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Chapter Fourteen
Rip it Up
Hawkins Hospital is not the most desirable of places to stay when you're terminally ill, but Steve's grandfather could be stubborn when it came to residing in his local area. If he couldn't stay at home as he had requested of Greg Harrington, then he was at least going to stay in Hawkins.
"What's the point in trying to resuscitate me in the Indianapolis one if they will just let me die here - I'm not a high priority and I don't want to be considered one just because of my wealth. Besides, it will make it cheaper on your father to transport my dead body to the Hawkins morgue."
Steve had left it at that, as his father didn't seem to be present enough to care about his own father's life, and he knew the prognosis was pretty cut and clear at this point. His grandfather was for the most part, comfortable. He was hooked up to systems either side of his bed and he had become far less mobile since Steve had last seen him. He only got up once or twice for the bathroom because he refused to use a bedpan.
"If I had it anyway, you'd be cruising among the mountains in Italy with the wind in your hair and a broad by your side," said Steve with a melancholy smile.
His grandfather pats his hand lightly. "You were never one to be serious Steve…never let that go."
It then trailed off when he saw the nurse walk in with a tray of food and meatloaf had a sludgy substance sitting on top. She placed it down on the table attached to Steve's grandfather's bed so that he could comfortably angle it in front of himself.
"Excuse me, Edith, what is this?" his grandfather asked as politely as possible, his eyes flicking between the unappetising meal and his grandson.
"Oh it's meatloaf with gravy, but don't worry I snuck you an extra pudding, Norm," she said with a wink as she held both puddings in one hand from her pocket.
He nodded and smiled as she left, a grimace slowly overtaking it upon her disappearing out the door.
"You'd think my taxes were going toward something beneficial for everyone in a hospital. But no some horseshit politician allowed this slop to be served. I may as well just kill myself over the food."
"You better be careful - Dad might think you're a commie with that attitude," Steve said sarcastically.
"No offence Steven, but your father is too much of a jackass for me to consider his opinion."
"So it's no better then?"
His grandfather shook his head. "He thinks going ahead with contracting out that land back to the government is a good idea. Having that attached to our company name could be disastrous if they're doing all that illegal shit they were definitely doing last time."
"Grandpa, what land are you talking about?"
Norman Harrington rolled his eyes and sat back. "I knew he wouldn't tell you anything. I asked him to involve you in the contracting side the minute my light started to flicker, but does he care what I have to say?"
Steve's shoulders slumped. "You want me involved in the business?"
Norman sighed as he looked at Steve carefully. "Your father might not be including you as per one of my last dying wishes, but, I can trust you to make the right decisions."
Steve was perplexed. His grandfather had always been encouraging but he hadn't ever mentioned that he could be in line to work at their family company. His grandfather continued from the clear disbelief spelled out on Steve's features.
"You've transformed these last few years and I can see you truly taking over one day, and being good to the folks who depend on this company for a job, for their own businesses. Greg doesn't seem to really care about that aspect of our business," as he closed his eyes, intimating how terrible he thought the idea was. "Your father has this idea that by leasing the most useful property to the government, they will bring in more government types, forcing up the rent and therefore bringing in people who can pay more. It will bring in the money but it could change the basis of this town for good, and it won't be the same place you grew up in."
His grandson could argue that it already wasn't from past experience. But the NDA.
Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The animosity between his father and grandfather had been quite stagnant, always present but under the surface. They called each other names behind each other's backs but there was still something akin to hope that the other would change to suit the other's terms in due time - because they did unconditionally love each other deep down. Steve's family was screwed up like that. But it brought him a modicum of comfort when it came to the root of it all.
And now, it felt like that was all being torn apart - the way his grandfather looked so disarrayed by what he was holding back.
"While I have my moral issues with this, there is potentially something much worse at stake," his grandfather lowered his voice, his eyes darting momentarily to the door. Steve intuitively shuffled his seat closer, the back legs dragging across the linoleum floor. He leaned forward and his grandfather hesitated, but nevertheless, persisted.
