The Hawkins Police Department was not a large building. For a town with a population of 30,000, it seemed odd that there were less than ten people in the building. Christine got the pleasure of meeting Flo, the flat-voiced secretary, as Callahan dragged her into the building. Powell had taken charge of Jonathan, probably because Callahan was too scared after his nose. Nancy was given the privilege of walking on her own.

They were split up and asked to give their preliminary statements separately. This time, Christine did not hold back. She told them about the party and the drinks, Jonathan's alleged pictures, Tommy's graffiti, Steve's heckling, and Jonathan's first swing of the fight. She admitted to punching Tommy a few times, but without a victim coming forward, she was pretty sure there was nothing they could do to her. And she doubted Tommy would admit to be assaulted by a nerd girl anytime soon.

After that, Christine slumped in a chair by the window. She was not allowed to go home yet, for some unknown reason. She also didn't know what she was waiting for. Maybe she was supposed to bear witness to whatever crime they were pushing on Jonathan. He was the only one in handcuffs. They looked good on him, but even Christine thought assaulting an officer was a stretch. Callahan just seemed like a wimp who got in the way of a stray elbow.

Christine was surprised as anyone when Nancy sat down next to her.

"I got you some ice," she offered, passing off the balled-up towel. "For your hand."

"Oh, uh…thanks."

Christine hissed at the cold contact. Still, hopefully it would ease off the ache. She was about to comment that Jonathan needed it more, but a quick look confirmed that he'd gotten the first batch. He was multitasking, the cold pack sitting on top of his knuckles while he face-planted to ice his black eye.

"How are you feeling?" Nancy asked hesitantly.

"Fine," Christine said with a shrug. "You guys pulled me back pretty fast. I don't think I did too much damage—to me or Tommy."

Nancy nodded, the tiniest smirk on her face. "You do know that Tommy was on your side, right?"

"Gross," Christine groaned. "I never want to hear that sentence again in my life."

"Seriously, Christine. He was trying to help Steve. Why did you punch him?"

Christine stared at Nancy. The final straw had become pretty clear to her after the adrenaline had drained from her system. She didn't want to hear Tommy H running his mouth about her best friend. Christine had been hurling her own accusations only a few minutes before him, but that didn't mean he was allowed to do it. But she didn't feel like trying to explain that. So she shrugged.

"Do I need a reason? I've been dying to punch Tommy all week. I'm just pissed I didn't break his nose when I had the chance."

Nancy shook her head, which helped to hide the way her smirk was growing. Christine tested out a smile. It fell fast, her own guilt weighing it down.

"Hey," she said softly. "For what it's worth, I didn't know about the graffiti. If I'd seen it, he wouldn't have made it out of the alley breathing."

"Right," Nancy said skeptically.

"No, I'm serious. I know I've messed up a lot, but…I wouldn't let someone do that to you. Steve came in asking to talk about you, and I thought you might've been in some kind of trouble. Then when he told me about Jonathan and the pictures, I—I just kinda lost it. They must've taken advantage of the distraction."

"I get it," Nancy said, though her voice was subdued. "And, for what it's worth, I didn't…you know. With Jonathan."

"Okay." Christine nodded. She wanted to take Nancy at her word, but there was still so much evidence against her. "If you didn't, then…Nance, what the hell is going on?"

Nancy looked at her fully for the first time. For a moment, she looked just like Steve—conflicted and completely at a loss for what to say. But her wide, fearful eyes reminded Christine of someone else, too. Someone who had seen too much, and had no idea how to put it into words.

"Nancy," Christine pleaded, lowering her voice. "What happened?"

Before Nancy could respond, the door to the precinct slammed open. Mrs. Byers was wearing the same leather jacket she'd worn to the funeral, but all traces of the spacy, despaired mother were gone. She blew past the receptionist desk and let herself into the bullpen, eyes locked on her son.

"Hey! Jonathan? Jesus, wha—what happened?"

"I'm fine," Jonathan assured her, and Officer Callahan stood up behind him.

"Ma'am…"

"Why is he wearing handcuffs?" Mrs. Byers demanded.

"Well, your boy assaulted a police officer, that's why."

"Take them off."

"I am afraid I cannot do that."

"Take them off!"

"You heard her. Take them off."

Mrs. Byers had been followed into the room by Chief of Police Jim Hopper. Christine had only seen him one or two times. Maybe at an assembly or a summer fair. He looked every bit like his intimidating reputation. He was the tallest person in the room, with a disheveled appearance and tired face that clearly read: "I am not going to deal with your bullshit."

