The journey to the Walcotts was, unsurprisingly, quiet. Christine walked alongside her bike, Eleven staying close to her on the other side. She always stayed on the curb-side. Every time a car passed, she would tense up and pull closer to Christine's figure, trying to stay out of sight. It was concerning, to say the least. Christine was tempted to take her shortcut, just to get the girl off the streets, but they couldn't risk walking through the playground this close to classes, especially if the girl was supposed to stay hidden.
They hurried up the driveway and into the house, Christine locking the front door behind her. For a moment, they both stood there, waiting. Christine half-expected someone to kick her door down, demanding to know who this little girl was and trying to take her away. But nothing happened. They had not been followed.
She glanced down, noticing the box of cereal she had abandoned on the floor. Sheepishly, she snatched it up. It was stupid to be embarrassed—especially when Eleven obviously had little to no concept of normality—but her presence was enough to make Christine nervous.
She cleared her throat, looking down at the tiny girl in front of her. "Um…are you hungry?"
Eleven did not meet her eyes, but timidly nodded.
Christine beckoned her into the kitchen. Cups and mugs littered the counter where she'd left them in her search for the key to the liquor cabinet. Eleven looked at them curiously, her head cocked to the side like a small puppy. Christine hurriedly tried to stuff everything back in the cupboard.
"Sorry, just uh…so! What do you want to eat? I've got some cereal, I can make eggs—pretty much only scrambled, though. Mike said you like waffles, right? I can't make them from scratch, but I might have some in the freezer."
She glanced over her shoulder to find Eleven staring at her with rapt attention. Apparently "waffle" had been the buzzword to use.
"Yeah? Toaster waffles are okay?"
Eleven nodded.
Christine smiled and patted the counter, gesturing for her to have a seat on the other side before she started on breakfast. She found an unopened box of Eggos in the freezer, and grabbed some eggs from the fridge as well. She could at least pretend it was a balanced meal. She wasn't sure what Eleven might want to drink, and she doubted that asking her would yield any real results. So she just grabbed a bunch of things out of the fridge and laid them on the counter. If she was thirsty, she could help herself.
It didn't take long to cook the eggs, and the waffles were done in a matter of minutes. Christine split them two and two, and dropped them onto some plates. She pushed one toward Eleven and turned back to the stove.
"Okay, eggs are almost up. We've got salt, pepper, ketchup if you like that sort of thing. Oh! And syrup, let me get you some syrup. Here you…"
She trailed off, the bottle of syrup dangling from her fingers. Eleven froze and stared back at her. One of the waffles was already gone, the second paused halfway to her mouth. Maintaining eye contact, she slowly put it back down on her plate.
"Um…right. Okay." Christine picked up her plate, sliding her waffles on top of Eleven's. "Go crazy, kid."
The girl did not respond, and did not move until Christine's back was turned once more.
Christine made two more waffles for herself and finished the eggs. Eleven wrinkled her nose when Christine spooned some onto her plate, snatching up her stack of Eggos like she was afraid of contamination. Christine ignored her distaste.
She leaned on the counter across from Eleven, digging into her own food. It was difficult to ignore the feeling of being watched, studied. But she did her best not to acknowledge it. She focused on her plate—systematically seasoning her eggs, cutting up her waffles, and then pouring syrup on top.
"You wanna try?" she asked, offering the bottle.
Eleven almost seemed offended. She clutched her plain waffles to her chest.
"Suit yourself."
They ate in silence. Eleven had slowed down a bit, nibbling on each waffle rather than scarfing them down like a race. Still, she refused to touch her eggs. Christine wasn't too bothered. She simply ate her meal and dropped her dish in the sink. She moved the drinks back to the fridge, locked up the liquor cabinet, then turned back to her guest.
"You can just put your plate over here when you're done," she said, patting the countertop. "TV's in the living room, snacks are in this cupboard over here. I'm gonna go take a shower, so…just make yourself at home, I guess."
She smiled, and walked down the hallway to her bedroom.
Normally, she wouldn't have considered leaving a strange child alone in her house. But Christine was still wearing her tee and overalls from the night before. She might have brushed her teeth, but her sickness was still clinging to her like a fine film. And now that the shock of her neighbor's kid harboring some kind of fugitive had worn off, her nausea was starting to make a reappearance.