"Steven, I think that your Dad might be doing something very...very wrong. There is something fishy about this contract he's drawing up - there is money that isn't accounted for that Barry picked up on yesterday…more than we've ever seen in fact from one client. And if our name is seen attached to that conspiracy theory wet-dream out by Cornwallis and Kerley, we're marked for good - on all sides."
Dustin called it Mirkwood. Some nerdy ass Lord of the Rings shit.
Steve had joined a Big Brother program shortly after he and Nancy broke up. His mother had recommended it after an awful fight about his grades and his lack of responsibility with his father. Dustin, his father long gone to a terminal illness that Steve could never pronounce despite Dustin's many attempts to teach him, had been assigned to him. After failing to find Eleven and not really having anyone outside his friends to talk about it with, Steve had come along and joined the program. He dropped him off to his first dance, given some poor advice on picking up girls and had to take him out for a sundae to make him feel better. Dustin swore off his romance advice thereon out. After some reflection, Steve had to agree with him.
He would probably need that nerd's help to decipher this issue if he could see where his grandfather was leading to, pain imminent in his eyes.
"You want me to look into this?" Steve asked, both reluctant and remaining confounded by his faith in his screw-up grandson.
"Under no circumstances am I comfortable asking this of you, Steven. Your father is a grown man who can make his own decisions - but similar to you and similar to me - sometimes we get ahead of ourselves before it is too late, consequences be damned," Norman looked off distantly, caught in a memory, maybe. "Best case scenario, Barry is wrong and I come off as an asshole. I can live with that."
"Worst case scenario, Dad is doing something too illegal."
"I can't have that on my mind when I go, Steven," His grandfather finished.
Steve sighed deeply and dropped his head into his hands.
"Shit."
"Nancy, we've passed three gas stations and we're pushing our luck if you think this hunk of junk isn't going to putter out on the highway soon."
"Okay, okay," Nancy said, voice lined with frustration, managing to catch a sign after passing by one about twenty minutes prior. It indicated they were reaching the border of West Virginia and Ohio and that the next gas station was about two miles ahead.
Jonathan sighed and responded quietly, "We'll swap seats on the way out, you need some sleep."
Nancy couldn't disagree with that. She desperately needed the bathroom as well as she had plainly ignored her bladder in the heightened anxiety of making sure she reached Hawkins in good time.
It would be insane if all of this was for nothing.
She pulled in, the foggy highway clearing as the brightly fluorescent-lit gas station came into view, slowing down. She pulled up to the furthest gas pump and an attendant with a navy blue jumpsuit with a patch that explained his name was "Bud" and brown boots covered in all sorts of grime, threw a dirty cleaning rag over his shoulder upon their approaching vehicle. Nancy parked.
"Just fill up the whole tank, thank you," she said, rushed and putting her wallet from the dashboard into her jeans pocket and throwing the keys over to Jonathan. Jonathan had barely caught them when he saw the petite college girl sprint to the bathroom inside the service station.
"Full bladder, empty tank," Jonathan explained to the gas attendant who looked at Nancy crudely.
The attendant snorted and latched the pump inside the tank.
She got out quite quickly, all things considered, watching her add about double the amount of sanitiser on her hands as she exited, and caught his eye as he was watching the door, waiting for her to leave. Jonathan looked relieved when she gestured for him to take his turn from inside the gas station.
Nancy perused the hot food section and felt mildly unsatisfied by the selection. She started grabbing snacks and made sure to grab pretzels for Jonathan and potato chips for herself, and some candy bars - throwing in a bottle of Gatorade and water and some cans of New! Coke. It wasn't much of anything, but when she saw that there was a coffee pot and to-go cups available, she knew their set up was complete and hopefully they would be set for the rest of the way to Hawkins without needing to stop long with the exception of bathroom breaks and driving duty swap overs.
Manically, she is going over the best way to eliminate time spent off the road and any potential shortcuts that her father utilised during road trips before Holly was born. Barb had been on one with them to Florida. It made her stomach drop at the memory, but Nancy knew how to handle it.
