen the very same thing happen with her own eyes years prior, only it wasn't a demon who had inflicted it, then.
And it's because of that very fact that she's confident that Rosie isn't nearly as dead as William swears she is.
"So, what, you saw Eddie Munson with the Devil, too?" She asks, curiously, genuinely awaiting his answer.
It was a witch hunt to her, that was all, one that would do a great deal of absolutely nothing in the long run.
"No. It's not him." William shakes his head.
"Then who do you think it is?"
"I-It's not a 'who', it's a 'what'."
"So, what do you think it is?" She presses.
"...I haven't gotten that far, yet." He admits. "But I'm close to figuring it all out, I know that much, and when I do I'm making the son of a bitch pay for what's happened."
The words sound foreign to her, coming from him. William had been a pretty level-headed guy — clearly, being as he had managed to be married to Rosie without letting her drive him crazy.
Constance had only met him once before they'd met again last year when he had been a patient she was helping to treat.
The first time had been at the wedding when he was marrying her close friend.
She thought he was just what Rosie needed: patience, sense of humor, understanding, and more money than God.
Connie hadn't realized he was a fighter, not until he got chewed up and fortunately spit back out, spending weeks in a full body cast and dedicating his time to physical therapy for months after to get his body back in a decent enough condition to try to get to the bottom of this new clusterfuck that's arrived in Hawkins.
A part of her had wanted to tell William she had seen what happened to him before, but once she realized how serious he was about figuring out what exactly happened to Rosie, she decided to ultimately withhold the information altogether.
Why encourage him to go get himself killed over a woman who made it very clear she that what she wanted wasn't him?
She loves Rosie, too, but knows that some things cannot be changed.
"I'm sure this 'what' is just shaking in it's boots at the thought of big bad William Smith on it's case." Connie scoffs while William folds the newspaper back up.
"Quit being a negative Nancy." He scolds her, though his perfectly straight, bright teeth shine with a smile.
"You want me to be positive about a 'what' that's crumpling kids up like used napkins?" She asks, hoping her words discourage him from trying to put the pieces together any further.
"I want you to be positive about us possibly being able to do something about it."
"Rosie wouldn't want you getting into any more trouble because of her, William." Constance says it seriously, honestly.
"She never listened to a thing I told her to do, why would I listen to her?" He asks, and Connie lets out a breath in defeat as he stands up. "Thanks for meeting me. I'll see you later." He pats her shoulder, plopping some cash down on the table to pay for her food.
"Bye." Connie mumbles as he heads towards the door of the diner.
Connie's taking her last drink of coffee that's left, before she's plopping it back down on the table as, "Rosie, you cruel woman," leaves her mouth in a mumble, followed by the sound of the diner's door bell chiming...
"...Shit." Rosie curses, fumbling with the chime of the grandfather clock, furrowing her brows once again when it still won't work, staying still despite her hard work to get it to start.
"That's a bad word." Bobby mumbles and she slowly looks at him.
"You're supposed to be outside with your sister." She states, gently taking the screwdriver he's holding in his hand to put the back on the clock once more, throwing in the towel yet again.
"All she wants to do is play 'Dragon and Princess' and I'm tired of chasing her around." He replies with a sigh.
"Okay, well, you be the princess and give her a turn as the dragon and she'll chase you." Rosie suggests.
"We did." He shoots down her suggestion and she looks at him.
"Bobby, I'm trying to get a few things done around the house." She stands up, heading to the kitchen to get a drink of water.
"Get dad to do them." Bobby says, next.
"Dad's not here."
"Where'd he go?"
"To work. Can you go run these up to the attic, I gotta go check the clothes in the washer." She motions to the small box of tools perched on the kitchen counter.
"I can't go in the attic."
"I know it's probably dark up there but you gotta put your big boy pants on and face it at some point." She explains.
"I don't care about the dark. Dad just doesn't want me and Susanna up there. He says it's dangerous."
Rosie looks at him, trying to decide if he's lying or not, before she relents and grabs the box of tools herself, heading toward the stairs.