She grabbed a change of clothes—just some sweats and a T-shirt—and headed for the bathroom. But she stopped short, letting out a small yelp.
Eleven was standing in the doorway, watching her blankly.
"Uh, hey. Is something wrong?"
She wasn't exactly surprised by Eleven's silence, but the lack of response was becoming frustrating. It was like talking to a very timid brick wall.
Christine sighed, stepping around the girl and starting down the hall. She could hear Eleven shuffling behind her. She stopped just outside the bathroom. Eleven stopped too.
"Look. I can set you up with a movie or something if you want, but taking a shower is something people usually do alone."
"Alone. Bad."
Christine turned around in surprise.
Eleven had her hands clenched in front of her, her shoulders hunched over to make her seem as small as possible. Upon closer inspection, her expression wasn't blank so much as it was earnest. She was nervous, terrified of whatever it was she thought was waiting for her beyond the walls. When Christine thought about it, the girl probably hadn't been alone since Mike took her in. The last time she had been, she'd been out in the woods, running away from…something.
Christine withered. "Okay. Come on."
Eleven followed her into the bathroom, taking a seat on the toilet when Christine patted the lid. Christine put her fresh clothes up next to the sink, and then stepped into the bathtub. She turned to face Eleven, pulling the shower curtain closed.
"So I'm gonna turn the water on, and I'll be right behind this, okay? It's only going to be for a few minutes. And if you need anything, I'll be right here. Is that better?"
She peeked out from behind the curtain, and Eleven nodded.
It wasn't nearly ask awkward as she'd expected. Christine simply dropped her clothes on the other side of the curtain and carried on as usual. It felt good to wash her hair, scrub the drowsiness off her skin—even if the hot water wasn't doing much for her head.
Eleven was so quiet, it was easy to forget she was there. There was only one time Christine remembered she had an audience.
She was combing her conditioner through her hair, humming to herself as she went. It wasn't something she was conscious of. She was always humming something or other. But then she stopped—and the sound did not.
Christine paused, her eyes fluttering open. But the noise was gone. She started again, a bit softer this time. After a few seconds, it started again. She had to strain to hear it, but there was a faint, timid echo on the other side of the curtain. The notes were not the same, and the tune was almost clumsy, but it was definitely there. An experimental hum, testing out a song.
She grinned, and hummed a little louder.
Twenty minutes later, Christine stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. A small giggle caught her off guard, and her head snapped toward Eleven. Impossibly, the girl was hiding a smile.
"What?" Christine asked.
She followed Eleven's eyes, reaching up to pat the towel that was twisted on top of her head. Just that seemed to be amusing, and Eleven pressed her thin lips into a tight line.
"Oh, you think I look funny, huh? Well…you look funny."
Christine stuck her tongue out, which did not seem to register as an appropriate response. Eleven stared at her, brow furrowed, and she sighed.
"Never mind. Sorry. It just means that you're being silly."
Eleven blinked. Uncertainly, she opened her mouth, letting her tongue hang out limply. It looked more like she was waiting for the doctor to stick her with a tongue depressor than making fun of someone—but the intent was clearly there.
Christine grinned. "Yeah, I guess I am. Fair enough."
They left the bathroom, Eleven following more closely this time than she had before. Christine figured that was probably a good sign. She was getting comfortable. Still, it made it a bit awkward when she had to stop in front of her room, towel still wrapped tightly around her body and clothes in hand.
"Hey, could you just wait here for a second?" she asked, looking down at her. "I just need to—not alone just uh…privacy?"
To her surprise, Eleven's eyes lit up in understanding. She took a step away, and turned her back to the room.
Relieved, Christine changed into her fresh clothes. She called out when it was safe to reenter the room, toweling off her hair.
Eleven walked cautiously into the bedroom, her eyes wide and bright once more. Her curiosity was fascinating to Christine. She didn't think her room was anything special. It certainly wasn't as nice or pretty as Nancy's was anyway, with its pastel stripes and delicate furniture. Christine's walls were just beige, her carpet just green. Her closet doors were slotted wood, just like her bedframe, just like her desk, just like her dresser. None of the wood really matched.