Taking some deep breaths, she closed her eyes. She reiterated the following: "Barb is no longer alive. Barb is no longer suffering."
It had been a technique that Zoe had given her when times were especially difficult. Just remind herself of the gravity of the situation and then remember that if she is no longer here, then she no longer felt the torture or the cruelty of the world.
To finish it off, she stated quietly to herself, "But I am and will continue to in her memory."
Nancy re-opened her eyes, her shoulders relaxing. She headed to the counter to pay for the gas and snacks.
The door to the bathroom opened, the noise of a toilet having been recently flushed echoing in the background. As the door closed behind Jonathan, he looked out the window of the gas station and checked on the car. The gas attendant had finished up and was now tending to a new car. It was black, slick and very clean, evident from the pure shine that gleened from the car - which was one of the newest models of Cadillac. Two men sat in the front and both were immaculately dressed, fine suits, wearing sunglasses, despite the fogginess permeating the roads.
Concealed. Almost blatantly concealed, was what Jonathan thought.
He might've thought that Nancy was going on a whim when she had insisted on driving back home to Hawkins - that Eleven may or may not be alive after a peculiar drive with his brother and hers and a girl. But as the gentleman in the passenger seat picked up a radio, eyeing up Nancy, Jonathan had the urge to duck, and he didn't stop himself from doing so.
They had yet to notice him. While one was speaking quite roughly with the gas attendant, the other was still adamant to stare at Nancy. This irked Jonathan to no end, as he knew this was more than just her being Nancy Wheeler, pretty and prompting.
This was surveillance.
"That'll be $15.86 ma'am," a freckled and acne covered ginger teenager requested of Nancy. She handed over 17 dollars in notes and coins.
"Keep the change," Nancy half-smiled.
As she turned and stepped away, her feet squeaked on the floor at an abrupt stop. Jonathan had been crouched down by the magazines at the entrance, gesturing subtly with his head out the window.
Nancy, careful not to move her head, looked out the window and saw something she hadn't quite anticipated.
The passenger had jumped out of the car, and the gas attendant began to argue with the driver. Nancy's heart picked up as she decided to head to the bathroom, urging Jonathan to follow. He scooted across the floor and followed her, crouching down low all the way. The cashier was left to watch the whole thing and his mouth was wide open.
When Nancy let the hidden Jonathan in before her and closed the door behind herself, she swiftly locked the door. They were enclosed in the tight space and Jonathan awkwardly manuevered himself to stand up as Nancy looked up at him in his full height, eyes full of panic.
"Oh my God , Nancy. What the fuck are we going to do?!" Jonathan equally as shaken.
"I don't know," she croaked.
"We can't hide in here forever," Jonathan pointed out.
"Fully aware of that, Jonathan," Nancy added. "Did they see you?"
"I - I don't think so?"
"Okay, okay," Nancy closed her eyes as she began to think.
Jonathan walked over to the tiny sink and turned on the faucet, icy cold water rushing from the tap. Before Nancy could comment that what he had done was smart, he started splashing the water on his face, now noticing that he was really beginning to panic.
Nancy had her demons from Barb's disappearance and subsequent death. But she never forgot the occasional panic attack Jonathan suffered since the events three years ago. He got his brother back - a miracle in itself. But the repercussions were huge. He held his own in front of his family because he was his mother's rock and Will's older brother - his protector and his role model. But there were moments like this where he lost total control.
Jonathan could handle when life threw him curveballs, he had far too many to count, and he was always ready, expecting them almost at this stage. The panic attacks weren't frequent because it was all based on how much control he had. He held that strong in his grip for the last year without fail.
Two men in a black Cadillac had loosened that grip far too much for his liking.
Nancy forced Jonathan away from the sink and sat him down on the closed toilet. The smell of bleach and piss combined should have been enough to force him back to the present, but Nancy couldn't get through his trauma ridden mind, shaking his head vividly and rocking on the seat.
