The morning of Will's funeral, Nancy and I get dressed in silence, taking turns in front of the mirror in her bedroom to check on the status of our appearance. I can feel Nancy occasionally darting glances at me when she thinks I'm not looking. Almost like she thinks I am a hairsbreadth from falling apart completely. And maybe I am. I can't seem to get warm, and as I fiddle with the buttons of my dress, my hands are shaking.
I'm trying not to remember getting ready for Sara's funeral. Feeling so alone, because my dad is too busy trying to keep himself together, and my mom is too busy falling apart, and I have somehow been lost in the ether…
It's hard not to give into the resurgence of that feeling. To let myself disappear beneath its weight. The thought is far too tempting, and honestly, the only thing preventing me from giving into it completely is my knowledge that I need to be here for Jonathan. To be in the present, for Eleven and Mike and the others after the funeral.
I can't let myself get distracted. Not now, anyway.
Nancy's eyes are drilling into me again, and I allow a soft sigh to escape before giving up on the unruly strand of hair that keeps falling over my shoulder, turning to face her not long after, and lifting a brow as she scrambles to make it look as though she hasn't been staring at me all along.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Nancy, you've been giving me the side eye every ten seconds since we woke up. What is it?"
"I just—I'm worried for you," Nancy admits, ignoring my narrowed eyes, her hands smoothing down the skirt of her own dress as she moves over to perch on the edge of her bed, "With everything that's going on—"
"I'm fine."
"Cami, c'mon, you don't actually expect me to believe that, do you?"
"I'm not the one we should be worried about, here," I persist, turning in front of the mirror to ensure the back of my dress hasn't picked up any wrinkles since stowing it in my bag to bring to Nancy's the night before, "I'm not the one that just lost my brother."
I can tell Nancy wants to say I've known similar loss. That she is all but determined to believe Will's funeral will drag me back down memory lane whether I want it to or not. But wisely, she remains silent, standing and heading over to the mirror to stand beside me so that she can double check the clean lines of her lipstick.
She blots her lips again and then turns toward me, her expression still the very epitome of concern before she is reaching out to place both hands on my shoulders to deliver a gentle squeeze.
"We've—we've got this. Right?"
"We've got this," I repeat, the words lacking any particular form of certainty, though whether Nancy realizes that or not, I honestly cannot tell. Before either of us can say anything further, Mrs. Wheeler is knocking on the door, a soft smile pulling at her lips as she looks from Nancy, over to me, with a tremulous smile.
"You girls—you look—beautiful."
"Th—thanks, Mom."
Mrs. Wheeler turns to me, next, walking part of the way into the room, and coming to a stop in the center of the soft carpeting before speaking again.
"Camille, would you be up for staying the night again tonight?"
"Oh. I—well I don't know if my dad—"
"I've already spoken to him. He mentioned something about working late, and seemed to agree when I thought you shouldn't be out at that trailer all on your own."
"Oh," I murmur, managing a nod, and wondering if I shouldn't just accept this minor change in plans despite my own misgivings. I can still feel the lingering tension between Nancy and I, buried beneath the surface of our seemingly cordial mood. There are still so many things going unsaid about Barb. Steve. Everything that has happened in the last few days alone. But as much as I don't particularly want to face those things, I'm also more than a little reluctant to be completely alone while my dad is off doing God only knows what.
That, and staying with the Wheelers will give me a plausible excuse for being with the boys and Eleven later on.
"That would—that would be really nice, Mrs. Wheeler. Thanks."
She nods, and then turns to leave the room once again, the set of her shoulders seeming almost dejected despite her best efforts to keep up appearances. And I catch myself feeling a flare of pity for her as a result. Pity for a mother who is probably seeing Will's death, and envisioning Nancy's or Mike's, instead.
I frown, but then she is turning back to Nancy and I from her position just outside the door, her eyes glancing over both of us for a moment or two with something unreadable passing across her features so quickly I almost question ever seeing it at all.
"Would either of you want to borrow a pair of black shoes? I have a few I honestly never wear, and—"
"We're fine, Mom. Really."
"Speak for yourself, Nance," I correct, sending her mother a faint smile, and stepping forward to follow after her as she turns to head down the hall toward her own bedroom in response, "I never say no to the opportunities to wear better shoes than the ones I actually own."
I am aware of Nancy's skeptically raised brow, but I ignore it, somewhat pleased to see that for whatever reason, my response has removed some of the weariness from her mother's frame. And although I try my best to shove the thought from my mind as soon as it comes, I cannot help but wonder…
How different would things have been if I could have done the same for my own mother? If I had been old enough, when Sara died, to just instinctively know how to fill the void that eventually drove her to leave my father and I behind? Could I have saved their marriage? Would we all still be together, today?