Christine shrunk involuntarily into her chair.

"Chief," Powell interrupted, stepping up from his desk in the corner. "I get that everyone's emotional here, but there's something you need to see."

"Now?" asked Hopper, and Powell nodded gravely.

"Now."

Hopper sighed, wiping a hand down his beard. "Okay. Okay, move it."

"Hop…"

"I'll be right back, Joyce," he assured Mrs. Byers.

Without removing the handcuffs, Chief Hopper followed his two officers out of the precinct.

Christine averted her eyes as Jonathan's mom fussed over him, turning instead to Nancy. "What do you think it is?"

"Oh," she said weakly. "I…I don't know."

Her shifty eyes suggested otherwise, but Christine didn't want to push. She got her answer a few minutes later regardless.

Hopper returned with a large cardboard box, which he dropped heavily onto the desk in front of Jonathan. Christine couldn't see inside from where she was sitting, but she could hear the sturdy clank of metal. Jonathan apparently didn't need to look up to know what it was. Thankfully, his mother decided to narrate helpfully as she peered in the box.

"Is that…is that a bear trap?" she asked. "And—And lighter fluid, and guns and…what is this?"

"Why don't you ask your son?" Hopper asked darkly. "We found it in his car."

"What?"

"Why are you going through my car?" Jonathan demanded.

"Is that really the question you should be asking me right now?" Hopper leaned dangerously over the top of the box. It was a miracle Jonathan didn't shirk back. "I wanna see you in my office."

He started toward the hallway, only for Jonathan to call him back.

"You won't believe me."

Hopper paused, glaring evenly. "Why don't you give me a try?"

He nodded to Callahan, who reluctantly released Jonathan from his handcuffs. He was instantly swept up into a hug by his mother, which he returned with vigor. Christine watched as he looked over her shoulder, sharing a tense look with Nancy. He shook his head into his mother's neck. Then without a word, he was carted off to the hallway.

Christine was about to ask what that was about when Nancy jumped out of her seat.

"I'm coming with him!"

Everyone turned to stare at her, each more shocked than the next.

"No," said Hopper, the first to recover. "I think your boyfriend can handle a little one on one."

"He's not—I mean, I was there when he bought it."

"No she wasn't," Jonathan said immediately. "She's just covering for me."

"I paid for it. It's my stuff."

"It's not!"

"Nancy?" Christine gasped, but she got no response.

Hopper was looking more annoyed by the minute.

"Who the hell is this?" he asked Mrs. Byers.

"She's—This is Nancy Wheeler," she answered, looking just as confused. "She's uh…her brother is friends with Will."

"Fine," Hopper sighed. "Fine, you wanna make things more complicated? Be my guest. Come on."

"Nancy," Christine repeated. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's fine," Nancy assured her. "It's okay."

Whatever was 'fine' or 'okay,' Nancy didn't bother to explain. She followed the police chief and the Byers out of the room, and disappeared behind the office door.

Christine huffed.

"Is that it, then?" she demanded, glaring at Officer Powell. "Can I go home now?"

"No," he said, sitting back at his desk.

"Why not?"

"Cause you're annoying. And I'm kind of hoping whatever guy you beat up is gonna come in so we can detain you and laugh at him."

She sunk back into her seat, defeated.

The minutes slipped by over the clock face. Christine watched the hands tick in slow motion. They were moving, but nothing else seemed to be. No one else came or left the precinct. No one entered or exited the chief's office. She strained her ears, but she couldn't hear any screaming, arguing, or concerned voices. Whatever was happening, they were doing it quietly.

Her butt was starting to go numb from sitting so long. Callahan snapped at her more than once for tapping her foot or drumming her nails on the arm of the chair. She'd started to do it just to annoy him. It wasn't smart. If they were trying to charge Jonathan with assault they could easily try and stick something on her. Maybe then she'd get arrested and thrown into the Chief's office too.

It felt like ages before anything interesting happened. Even then, it was just another concerned mother with an injured boy coming to file a complaint. Christine completely disregarded it until the woman finally coaxed her son into telling his story.

"We…We weren't doing anything," he insisted to Officer Callahan. "We were just hanging out by the quarry, and all of the sudden this weird girl shows up. And she pushed my friend James to the ground, and then she broke my arm!"

"And how exactly did this happen?" asked Callahan. "Was there an argument or…?"

"No! She just came out of the woods and she snapped my arm!"