Before she could find herself losing the battle, she kneeled down and placed her hands on his head, forcing him to look at her.
"Jonathan - you need to breathe."
He was shaking his head, the tears rushing to his eyes.
"Jonathan, please - you need to keep it together, at least until we get to the car."
"I CAN'T!"
This shut her up quickly.
His anxiety needed to be de-escalated. She gently leaned in and placed her forehead against his. Closing her eyes, it allowed her to read him better.
"There was a chance that this wasn't going to culminate into anything," She whispered, soothingly considering the words provided no comfort. "You had hope that this would just lead to us rushing home with nothing to show for it - maybe see your family, me being scolded by mine for running away from college...now it's real."
Jonathan sniffled and regretfully nodded. Nancy swallowed, smiling sadly.
"I'm so fucking scared Jonathan. But...we're going to leave this gas station and we are going to make sure those men don't follow - whatever it takes."
Jonathan groaned, clearly angry at losing control and frustrated at not knowing how to escape. Nancy's hand moved from the side of his face to the back of his neck, gently squeezing it, trying to make him relax despite their alarming situation.
Loud music of the country variety curtailed their slowly growing silence, and Jonathan was beginning to feel like he could breathe again. There was a knock on the door and it made Nancy jump back away from Jonathan.
It was then she saw the swiss army knife on the floor by Jonathan's foot.
As her plan began to formulate, the knock rang out sharply again with a call of, "Are you going to be long?"
Nancy let out a fake sob and said with a voice full of sorrow, "I'm so sorry, just one minute."
Jonathan's eyes widened when he looked at Nancy, acting out her concern into intense emotion. She then looked directly into Jonathan's eyes and he watched, both a little scared and also highly impressed with how quickly her eyes began to water. The sobs came through louder now.
Jonathan whispered so quietly, "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Just follow my lead."
When they left, Nancy - looking the picture of a pretty damsel - Jonathan's previous real tears dried for authenticity - they found themselves in front of a large crowd.
The crowd was a group of women, all wearing Dolly Parton fan gear - with colourful knit cardigans and various do's, mostly perms. Conveniently, they piled in a large group by the bathroom, waiting to have their chance to relieve themselves. The woman who stood at the front of the group who was frowning to begin with, having grown impatient with the couple, looked highly sympathetic upon seeing Nancy's visage.
"Oh my word," spoke the mid-western accented brunette. "What has got you in such a spot, dear?"
Nancy took a step toward the woman and began to sob, which caused the woman to act and hug Nancy in close. "I'm so sorry."
"He hasn't hurt you has he?" a blonde lady with large, round glasses intimated toward Jonathan.
"Oh no, not my Richie," Nancy proclaimed with pride, stepping away from the brunette, " he would never, he's the love of my life...and the father of my unborn child."
Nancy placed a hand on her stomach as if to bring home this very fake story.
Some of the women cooed and others put hands on their hearts.
"Well then why are you crying, dear?" asked the blonde woman.
"We eloped a month ago and were heading to my hometown to tell my parents," Nancy said as she grabbed Jonathan's hand. Jonathan attempted to play the part as best as possible, and his clear loss of words and his surprisingly intimate shock of touch with Nancy had been very convincing, as she wrapped him on the side that better hid him from the window. Nancy didn't miss a beat.
"The problem is my ex-boyfriend followed us with his friend who I know was in prison not long ago. You see, he's been trying to get me back ever since his stint in Russia last year - I learned he was a commie sympathiser and just knew I could never marry a man who was a traitor to our country! And now - he just won't leave me alone and - and - and I'm just so scared...we only just learned about our pregnancy a week ago and with all this pressure on our baby in such early stages - I just couldn't lose her now...we're hoping for a girl, Richie wants to name her Abigail."
The women clamoured forward, eager to aid the young married soon-to-be mother.
"Well, there must be something we can do!"
"Yes, us ladies gotta stick together, and no man will take that or your new life away from you!"
"What's your name sweetheart?"