"He'll let him play with Blackwidows but walking in the attic is dangerous." Rosie mumbles with a scoff, not understanding her husband's logic and she starts up the stairs into the top of the house.
"Mom!" Susanna's barking it from the hallway, halting Rosie's descent. "What are you doing?"
She sounds almost panicked, despite her ploy of playing it off.
"Putting these tools up away from the children who enjoy chasing each other around with dangerous objects." Rosie explains.
"There's spider's all over the attic, you may get bit. Dad doesn't want us up there."
"Dad's not here, and I'll be extra careful." Rosie dismisses her, heading back up the steps.
She gasps at the feeling of a hand around her ankle, looking down to see Susanna.
"Dad said he doesn't want us up there."
The eight year old's tone is sharp, stern, something Rosie had never heard from her daughter before...it nearly sends a chill down her back at the near menace that's enveloped it along with the matching glare from those vivid blue eyes.
"...Okay, okay." Rosie gives up, leaving the tools on the stairs before coming back down.
Each step she takes the more at ease Susanna seems to become, her natural resting face of a smile coming back as Rosie shuts the door closed behind her.
"What's for dinner?" She asks her mother, her hands behind her back, in the fluffy yellow sundress, her feet neatly together.
If Rosie weren't naive, she'd know how convenient it is that Susanna would want her in the room farthest from the attic at the moment Rosie had nearly gone up there, but she doesn't even realize it, and smiles at her daughter.
"Let's go find something to cook." She extends her hand to the child, and she grasps ahold of it.
The two of them head back downstairs, and Rosie gives another glance at the clock as they pass by to go to the kitchen.
"That clock doesn't work." Susanna abruptly states, matter-of-fact.
"And how do you know that?" Rosie questions lightly as they get to the kitchen.
"You said it yourself when we first got here and tried to fix it, then." Susanna pipes. "Don't you remember?"
Does she remember?
There's been many things she's apparently forgotten, a couple of them pretty major.
"Mom's memory stinks." Bobby says from his spot on the kitchen table as he looks at the newest spider in his collection.
"No spiders in the kitchen." Rosie says to him, gently plucking the jar from his hand. "I didn't forget that." She adds.
Her son sighs out as she holds out the jar to him to go take it back to his room.
"Can we have pancakes for dinner?" Susanna asks next, patiently sitting down at the table, her hands flat on the table, folded over one another.
Rosie finds it odd that Susanna isn't jumping up and down at her feet, begging her to let her help her cook.
Never has she just sat at the table and waited to be served.
"Yes, we sure can." Rosie replies, before she washes her hands to start on dinner.
Once dinner had been served and the three of them full, Rosie cleans up the kitchen and nearly tucks the plate made for Peter under tinfoil before she heads up the stairs to get her kids ready for bed.
Her knuckle hits against the real wood of Bobby's door, seeing him staring at his new spider.
"Have you brushed your teeth?" She reminds him, leaning against the door frame.
"Yes."
"Are you gonna sleep in your day clothes?" She steps into the room, sitting on the bed beside him while he's laying on his stomach, jar in hand.
"I'm probably gonna let this one go." He ignores her, his voice sounding sad.
"Why?" Rosie looks at the spider, attempting not to get the heebie-jeebies.
She appreciated her son's and husband's respect for the creatures, but spiders were certainly not her favorite animal, nor one she even liked.
But they enjoy them, so she lets it be.
"I think she's pregnant. She needs lots of room to have her babies." He explains, and she raises her brows.
"Well, that's very kind of you to not make her sit with a billion screaming babies in a one bedroom apartment." She jokes, reaching her hand out to smooth out one of his tangled curls.
"Actually it'll be about two-hundred, but some can lay nine-hundred." He informs her. "But they eat each other when they're young so it won't be that many left to grow into adulthood." He adds as if that's supposed to reassure her.