I shake my head to rid myself of such thoughts before they can fully take over, and follow Mrs. Wheeler into a bedroom at the end of the hall, Nancy's footsteps moving behind me and giving me something else to focus on instead.
The fact that, at least for this moment, I am not alone.
…
I gravitate towards Jonathan almost as soon as we arrive at the cemetery, and we stand huddled together, arms wound tightly around one another as though we are the only two there at all. I can feel him shaking slightly, the fabric of my dress resting against my shoulder slightly dampened with tears he cannot seem to keep at bay. But I don't say anything. I can't, because my throat is too clogged with my own emotion to do me much good.
We both seem to know that now isn't going to be a suitable time for words, anyway, both of us content to simply exist, knowing the other is close, but of course this is Hawkins. We're about to witness a little boy's funeral.
And we are very much not alone.
"Camille."
I tense as soon as I register the familiar voice, and I can feel Jonathan's arms tighten around me for a moment before he removes them completely, stepping back so that I can turn to face his father head-on.
"Mr. Byers."
"I was wondering when you would turn up."
"Dad—" Jonathan warns, his arm brushing against my own as he moves to stand at my side, "Don't."
"It's fine," I assure, though even from my perspective, my tone is far from convincing, "Yes. I'm here."
"Your old man still Chief?"
"How is that relevant?"
"It's not. It's just my dad being an ass," Jonathan quips, sending his father a scathing look that forces me to bite into the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking, "Leave her alone."
"Just a simple question, kid."
"Oh, well, if we're going in for simple questions, are you still dating that girl who's barely nineteen?"
The question is out before I can stop it, and I know it is hardly appropriate, but somehow, in light of knowing how awful Lonnie is to Jonathan—to Joyce—even to Will—I can't entirely persuade myself to care. And even when Lonnie's eyes narrow a bit in response to the inquiry, I still refuse to back down, my expression almost challenging despite the small voice at the back of my mind that urges me to just let it go.
"That's none of your business."
"But whether my dad is still Chief or not is yours?"
Jonathan's hand grabs for my own, the impact causing me to flinch a bit because I am so focused on his father that I am not expecting it at all. But that simple contact grounds me. Douses some of the flames of my frustration, because I cannot seem to remain silent and just tolerate Lonnie Byers' presence here, when he walked out on his family without ever looking back.
Another pang of guilt steals over me because once again Jonathan is taking care of me when he should be the one people are worried about. But I don't have a chance to try and rectify any of that, because in seconds I am being pulled into another embrace, Joyce's arms squeezing tightly around me until I am forced to bite my lip to keep the resurgence of tears at bay.
"Oh Sweetie, thank you. Thank you for being here."
Her tone almost seems to indicate there would be any scenario in which I wouldn't actually be by her side—by Jonathan's side—at a time like this, and I can't help but think it has something to do with the asshole still standing nearby. But I don't say anything about that. I don't even look back at Lonnie when Joyce finally pulls away.
Instead, I reach for Jonathan's hand and give it a small squeeze before ducking back to stand beside Nancy, Mike, and their parents instead. It isn't that I don't think Joyce or Jonathan would want me with them in the front, by Will's grave. Far from it.
Rather, I don't want to give Lonnie any more of an excuse to be an ass than he already has simply by existing, so I hang back, watching Will's casket. Trying not to focus on how small it is. On the lurch of guilt and dread and grief at the thought of it eventually lowering into the ground.
I feel Nancy at my side, her shoulder occasionally brushing against my own, and I latch onto that with everything I have, because if I don't, it will be only too easy to feel as though I am standing beside another grave altogether.
…
After the funeral, I make my excuses to Mrs. Byers. To Nancy and Jonathan. Mrs. Wheeler. I skirt around the rest of the funeral-goers, carefully avoiding Jonathan's father, and head back to Nancy's house on my own to get my bike.
My thoughts are entirely consumed by how I am to sneak a gun from my father's room. How I will convince him to let me head back out if he is actually at home. I don't have a clue about any of it, but that doesn't quite lessen my determination, regardless.
That determination is somehow keeping my mind from any real contemplation of Will's death, such as it is. Of how it reminds me of Sara's.
All things considered, even as my toes pinch together as a result of my hurried footsteps in Karen Wheeler's shoes, I would be a fool to look that particular gift horse in the mouth.
Doing my best to shove any lingering thoughts of Sara to the back of my mind, I shift my focus instead to the evening ahead, wondering, not for the first time, exactly how in the hell I allowed myself to be roped into all of this to begin with. Because it is insane. It has to be. Parallel dimensions? Demogorgons? Kids with superpowers?