"My name?" Nancy prompted suddenly, thrown for a moment. "Well, my name is Kelly-Anne, ma'am."
"Well Miss Kelly-Anne, let's get you and your sweet Richie back to that car safely!"
They were rushed into the middle of the crowd of women, varied in age and size, Jonathan holding onto Nancy for dear life as she continued to thank and bless them all for their sweet 'Godly hearts'. It was enough to keep the momentum going, leaving the actual shop. Both ducked their heads somewhat as one of the suspicious men walked past to investigate inside and another lady dropped off from the group and appeared by one of the men at his car, who had been conspicuously speaking into his sleeve.
"Hiya honey! I was just wondering if you could help us girls - we're having a little van trouble!"
She didn't seem to wait for his response as the salt and pepper haired woman with a ton of jewellery took his hand and dragged him away from his car.
"Thank you!" Nancy whispered to them all as one of them responded, "No trouble honey, now go on and get!"
Jonathan and Nancy broke away feverishly from the group and hustled to the car with their backs lowered. Nancy clicked the car door open for the driver's seat and rifled under the car seat for something she kept hidden for the sake of admittedly rare but apparent situations in her life. She pulled out the small dagger and quickly hightailed over to the Cadillac, Jonathan's eyes bulging as he was unable to scream, alerting them to her actions. He jumped in the driver's seat and hoped she wasn't going to get caught.
Nancy stabbed into a tire and slashed on the side she could access, the air slowly sinking out, as she moved to the front tire and quickly repeated the motion with deathly precision.
"Nancy! " Jonathan harshly whispered from the window of the car.
She plunged the knife in once more and slashed again before she bolted from her kneeled position and fled.
By the time she sprinted back to the car, the man who had been called to assist with the van had noticed. He pulled up his sleeve and said, "They're on the run, come on!"
Jonathan started the car and Nancy got her behind in the passenger seat, just before Jonathan had begun pulling off. The guy attempted to reach out to grab the car, but it was no use. The car screeched as they peeled out of the gas station back toward the highway and Nancy turned back after she secured the passenger door closed. Her breathing was beyond normal but her eyes shone with mirth at seeing their dismay upon realising their tires were done for. She sat down into her seat, chest heaving. When she finally calmed down enough to know they were out she reached over and patted Jonathan on the shoulder.
"That should buy us plenty of mileage ahead of them."
He gestured somewhat, glad for her quick thinking. "I hope they're the only ones who could be tailing us," Jonathan said regrettably.
"Me too…" she said in shallow breaths.
It was after some quiet thought that Jonathan requested music. He needed to be able to get past this in order to drive normally and not catch the attention of a highway cop. She pressed some buttons on her dashboard when the tape started playing. Jonathan's heart slowed down immensely when The Seeds ' Can't Seem to Make You Mine' crooned through her radio.
After a brief period for Nancy, she straightened as a thought occurred to her.
"We're going to have to stop off in Indianapolis. I need to pick up some supplies."
" Sorry Mom, it's just starting to get really good, " her son told her sheepishly, a sense of guilt clear in his voice as he rasped slightly.
"Don't apologise, sweetie, you enjoy your time with your friends," Joyce insisted, hesitancy being withheld as best as possible knowing how easily her son felt responsible for such small insignificant things. "Just please be careful, it sounds like you're getting a cold."
" Oh - No - I uh - I downed a cola too quickly, some of it went through the wrong pipe and I'm still reaping the consequences," Will responded with an uncomfortable chuckle.
Joyce frowned but guessed Will was probably telling the truth. He didn't have any reason to lie to her. They'd been past this.
"Alright honey...just don't be a stranger, okay?"
" Yeah, Mom...love you ."
"I love you too honey."
As their conversation finished, the call clicked and Joyce held the plastic phone against her chest and hugged her chin above it. Will's demeanour was getting odder with time, but she had time and time again been proven that she was being paranoid. Joyce couldn't push her son further away by being clingy. He was always going to be her little boy, but she had to expect that his teenage moods would kick in and he would want to spend more time with his little party. She sighed deeply and shook her head. That's all it was. He was finally growing up with a sense of independence. She had to be proud of that, considering all they had been through.