"Huh." She tries not to sound too negative about the idea of the black widow farm that's in her home. "Well, I'm sure when she has her babies she'll want them to go to sleep in their pajamas." Rosie says next and he looks at her and gives a little smile before he's placing the jar on his bedside table and gets up to grab his pajamas. "I'll be back in here when I get Susanna tucked in." She tells him before heading to her daughter's room.
Her steps slow when she hears someone speaking, a deeper voice than Susanna's, her brows furrowing.
Once she realizes it's a man's, she's shoving the door open quickly, letting out a breath of relief when she sees her husband sitting on the bed next to Susanna — who's already in bed with her pajamas on — with a children's book in his hands.
They look at her, Peter raising his brows at her expression.
"Sorry to interrupt, I hadn't realized you were home." She speaks up, looking at Susanna who out stretches her arms for her mother.
Rosie walks to her, giving her a big hug, kissing her cheek.
"Goodnight, my love." She says softly to the child, kissing her cheek again before pulling away.
"Goodnight." Susanna replies sleepily.
Peter stares at Rosie as she walks out, she can feel his eyes on her back and she walks, but she doesn't acknowledge it aside from saying, "you need to come tell your son Goodnight before you go to bed."
By the time she gets to Bobby's room, he's already in bed, patiently waiting for her.
"Is dad home?" He asks quietly, to which she replies, "He's gonna come see you when he's done reading to your sister."
Her hands reaches out to smooth against his cheek as his blinking gets heavier.
"So tomorrow I'm thinking I go with you to find a really cool place in the yard to set Miss Spider free." Rosie says to him, his face lighting up at the thought of getting to do something special with his mom concerning his hobby.
It's usually his father that takes part in his interest.
"Why can't we keep her inside? Outside is too dangerous." He points out.
"I think she would much prefer to be in a more...quiet...environment. She doesn't need stress in her delicate condition." She looks at the spider that's been captured and put in a jar. "...Well, anymore stress than what she's already been in, at least."
"Something might get her spiderlings before they can hatch." Bobby argues, worry in his voice.
"Wasn't it you who told me how fiercely protective Black Widows are of their offspring?" She reminds him, and he gets a little smile on his face. "Surely you're not underestimating how ugly things can get when something threatens to deprive a mother of her babies, especially one of the most poisonous animals."
"You got a point." He agrees.
"I wouldn't have one at all if I didn't have such a cool son to keep me educated." She smiles at him.
"I am pretty cool." He says it smugly.
"The coolest." She nods, her eyes crinkling with her grin before she's leaning forward and kissing his head. "I love you, cool kid. Get some sleep."
"Goodnight, mom." He yawns out as she pulls the covers up to his chin, kissing his cheek before cutting off his lamp, and leaving him to sleep.
She can hear tinfoil crackling downstairs, and heads toward the sound of it, stopping in the kitchen as she stands behind her husband.
Now it's her turn to stare at him.
"Next time maybe call if you're gonna be two hours late getting home." She mumbles, walking to grab the foil he's discarded, taking the frustration she feels for him in this moment out by crumpling it up in her hands to throw it away, ignoring the pokes of the thin sheet of metal in her skin as it crumples.
He doesn't answer her.
"Or at least have the decency to even announce that you're home." She adds, which reminds her of something. "Or the decency to go tell your son Goodnight before he falls asleep."
He's tossing the silverware onto the counter, turning to face her and she looks at him with her brows raised.
"What were you doing?" She questions him, cutting her eyes.
"Not another woman if that's what you're thinking." He says to her.
"I think we both know that you know what I'm thinking." Rosie grinds out through her teeth.
It's been more frequent, lately.
He's gone more than he's at home.
"Rosie, I'm not having this conversation again." He scoffs out sternly, irritated, to which she rolls her jaw.
"Okay, let's have a different one, then." She starts, shifting gears in a different direction at the same raging speed. "What's in the attic that's so bad our children have it drilled into their minds that they — or myself — can't go up there? And don't give me that bullshit you gave Bobby about the spiders because I don't believe that for a second."
He doesn't feed into the fight that he can see she's so desperate to get into, instead, he calmly says, "and you wonder why I stay gone so much," before he's stepping past her.