Christine perked up in her seat, and did her best not to make it look like she was listening.

"Okay, okay," said Callahan, writing in his notebook. "So…So you were playing with your friend, and you say a…little girl just…came out of nowhere and snapped your arm clean in two?"

"Officer," the mother snapped. "You will not speak to my son like that!"

"Like what? Like I'm repeating what he's saying?"

"Don't act innocent with me! You are insulting him!"

"Woah, now—hey! I am not being insulting. If a tiny girl broke his arm…"

"Officer!"

"Ma'am," said Officer Powell, stepping into the conversation. "My partner just needs to get the details of the incident so he can file the report. It's procedure to repeat…"

"Oh, it's procedure to mock the citizens of Hawkins when they ask for help?" she demanded. "It's procedure to laugh at young boys who've been the victim of a crime?"

"Hey, who is laughing?" Callahan asked. "I'm not laughing. He's not laughing. We're just…"

Christine watched the situation devolve comically. She wondered if Callahan was the newest officer to the squad. He certainly seemed it. He was spectacularly bad at his job.

"I want an apology!" the mother demanded, her voice getting louder by the second.

"An apology for what, exactly?"

"Where is the chief? I want to speak to him. Right this instant!"

"Ma'am, I need you to calm down…"

"What is your name, Deputy?"

"Well…I'm an officer, okay?" he said with a laugh, which did not do anything to deescalate the situation.

"Name and badge number, both of you!"

"What the hell is going on here?"

Chief Hopper had returned, bellowing the room into order as he bee-lined for the problem woman. Christine peeked behind him, but neither Nancy nor Jonathan was in sight.

"These men are humiliating my son!" the mother cried, pushing her son forward like some kind of proof.

"No, no, no," said Callahan quickly. "Okay, that's not true!"

"Yes!"

"There was some kind of fight, Chief," Powell started, only to be interrupted again.

"A psychotic child broke his arm!"

"A little girl, Chief," Callahan supplied. "A little one."

"That tone!" the mother screeched, jabbing painted nail at him. "Do you hear that tone?"

"Honestly, I'm just trying to state a fact! It was a little girl…"

"I don't have time for this," Chief Hopper groaned. "Will you please take a statement and…"

He mouthed the last few words, gesturing sweepingly toward the door. Callahan and Powell nodded dutifully.

"So what did this girl look like?" Powell asked.

"She had no hair," the boy gushed, "and she was bleeding from her nose. Like a freak!"

Christine froze. It was all the confirmation she could have hoped for. Eleven was out there, somewhere, still alive and powerful and kicking. What the boy had done to upset her, Christine couldn't imagine. But she already felt less sympathetic. He must've been a real asshole.

What surprised her was that she wasn't the only one who'd stopped. Chief Hopper had paused halfway to his office. He turned on the spot, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"What'd you just say?"

"I said she's a freak," the boy repeated.

"No, her hair." He hurried back over, staring intently at the kid. "What'd you say about her hair?"

"Her head's shaved. She doesn't even look like a girl. And…"

"And what?" the chief prompted.

It was clear that whatever was supposed to come next was not going to sound great. The kid stared anxiously at the floor until his mother rubbed his shoulder.

"Tell the man, Troy."

Troy hesitated a moment longer, then looked up to Hopper. "She can…do things."

"What kind of things?"

"Like…make you fly…and piss yourself…"

"What?" asked Powell, obviously filled with glee, but the Chief held up a hand.

"Was she alone?" he asked fervently.

"No," the boy answered. "She always hangs out with those losers."

"Losers?"

Christine had asked it at the same time as Hopper, her tone accusatory while he remained confused. She clamped her mouth shut, praying that no one had noticed. But as tired as Hopper looked, he was definitely sharper than people gave him credit for.

"Hey." Hopper was bearing down on her now. "Do you know who he's talking about?"

"No," she said too quickly. "I just…you know, rich for a kid to call someone else a loser when his arm got broken by a girl."

"Young lady!" Troy's mother gasped. "Chief Hopper, I expect to see some disciplinary…"

"Absolutely," Hopper agreed, though his eyes never left Christine. "Let's go, Blondie. My office. Now."

He grabbed her by the arm, wrenching her out of her chair and dragging her down the hall before she could so much as yelp. He dragged her past Jonathan and his mother, who were waiting anxiously in the hallway. He dragged her right into the office and tossed her into an empty armchair across from Nancy. He barely waited for the Byers to reenter the room before he rounded on her.