Her desk was covered in books and paper. Homework, old receipts, the remnants of Will's missing posters. She'd plastered more paper over her walls, mostly movie posters she'd stolen since she started working at The Hawk. She had Indiana Jones, Poltergeist, Empire Strikes Back, and a few others. And just over her desk was her corkboard, where everything from pictures to science fair ribbons to ticket stubs was tacked up in disarray.
Eleven moved around the room, inspecting each thing in turn. She looked through all the necklaces and scrunchies strewn across the top of the dresser. She studied the phone on the bedside table, tugging on the cord and jumping a bit when it bounced back. She ran her hand over the unmade bed, feeling the texture of the blankets.
Christine draped her towel over the bedpost, and watched as Eleven stopped in front of the desk. She stared up at the board, silent for several minutes. Slowly, she raised a hand, and jabbed a finger at one of the photos.
"What's up?" Christine peered over her head. "Oh yeah, that's Dustin. That was a few summers ago. We went to the carnival."
It was a good picture of them. Christine and Dustin sat at a picnic table, pigging out on a bag of cotton candy. Mr. Henderson had been visiting for the weekend, and insisted on going as a family. Dustin had dragged his feet, knowing his parents would be arguing the whole night. So Claudia had invited Christine and her dad to join them. She'd been sick all night from the sugar, but it had been worth it to see Dustin so off-the-walls happy. And to listen to him scream in terror when she dragged him on the Rok N' Rol. He still hadn't forgiven her for that.
"Friend?" asked Eleven.
"Yeah, totally. Though sometimes he feels more like my annoying little brother." Eleven turned to look at her, and Christine backpedaled. "Um…you know, brother? Sister? Sibling? Someone who has the same parents as you. Your family."
Eleven's gaze dropped to the floor before she turned back to the board.
Christine watched her carefully, not at all sure of her next question. "Do you have any? Family?"
"Papa."
The word didn't seem to offer her any comfort. Eleven said it with more respect than fondness.
"Me too," said Christine. "I mean, it's just me and my dad. He's at work most of the time, but it's not so bad now that we're not moving every few months. He's a consultant. So we used to travel around helping different companies. It was fun for a while, but…well. It's not easy making friends when you only stick around for a couple months.
"Now he's the head of some HR department in the city. I get to stay in one school, and he still gets to travel a couple times a year for business trips. See? This is him."
She pulled another photo off of the board, handing it to Eleven so she could take a closer look. This was an old picture, six or seven years at least. They'd been living in California, and close enough to the coast that she could go to the beach whenever she wanted. In the photo she was perched on top of her father's shoulders. Her hair was stringy from the salt water, and she had to squint in the bright afternoon sun. Both of them had pink cheeks, the start of a sunburn that would ache for days, but they were still beaming.
Eleven ran her fingers over the younger Christine's face, her own lips pulling into a smile.
"Happy."
Christine's stomach flopped. It was the way she'd said the word—as if it were more of a myth than an emotion. And as Christine looked at her—the thin frame, the sheared hair, the bags underneath her eyes, and still that small smile—she wondered if Mike was so crazy for wanting to protect her after all.
"Alright." She sighed, taking the picture from Eleven's hands and tacking it up on the board. "You leave me with no choice. You can have one more waffle, but that is it. After that, you're going to sit on the couch and mindlessly watch TV like a normal child, and I'm going to do my homework. I'm gonna be so behind from skipping today, it's ridiculous."
She herded Eleven out of the room, taking the chance to brush her fingers along the girl's back. Still, her smile never faltered. Christine marked that down as a win.
They sat down for second breakfast. Eleven had two more Eggos, while Christine finished the eggs that had gone untouched. Then they moved into the living room. Christine set Eleven up on the couch in front of the television, complete with popcorn and a blanket. She was riveted by the remote control, which took several minutes to explain to her.
Once she'd gotten a handle on which buttons changed the picture and which ones changed the sound, Christine let her be. She dragged her dinner table over to the armchair and began pulling out her homework. She'd been so sulky the day before that she hadn't done any of her assignments, and she would be missing a bunch in class. She figured she would just tell everyone she was sick. It wasn't exactly a lie, she thought as her stomach writhed again.
The television did a pretty good job of keeping Eleven occupied—but only for a few hours. Soon her eyes began to stray from the screen, taking note of everything else in the room. She wouldn't get up from her seat, but Christine caught her eyeing the stereo cabinet with increasing interest.