He might as well have smacked her in the face with the way the words make her feel.
"Where are you going?" If what he said bothers her, she doesn't let it show, her words harshly thrown at him.
"To tell our son 'Goodnight' before he goes to sleep." Peter replies, turning to head towards the stairs. "We can pick up right where we left off when I get back." He offers, next.
She stubbornly waits for him to return, tapping her bare foot against the floor, leaning against the kitchen counter.
He eventually comes back, out of his white orderly uniform, coming down to finish his dinner in dark blue plaid pajama pants and nothing else.
She does a quick glance over at his exposed skin for any tell-tale signs of an affair.
No stray lipstick marks or hickies, or scratches...
"...If I were seeing anyone else you would know." He offers blankly, cutting his food up as he stands at the counter, his back to her. "I'd be in a far better mood."
"Sorry you're so miserable here." She mumbles.
"I'm not miserable, Rose." He furrows his brows, turning to see her. "Are you miserable?"
"You're not here when you're here, Peter. You used to be. But now...you're barely here, but when you are here, you're still not here."
"You're not happy." He states.
"I am." She nods, her eyes tearing up. "But I was a lot happier before you started working weird shift hours."
"I work those 'weird shift hours' to provide for you." He tells her. "None of this would be possible without it." He motions to the house around them. "You could thank me, Rosie, for giving what you've always wanted instead of still finding a way to be so unhappy."
"I want my family. I don't care about any of this." She shakes her head, tears hitting her cheeks as she does the same as him and motions to the house around them. "I just want to be with you, and Bobby, and Susanna. I don't care if it's in a cardboard box or a mansion on a hill."
"You've got me, and Bobby, and Susanna, and the mansion!" He raises his voice, startling her.
She closes her eyes before dropping her face to the floor, her chest heaving as she tries to take deep breaths to keep from crying more than she is.
She doesn't open her eyes again until she feels his large hand gently grab at her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.
"Is that not enough?" He's nearly whispering, his brows dropping as he speaks to her. "We could all be gone tomorrow, so why not be happy you have us at all?"
She finds herself nodding, realizing his point.
She could be completely without them, without any of it, one day.
His features soften as the hold on her jaw relaxes, long fingers caressing down the skin of her throat, descending down the skin of her clavicle.
Once he reaches the the start of her emerald green, v-necked, satin nightie, he gets a small grin that tugs on his lips before he's leaning down, his lips slowly touching her's as his hand travels lower.
He reaches her stomach before he starts bunching the fabric up, their tongues meeting as he roughly grabs at her sides and lifts her to the kitchen counter behind her.
"Peter, the kids," she gasps out softly when he grazes her inner thigh with his hand as his tongue runs along her neck.
"They're sleeping." He replies in her ear, pressing his fingertips to the lace material covering her from him, relishing in the sound of her breathy moan.
Her toes curl when he slips the material to the side to feel her.
Rosie takes a sharp breath when he touches her, her mouth forming a small 'o' but no sound comes out as she stares up at her lover.
The first full moan is brought out by him grazing his finger across her clit, his fingers already slick from her.
She takes in an abrupt breath as she grasps at his wrist, trying to push his hand away when he starts playing with her but he won't have it, his free hand grabbing around her throat.
"Do you want me to stop?" He asks her, knowing the answer, and she shakes her head. "What was that?" He tightens his grip, air unable to get into her lungs.
"Please," she manages to rasp out, her hips moving to try to meet his hand's pace, heat prickling up Rosie's spine.
"Please what?" He taunts her.
"Plea — "
She goes to speak again but she's lurching forward, coughing for breath when he lets her throat go while simultaneously pushing one of his fingers into her.
Her thighs spread for him, night dress pushed up to rest where her thighs meet her pelvic bones.
"Please don't stop." She begs in a whisper, taking shallow breaths as he enters another finger, watching as her head tilts back.
Her hands fall in his hair when she feels his tongue at the base of her neck before he licks up the smooth skin to her mouth, his teeth digging into her full bottom lip as he quickens his pace.