"Where is she?" he demanded. One hand on either arm of the chair, he leaned into her face, making her shrink back. "Huh? Where is she?"

"Where is who?" Christine asked.

"Hopper!" Mrs. Byers' tone was scolding, and she quickly closed the door to the office. "What the hell are you doing?"

Chief Hopper didn't spare her a thought.

"Where is she?" he asked again, slamming his hands onto the chair. "I know you know where she is. Who do you work for, huh? Who is it?"

"I don't know!"

"She doesn't work for anyone!" Nancy jumped out of her seat. She stood at Hopper's back, pleading but also too afraid to attempt to pull him back. "Just stop! Please!"

Mrs. Byers was the only one brave enough to step between them. She shoved him back, her hands shaking, but her arms firm.

"Seriously, Hop! Stop it! She's—She's just a kid!"

"You know that for sure?" he asked challengingly. "You know her?"

"Yes! Of course I know her! Her name is Christine! She's a damn babysitter, Hop! Now what the hell is going on?"

Mrs. Byers' testimony seemed to be enough for him. He sagged back against the couch, collapsing onto the arm and grabbing the coat rack for support. He waved a hand at Christine, which she supposed was supposed to reassure her. Surprisingly, after being dragged and cornered and screamed at, it wasn't much of a comfort.

"She knows," he said shakily, wiping one hand down his face while the other one pointed at Christine. "She knows something."

"No, she doesn't," said Jonathan. "Trust me, if she did, we wouldn't have ended up here!"

"She doesn't know anything," Nancy agreed. "Please, just—can we leave her out of it?"

"Out of what?" Christine ask, though no one seemed to be paying attention.

"No," Hopped said confidently. "She knows. She knows where Jane is."

This did not seem to make much sense to Jonathan and Nancy. They only shrugged, and exchanged a dubious look. Mrs. Byers, however, went stock still.

"Jane?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Who is Jane?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah," Christine added. "Who the hell is Jane?"

Hopper didn't seem amused or convinced by her confusion. He stormed to his desk, sifting through several piles of paper before he found the one that he was looking for. He grabbed a copy and thrust it into Christine's lap with finality.

"That! That is Jane!"

Christine faltered, but looked down at the page he'd handed her. It was a newspaper clipping from over a decade ago, probably copied from the microfilm at the public library. The title read "Terry Ives Suing," accompanied by a picture of a pretty woman with long, dark hair. Christine scanned the article as quickly as she could.

"After the district attorney's office declined to press criminal charges citing lack of evidence, local resident Terry Ives is not giving up her search for justice for her and her daughter, and this morning filed a lawsuit against research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner and his staff.

"Ms. Ives suit seeks unspecified damages against Dr. Brenner and his faculty, alleging physical abuse, sleep deprivation, malnourishment, and kidnapping…"

The article went on, describing the woman's claims against Hawkins Laboratory—that she'd undergone psychedelic tests under false pretenses, that she'd given birth to a child with enhanced abilities, that the scientists of the lab had taken the child hostage and attempted to erase the circumstances of her birth. The journalist writing clearly thought she was insane, but did their best to remain impartial.

But Christine's blood ran cold at the mention of a child with psychokinetic powers. Her eyes flicked between the words Hawkins Lab, Jane Ives, and Dr. Brenner. She did her best to hide her concern under the shocked hand she placed over her face as she read.

"This is what you're concerned about?" Jonathan asked angrily. He'd moved behind her chair, reading over her shoulder. "Will is out there—and Barb—lost or—or trapped, and you're worried about finding some other kid?"

"Yeah, I am," Hopper said tersely. "Cause this kid is the key to everything. It's all connected. You've gotta see that by now."

Jonathan shook his head, nonplussed. Nancy didn't seem to be much further along. So Hopper huffed, and glared back at Christine.

"Do you want to tell them, or should I?"

Christine kept her mouth shut tight.

"Fine. I'll go first."

He grabbed the paper out of her hands, and walked back to lean on the edge of his desk. He held the article up for them, tapping the last paragraph.

"This Hawkins Lab? It's run by the Department of Energy, right on the edge of town, around Randolph Road. Now, I went down there when Will first went missing. Figured maybe he ran, got through the fence, went to go hide inside. I didn't find Will, but when those folks showed me their security tapes, they were faked."

"Faked?" Nancy repeated in shock. "What? W-Why?"

"Well, I didn't know. Just that they were hiding something. So I went looking into it, found these articles. We didn't get much further at the time, cause that was when we found Will's body."