None of it should be possible, but I know, somehow, that it is. In spite of all of my hopes to the contrary, it is.
And I will be damned if I let a group of innocent kids wander into something like that alone, superpowers or no.
There it is. Determination again. And I suppress a snort as I continue walking down the side of the road, my arms folding across my chest to ward off a sudden gust of wind that sends goosebumps dancing along my skin, a wince passing over my features as I feel a blister beginning to form between my pinky toe and the edge of Karen Wheeler's shoe…
"Ow—"
"Hey, Hopper! Need a ride?"
The voice effectively startles me out of my musings, and I turn to face where I believe it came from, one brow automatically rising skyward as I recognize a familiar head of wild brown hair hanging out of the driver's side window of an approaching van. And I deliberate for a moment over whether or not I should acknowledge Eddie at all, because my feet are already throbbing. But I also know I can't exactly explain to him why I am stealing a gun from my father. Why I am carting that gun back to the Wheelers' house.
Maybe I can hide the gun. Accepting a ride will get me to where I need to be faster, that's for sure…
The decision is made in a split second, and before I can rethink it, I toddle over the pavement as best I can, and clamber up into the passenger seat of Eddie's van, the heels Nancy's mother gave me quickly kicked off so that my toes can flex a bit and celebrate their temporary freedom.
"Where to, milady?"
"Home."
The tires screech a bit as Eddie peels off in that direction, and I catch myself hastily snapping the seatbelt into place, the snort he gives in response prompting me to break the momentary silence with little to no hesitation at all.
"You do realize who you're driving around right now, don't you?"
"Well, unless you're a body snatcher, I'm pretty sure you're Cami Hopper," Eddie replies, grinning so broadly that I am unable to resist a small laugh, even in spite of the small flare of alarm I feel as he leans over towards me to lower his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, and the van veers slightly towards the edge of the road in response, "You're not a body snatcher, are you?"
"Oh, because if I was, I would totally admit it to you right off the bat."
"Fair point. Guess that question will just have to go unanswered, then."
"I guess it will," I confirm, allowing myself to breathe a faint sigh of relief as Eddie steers the van back to the center of our lane, "So you don't care that you're driving like a crazy person with the Chief of Police's daughter as your passenger?"
"You plan on telling your dad I drove you anywhere in the first place?"
I sigh because I can tell Eddie already knows my answer, his amusement almost palpable as he continues flicking the occasional glance my way. And I can't help the fact that my own amusement bubbles up to meet it, even in spite of the circumstances, my shoulders shaking with exasperated laughter as Eddie navigates a sharp right turn on what feels like only two wheels.
"You're impossible, you know that?"
"So I've been told, Hopper. So I've been told."
"So you um—you went to Will's funeral?"
Eddie seems to sense the hesitation behind the question, and I carefully avoid looking him in the eye, my attention instead drifting out of the passenger side window of the van while I wait for his reply. I hope I haven't somehow offended him, but since he isn't screeching over to the side of the road to kick me out of the van, I decide to take that as a sign that my worries are unfounded.
Something Eddie only proves with the next words out of his mouth.
"My uncle and I were uh—part of one of the search parties," He explains, and I risk a peek over at him from the corner of my eye while I wait for him to go on, "Guess I just wanted to—I don't know—get closure, or something."
"Makes sense."
"You okay with all of it?"
I frown as soon as the real meaning of Eddie's inquiry sinks in, and my gaze drifts back out of the window in seconds. And I know Eddie isn't using the word 'okay' as it might seem on the surface. That he clearly knows there is absolutely nothing about this situation that is okay. A part of me doesn't know how to reply, and I can feel the familiar knot beginning to lodge its way into my throat in response.
But the other part still appreciates the question in and of itself. Appreciates what it means beneath the obvious that rests on the surface.
"Think I'll take your silence as a no, 'kay?"
"That sounds—that sounds good to me."
We lapse into a surprisingly comfortable silence, then, despite the awkward turn of the conversation, and I find myself marveling over that fact for the remainder of the drive to my home. It's honestly a welcome change, compared to Nancy's determination to get answers out of me. Compared to much of the same from my father. Eddie almost reminds me of Jonathan in that way, not pressing for more detail unless I want to divulge it myself.
The difference between them, at this particular moment, just stems from a lack of any real responsibility I feel to keep my own thoughts muted for fear of appearing insensitive to my best friend's plight, and although a pang of guilt snakes its way through me over the thought, I find that I am grateful for it, nonetheless.
"Your dad. He uh—he gonna be home when we get there?"