She squeezes tight around his two fingers, the friction of them moving inside of her making her eyes roll back as, "fuck," slips from her lips.
"Does that feel good?" He asks her, smugly, and she nods quickly, looking between the two of them to see his fingers hammering into her.
His free hand is grabbing her left ankle, bending her leg at the knee, forcing it back some so he has better access before she watches him pull his fingers from her.
Her head leans back, catching her breath for only a second before his tongue circles her clit.
She's white knuckling the edge of the counter, daring to look down at him while he tastes her.
Her hips move in a small rhythm, desperate to get him closer as her body aches to be filled and relentlessly punished.
His fingers once again slide into her, deliberately pressing at the spot inside her that has her eyes rolling, and her mouth gasping.
"Right there, please," she begs him as he moves his tongue at the same quick pace of his fingers.
He listens, paying special attention to the place deep inside her, repeatedly, until her legs begin to shake, a knot in her stomach about to release before he suddenly pulls away, causing her to cry out in frustration from the complete loss of contact.
"Do you think you deserve that?" He questions, furrowing his brows. "After how you just talked to me?"
"Peter, please," she begs, sweat beating down her face, her heart pounding in her chest as she tries to catch her breath. "Please." She pleads once more and he gets a dark glint in his eye.
Within a couple of moments, she's facing herself in the mirror of their bathroom, away from the chance of their children walking in on them, one of her legs on the counter, the other barely is touching the tile floor as he mercilessly fucks her.
Her hands try to grasp at sink, or the counter, she doesn't really know at this point.
Peter watches her in the mirror, silent tears down her face from the overwhelming pleasure before he slows to go deeper, her body only letting him go so far before it stops him, but he presses harder, making her take all of it and she's clawing at his hands and letting out a loud, high pitched moan.
"It's so much," She says in a cry.
He does it again, her legs shaking once more, and he grasps at her throat, squeezing as hard as he can, continuing his slow, deep thrusts into her as she continues to tighten around him.
The feeling has him groaning under his breath, looking down to see that the inside of her leg is wet all the way down to her foot.
Her face is turning blue from the pressure on her throat but it only adds to the sensations washing over her body.
"I'm sorry," She chokes out, relenting and apologizing for their fight earlier as he practically screws her into an apology.
He releases her throat, grabbing a fistful of her thick hair, yanking her head to the side so he can kiss and bite up her neck.
"I'm gonna come," she tells him reaching back to grab his side.
Her words only encourage him to keep going, feeling his own release building up.
He does what he'd done before, slowing down to make himself fit in her completely, and all it takes is one more for her to squeeze around him so tight he can barely pull back out, her eyes shut as a near sob comes from her throat, her tears hitting the counter top as her body — especially her legs — shake.
He doesn't stop despite the fact she's found her end, only hammering into her harder and faster, hearing her groan as she hangs her head in exhaustion.
When he digs his fingers into her sides, his movements becoming more rapid, rushed, she looks at him over her shoulder.
She doesn't even have to speak it — he knows what her look means, as carnal as it is.
It was the look she'd always give him when they would find themselves tangled in one another in the boiler room of Hawkins Lab.
The same look that ended up getting her pregnant to begin with, except that time it was accompanied by a tempting, "I wanna feel you," before he finished inside of her.
His knuckles are turning pale white as he digs further into her skin feeling her tighten around him deliberately, encouraging him, and he gives one last thrust before he's burying himself in her to the hilt, emptying into her with a satisfied moan.
Her hand falls back against his chest, the both of them dopey from immense pleasure.
He catches his breath, pressing one last kiss to her neck before stumbling back from her so they can clean up.
The two of them find themselves give out, collapsing into bed fresh from the shower.
There's quiet between the two of them in the dark room for a couple of minutes before Peter's looking at Rosie.
"I don't want anyone in the attic because there's things up there I have to sort through that I don't want messed up." He tells her, finally, and she looks at him.
"Okay." It's as easy as that right now, Rosie's mind too full of oxytocin to even care about it anymore.