"Which—Which wasn't Will's body," Mrs. Byers added firmly. "Which wasn't anybody's body."

"What was it?" Jonathan asked. "I mean, we went to the morgue. I saw it. We saw Will."

"From a distance," Hopper corrected. "You saw him from a distance, because they didn't want you to get too close."

"To what?"

"To the fake. Now, when they found Will's body, it was called in by a State Trooper—guy named O'Bannon. I went to see him, and he said that someone told him to go to the quarry, and not to let anyone get close to the body. Then when we brought the body in, some State doctors kicked out Gary Tranden and did the autopsy themselves. When I went to check it out, he was still being guarded by Troopers."

"They had State Troops guarding Will's body?" Jonathan asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Cause it wasn't a body. It was stuffed rubber, made up by some specialist to look like your brother."

"But why?" Nancy asked. "Why go through to trouble to make a fake body?"

"Exactly," Hopper said, jabbing a finger at her. "Unless you know what really happened, and you don't want anyone looking into it."

A chill went around the room as that thought sank in. Whatever was going on was bigger than they could have imagined. It was cover-up big, conspiracy big, government big. Christine was starting to understand why Eleven was so afraid of her home. If she'd come from a government lab, then the "bad men" who were after her certainly did have eyes everywhere, just like she'd said. They'd been pulling the strings the whole time, and no one had noticed. It was a miracle she hadn't already been found.

Still, Christine kept her mouth shut.

"So you're telling me," said Nancy, with a wary look to Christine, "that…everything that's happened. This…thing, and Will and Barbara…the government knows about it?"

"Yeah," the chief confirmed.

"And…they're not doing anything to stop it? They're just letting it happen? Letting them die?"

"Yeah," he said again. His jaw was set with determination. "But we're not."

"It's the government," Jonathan said despairingly. "What are we gonna do about it?"

"We're gonna find what they're looking for. Before they do."

"What are they looking for?" asked Nancy.

Hopper raised the article again. "Jane."

"We still don't know everything," Mrs. Byers explained. "But Hop and I have been looking into this—this girl. Her mother went through all these trials, these isolation tanks and drug testing, and she said that it gave her baby special…I don't know, special abilities. And the lab took her daughter. They just took her and—and covered it up."

"Like Will," Hopper agreed. "Now, when he first went missing, I was following all these dead end leads. There was a kid at the lab, and a kid out at Benny's, and I thought it was Will. But I don't think the lab was lying about Will getting in. I think they were hiding that Jane had gotten out."

"And, she's…what?" asked Nancy skeptically. "A psychic or something?"

"Yeah, or something. I don't know a lot more than that. But I think someone here does."

Everyone turned back to look at Christine.

Never in her life had it been so clear that she was in over her head. The boys had been right. Eleven had been right. There were bad men with guns, and a monster on the loose, and the bad men were trying to capture Eleven and keep it all quiet. The government knew about everything. Everything fit into place.

Hopper stared at her intently, willing for her to break. But if there was anything his story had taught her, it was just how dangerous the bad men were. And Christine was not going to let Eleven down.

"Look," she sighed, shaking her head. "This is all…insane. Completely. And it sounds really serious and really scary, but…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then why did you look up?" Hopper demanded. "Hm? Some kid comes walking in talking about a girl with psychic powers and you lit up like a Christmas tree. Why?"

"Uh, cause it's ridiculous?" she said with a laugh. "He's a punk ass middle schooler who doesn't want to admit he lost a fight to a girl."

"And the losers? What about them?"

Christine huffed. "Okay, so I know who Troy is. He's a middle school kid, and he bullies my neighbor Dustin. All his friends. So I'm a little protective—sue me. I'm not part of some grand cover-up."

Chief Hopper deflated. He sank back against his desk, purposely knocking over a cup of pens in his frustration. Mrs. Byers looked dispirited too. It broke Christine's heart to see her so hopeless, just like she'd been at the funeral. But she was going to stand her ground. She wasn't going to let anyone get to Eleven. She wasn't going to let anyone use Eleven. She wasn't a weapon, or a bargaining chip, or a lynch pin in a conspiracy case. She was just a scared kid. And Christine had made a promise to keep her safe.

She thought she was going to get away with it. Until Nancy opened her mouth.

"She's lying."

"Excuse me?" Christine's jaw dropped. "Says who?"

"Says your hands," said Nancy. Her tone wasn't accusatory. She seemed more shocked than anything, but she was confident. "You've been my best friend for five years, Chrissy. I know you pick your nails when you lie."