Eventually, Joyce puts the phone back and relents the idea that she had a night free, completely alone, to do as she pleased. An uncertain thought travelled through her brain, a thought she rarely allowed herself as it chugged through when she was at her loneliest and when she was hoping for something more than what she was dealt with...hoping.
Joyce had used up all her hope years ago as a way of thanking whatever element allowed her son to come back from the brink of hell. She thought being a mother was all she was meant to do.
But as she recognised her son was becoming a young adult, moodier than even his older brother had been...Joyce had also remembered that she was a woman, still relatively well figured considering she had two children and had thickened in areas that made her more approachable after the stress of Will's health had forced her to make some consideration for her own as a way of being around long enough to care for her two sweet boys.
After a once over in the mirror of her bedroom, she had rifled through her wardrobe and pulled out a once forgotten dress, purchased for an occasion that she wasn't sure would ever come.
It was becoming tedious that she was almost preventing whatever this event may become, afraid to deal with the potential for rejection...and maybe also had an idea of what such an event included if she took the plunge.
Joyce pulled the wire hanger out and held the dress against herself in some contemplation of just what her mind was concocting. It was one look at herself directly with this dress, one moment of pure confidence that tipped her over the edge.
She swiftly entered the living room and grabbed the phone with a specific intention, dialling the number she knew now off by heart and heard it ring out. When Flo answered she asked to be redirected to the Chief. Florence didn't think anything of it, and quite frankly, Hopper had no idea just what he was in for.
" Everything okay, Joyce? "
"More than," she answered with confidence. "I was wondering if you would come over tonight...Will is at Mike's and I've got the evening free...I have an unopened bottle of whiskey that I think you might enjoy."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before he responded to her.
" I'll be round at 8 ."
She chewed on her bottom lip and agreed, "8 o'clock it is."
Something settled in his stomach at the inclination that this wasn't an average catch up and drink. He'd finally accepted that this was something he wanted to pursue and was willing to contend with his guilt to take the opportunity while it was laid before him.
Jim Hopper hadn't given himself a reprieve since three years ago and with Will clearly overcoming his experience, things could fall into place without a worry for the young man's condition, physical or mental.
Florence looked at the Chief expectantly when he exited his office after finishing the call with Joyce, his coat in his hand and hat ready placed on his head.
"Have a nice chat with Ms Byers?" Flo asked rhetorically. He ignored her, as was their dynamic to do so.
"I'm doing a final patrol of the area and then I'm heading home. Goodnight Flo."
He drove the town square with apt precision, hopeful that any activity wouldn't put him back so much that it would dip into the time he required to get home and prepare. He'd only caught some teenagers spray painting the back of the Library building today and had to intervene in an altercation between two drivers after a road rage incident occurred, he was lucky not to cop it again on his way home during the quick look through.
Jim kicks his shoes against the trailer to get rid of any mud before throwing his hat toward the kitchen bench and heading toward the record player. Roy Orbison's ' Blue Bayou' plays seductively and he sways with the music as he sets himself up for the evening ahead. He comes out of the shower shortly after and cleans himself up with a quick clean up around his beard and moustache.
The record comes to its end as the phone rings.
Sometimes these things are kismet, but in Jim Hopper's case, whenever things start to go well for him, a likely acquaintance decides to interrupt his festivities.
He picks it up without much hesitation.
"Hopper, what can I do for you?" he greets quickly, absentminded. A poor thing to be in the state of affairs to come.
" Benny's. 1900 hrs. "
His heart drops into his stomach at the voice and swallows harshly.
It's fifteen minutes to the requested time. The voice on the other end doesn't expect him to fight it. Jim knows he cannot disobey the request. Problems always come with it.
The voice doesn't even require him to respond as the call ends with a sickening beeping to aid in his frustration.