"You can look, you know." Her voice made Eleven's head whip around, and Christine offered an encouraging smile. "El, you don't have to stay on the couch. So long as you don't pull any of my tapes apart, we'll be okay."
Eleven slowly got up from her seat. Her eyes stayed glued to Christine, as if she were worried she might change her mind at any moment. But Christine just nodded.
Eventually, Eleven eased into a meticulous circle of the room, just like she had in the bedroom. She pressed a few buttons on the stereo experimentally. However, the system wasn't on, so this had limited effect. Still, Eleven seemed happy just pushing them, and looking through the large collection of cassettes. She held them up to the light, studying them, winding the delicate wheels. But she never pulled on the tape, thank God.
When she tired of the stereo, she moved onto the rest of the room—the few magazines scattered on the table, the VHS tapes under the television, the knick-knacks and framed pictures on side tables. And though Christine kept a weather eye on her, most of Eleven's exploring seemed completely benign.
They sat this way for the rest of the day, only breaking for the bathroom or the occasional snack. Christine made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, which she hadn't really expected Eleven to eat. To her surprise, the girl devoured it, keeping her pace just slow enough to avoid being alarming.
A little after two o'clock, the phone rang in the kitchen. The sound was jarring in the quiet afternoon, and Eleven jumped about a foot from her seat on the floor.
"It's alright," Christine said quickly, holding up her hands. "It's just the phone. I'm gonna go answer it, alright?"
Eleven nodded, still looking shaken, but leaning against the couch once more.
Christine grabbed the television remote, lowering the volume before she rushed to the phone. She was more focused on stopping the noise than anything else, and peeked around the corner into the living room as she picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Chrissy? Hey, it's Nancy."
Her attention shot to the phone. That had not at all been what she was expecting.
"Oh, uh…hey, Nance. What's up?"
"Nothing, I just—Well, you didn't come to school, so…I was worried."
"Yeah. Guess I wasn't really feeling it."
"Right." There was a heavy pause, and Nancy cleared her throat. "Is Barb there with you?"
"No? I thought she was with you?"
"No. She didn't show up for school either. I just thought…"
There was something about Nancy's voice that kept Christine from immediately snapping at her. It was weak, wavering. It almost sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
"You haven't talked to her?" Nancy asked, almost pleading. "Since last night?"
"No, I told you. I called her house this morning, and her mom said she stayed with you. I figured since I hadn't seen her, that was probably the best bet."
"Are you sure?"
Christine clenched her jaw, tightening her grip on the handset.
"Look, Nancy. I woke up this morning, and everyone was just gone, and I was alone on Steve Harrington's couch. So yes. I'm pretty sure I didn't see her. Maybe she went to the hospital, considering her hand was sliced open like a ham."
That did not earn an immediate response. Christine pursed her lips in satisfaction.
A sound caught her attention from the other room, and she peered around the corner again to check on Eleven. She was still sitting on the floor, staring at the television, but the screen was now full of static. Christine furrowed her brow, but before she could think of an explanation, the picture came back. A cartoon rolled on the screen. It clicked. Now the news was playing. Click. Now an infomercial. Click. A soda commercial.
Christine looked down at the remote in her hand, and then to Eleven, still sitting six feet away from the screen.
"Christine, about last night…"
"Hey, Nancy, I'm actually in the middle of something right now. I'll call you if I hear from Barb, okay?"
She hung up the phone, staring into the living room. The television was still flickering, pausing on certain channels before deciding to scroll on. Eleven was staring at the screen unfazed, not looking the least bit bothered by the interference.
Christine took a few cautious steps into the room, not wanting to alarm her.
"Eleven?"
The television immediately turned off. Eleven whirled around, staring at Christine with wide eyes. Christine had never seen an expression worthier of the description "deer in the headlights." And in that instant, she decided not to acknowledge it.
"Sorry about the TV." Christine paced around the couch, placing the remote on top of the television. She smacked it weakly. "It's been a little out of whack this week. All the electric has. Do you want me to try and put it back on?"
Eleven quickly shook her head. It was then that Christine noticed the blood dripping from her nose.
"Oh, you're…hang on."
Christine hurried back to the kitchen. She grabbed a few paper towels, hurriedly running them under the sink and darting back into the living room. She forced herself to slow down as she kneeled down next to Eleven, not wanting to frighten her further.