"Well, I also pick my nails when I'm nervous," Christine growled. "You know, like when I'm being accused of harboring a telekinetic child fugitive."

But Nancy wasn't having any of her excuses.

"Is this the real reason you've been missing so much school?" she asked in surprise. "Is this why you were at the quarry with my brother?"

"No!"

"The quarry?" Hopper's head shot up once more. "You were at the quarry? When? Today?"

"No," Nancy answered for her, "the night they found Will. Mike came running home crying about it before they were even on the news. Christine said she took them on a bike ride and they heard the sirens, but Mike said they'd been going to Will's house to bring over some of his drawings. I never thought to ask why he lied."

Damnit, Michael.

"He didn't lie," Christine amended, exasperated. "I took them on a joy ride after AV club, they had the bright idea to bring Will's mom some of his drawings, and we were on our way when we heard the sirens. Why is that so hard you to believe?"

"Because since when do you hang out with my brother?"

"Since kids were going missing and I lost my two best friends!"

"Okay," said Mrs. Byers. She shuffled between Christine and Nancy, holding up her hands. "That's enough, girls. Let's all just calm down."

This was mostly directed at Christine. Nancy still seemed calm in her shocking revelation. Christine was the one furious about being dragging into an interrogation. She considered getting up and storming out, seeing how far she could make it without Hopper either tailing her or physically carrying her back to the office. But before she could decide, Mrs. Byers had knelt down in front of her.

"Christine," she said softly, resting her hands on top of Christine's knees. "I know that this is scary. And I know that you care about those boys. When…When you came over to talk to me at Will's funeral, I knew…gosh, I knew that you really cared. And I knew that there was something, something else you wanted to say. But you couldn't or—or you didn't know how. But Christine, if you know where Jane is…please…she's…she's the only chance I have of getting my son back…"

It was hard to look her in the eyes. Christine ended up closing her own so she didn't have to see her.

"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Byers. I…I can't help you."

Mrs. Byers' lip trembled. Jonathan was over in an instant, helping her up and hugging her to his chest. Christine hated to see it. She hated to be the bad guy. She knew that Mrs. Byers was hurting, but desperate people did crazy things. What if she tried to give Eleven back to the lab, in exchange for help finding Will? Christine couldn't let that happen. She wanted to save Will as much as anyone, but she wasn't going to let anyone trade Eleven in.

Hopper seemed to sense what she was thinking.

"Look, kid," he said, still gruff but softer than he had before. "I know that you're trying to protect her. Maybe you think hiding her is the best chance she's got. And you've done good so far. I'll give you that. You kids have to be damn smart if they haven't found you yet. But this is the United States government we're talking about. This is the Army. These are soldiers and scientists who have complete control over this town, so I need you to believe me when I say that it is only a matter of time until they find her."

He got off of his desk, grabbing a different article and placing it into her lap. He squatted down next to the chair, and tapped the picture. It showed a group of people in hospital gowns, all thin with sunken eyes. There was a doctor on the right, standing tall and proud. Dr. Brenner, if she had to guess. He wasn't scared like he patients. He even looked happy.

"I've been inside this lab," Hopper said softly. "I've seen where they were keeping her. Tiny room with no windows, one lamp, one bed. I know what living like that does to a person. I know the kinds of things they do in places like that. And I promise you, I am not gonna let any kid go back to a prison like that. But you gotta give me something. Cause if we don't get to her first, that's exactly what's gonna happen. You can't do this alone."

Christine stared down at the picture. She knew Hopper was right. There was no way she could protect Eleven alone. What was she going to do? Stand between Eleven and the entire US government with three twelve-year-olds and a rusty hammer? Keep Eleven locked in her room and hope her dad never went in to clean it? She didn't even know where Eleven was. Just that she'd been with the boys at the quarry. And it felt like time was running out.

She didn't want to break her promise. She didn't like the idea of telling anyone about Eleven, let alone a cop. There was no way for her to know if he was telling the truth, or if Hopper was just another state plant trying to find Eleven for himself. Christine didn't know how Jonathan and Nancy were involved, but Joyce Byers…that was something else. She was a mother. If anyone could have compassion for a scared and abused kid, it was a mother who'd lost her son. If Joyce Byers was going up against the government to get her son back, she needed all the help she could get. And so did Christine.

"I don't know anyone named Jane," she said, passing the article back to Hopper. "We just call her Eleven."