"Can I…?"
She gestured to Eleven's face with the cloth. She half expected the girl to say no, but Eleven nodded instead. Christine placed a gentle hand on her chin. Lightly as she could, she nudged her face toward her, wiping the blood from her upper lip.
There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask. Are you alright? Does this happen often? Is it because of the weather or do you actually have telekinetic superpowers like the weird boys I babysit are insisting? She didn't ask any of them.
"There we go," she said, tossing the paper towel into the trash. "Much better."
Eleven was still staring at her. From what she could see, the terror was gone from her eyes. She'd gone back to the lingering, probing gaze, the one that made Christine feel as though she was being slowly analyzed from the inside out. It was so intense that Christine had to turn away. Still, she could feel the look burning her skin.
"So, uh…do you want anything to drink?"
"No."
"Okay. Do you want to lie down? Sleep for a bit?"
"No."
Christine bobbed her head. "Alright. Well, if the TV's out, we can always listen to some music."
She got to her feet, heading for the stereo and flicking it to life. She sifted through the cassettes, trying to find something particularly special. Her eyes lit up as she selected one, and slotted it into the machine.
"Okay, this one is my absolute favorite. Every single song on here is golden. I really need to get another copy soon, or I'm gonna wear the tape out."
She turned the volume down before the tape could start, ensuring that it couldn't startle Eleven. Then she slowly turned it up as the plucking bass to "Movin' Out" by Billy Joel swelled through the living room.
Christine bopped slowly to the beat, letting her chin fall forward as she rocked her head back and forth. She swayed on the spot, and closed her eyes to sing the along to the hums and riffs at the opening. Spinning around in circles, she peeked over at the couch to find Eleven watching her in undisguised puzzlement.
"What?" Christine giggled, bouncing on the spot. "You don't listen to music?"
Eleven shook her head, eyeing Christine with something between amusement and concern.
"Okaaay. What about dancing?"
She spun on the spot, throwing her arms up and tossing her head back dramatically. That got her a tiny giggle, and Eleven shook her head again.
"Wow. Well I love music. And I love to dance. And if no one's around, sometimes I even sing—and it seems such a waste of time! If that's what it's all about! Momma if that's moving up than ahhh…'m movin' out!"
Christine sank passionately to her knees, miming the horns in the song and making Eleven giggle again. She grinned, only for Eleven to stick out her tongue again. Christine's jaw dropped comically and she laughed, rolling onto her butt and pushing the hair out of her face.
"Alright, fair enough. Enough silliness. Do you want me to turn it off?"
Eleven thought about it. She tugged her legs closer to her body, and shook her head. Christine didn't want to admit it, but it made her heart swell with pride.
"You've got good taste, kid. I'll give you that."
She turned the stereo down just a bit, and returned to the homework in her armchair. She was all the more reluctant now to focus on history dates and the plights of Rosasharn in in the West, but she did her best. Still, every few seconds she would look up to check on El.
Ever so slowly, the girl had migrated to sit next to the stereo. She seemed entranced by the spinning wheels of the cassette player, and stared at them through entire songs. She jumped at the sound the tape made when it stopped, and Christine talked her through what buttons to press to eject the tape and flip it. When side B started, she went right back to staring at the wheels and humming along under her breath.
But there was more than music weighing on Christine's mind. She sat back in her armchair, watching the small girl bouncing happily in the corner. She was at peace now, but when the television had turned off, she'd seemed properly scared. And not of the television set, but of Christine's reaction.
Christine shut down the trail of thinking before she could even get started. The electricity had been acting up all week. That hadn't been a lie. Faulty power lines and signal interference were much more plausible than…what? Superpowers?
At the same time, she couldn't deny that El seemed to have…something. Certainly something that made her valuable to the people who were looking for her. Whether that was information or abilities or property, Christine couldn't be sure.
And if that was true, how much of the rest was? They boys seemed willing to bet a lot on Eleven—that she had powers, that she knew where Will was, that she could find him. And here was Christine, sitting in front of her unfinished English assignment.
She glanced over at Eleven again, now swaying to the tune of "She's Always A Woman." Christine wasn't sure how her day had gone from waking up at a boy's house to babysitting an ability-enhanced fugitive. But she was pretty sure it was not about to start making sense any time soon.