"Actually, I—I don't know," I confess, looking back to Eddie, half-expecting him to show some clear sign of having second thoughts, but to my surprise, his expression remains unchanged as he manages a singular nod, "You don't have to do this if you don't—"
"Nah, I'm committed now."
"You're sure?"
"Just as long as you get between us if he comes out toting a gun."
I can't help but laugh at the statement, and Eddie joins in not long after, another flare of relief moving through me whether I feel I am truly deserving of such a thing or not. And as Eddie finally navigates the van onto the narrow dirt driveway that leads to the trailer I share with my father, I notice with surprise that my dad's truck is already gone…
It is that realization that gives me the boldness to even consider imposing on Eddie's kindness again, my lips pursing together for a moment before I turn to him with one hand already preparing to open the passenger side door.
"Do you—do you think you could maybe—stick around for a second? I just need to—to get changed, and then—"
"Somewhere else you need to be?"
"Yeah. But if—if you don't have time, it's—"
"Hopper, relax. It's fine," Eddie assures, sending me what I suspect is meant to be an encouraging smile, the gesture giving me enough courage to open the door of the van, and hop down onto the driveway after hooking Mrs. Wheeler's heels on the ends of my fingers as a result. Fully expecting Eddie to stay in the car, I pad up to the door of the trailer, ignoring the occasional sting in the soles of my feet as a stray rock pricks at my skin.
I don't even realize Eddie is not all that far behind me, having hopped out of the van and left the driver's side door open, until I unlock the door, and get the first glimpse at the utter chaos inside, alarm rooting me to the spot as I take in what I can only describe as absolute destruction.
From what I can see, every lightbulb in the place has been removed, empty fixtures littering the walls—the lamps on tables, and even the large floor lamp beside the couch. Some of the furniture is overturned, and what little remains in its original position still bears signs of tampering, the cushions either littering the floor, or spewing stuffing from jagged cuts in the fabric keeping the material inside. For a moment, I wonder if whoever did this is still in the trailer. I wonder if it might not be smarter to have Eddie take me to my dad at the station, rather than returning me to Nancy's home. But just as soon as the thought comes to mind, I am distracted from it, the sound of Eddie's voice coming from just over my shoulder causing me to jump, and nearly reward him with an elbow to the gut before I realize he is no real threat at all.
"Jesus Christ, Hopper, I think you might have been robbed."
"Who the hell would want to rob—" I begin, my voice trailing off as I notice a pad of note paper perching precariously on the table beside the door, my eyes widening as I recognize that the haphazard markings spreading across it are, in fact, my father's untidy scrawl. I am aware of Eddie hovering behind me, but still I stoop to pick up the notepad, my brow furrowing as I read the hasty scribble strewn across the page…
Camille—
Don't stay here. Don't speak. Find a friend to stay with.
Will explain as soon as I can.
—Dad
"Stay. Here," I hiss at Eddie, barely sparing a second glance at his incredulous look before stepping inside and firmly slamming the door in his face. I cannot explain the certainty that spreads through me as I dart down the hall and into my bedroom for a change of clothes. The certainty that this has something to do with what took Will. With Eleven. With what I am about to do with the kids later this very day.
As I hurry to change into a pair of slightly worn jeans, ratty tennis shoes, and an oversized sweater, praying that Eddie won't decide I am taking too long, and come in searching for me as a result, the thought hits me. Given the state of the house, and his note, my dad may have already taken the gun he keeps locked in the safe in his room.
I practically jog into his room, landing on my knees on the floor in front of the safe. I ignore the twinge in my gut as I twist the dial to the numbers that correspond with Sara's birthday, and wrench the heavy door open.
For a moment, I simply stare at the gun still resting inside as though I expect it to disappear right before my eyes. But it doesn't. It remains exactly where it is.
I reach for it on autopilot, feeling the steady weight in my hand. I make sure to stow it carefully in the messenger bag hanging over my shoulder, and grab a few extra cartridges as well.
I truly don't know what to expect from any of this, but the nagging sense of apprehension that has been haunting me all day only seems to be growing, my lips settling into a hard line of determination as I zip my bag closed, and stand to head back to the front door.
Eddie is still standing where I left him, his eyebrow popping up as I brush past him, and hurry down the porch steps back to the van. A part of me knows that he has to be brimming with questions. Questions I know I can never answer. But another part of me is grateful I don't have to stomach the journey back to the Wheelers' on my own. Grateful I didn't come home to—this—alone.
I slide back into the passenger seat, clutching my bag so tightly my knuckles turn white, and as Eddie starts the van up again, occasionally darting almost worried glances my way, I send a silent prayer skyward that I have not made the biggest mistake of my life.
And more importantly, that I haven't inadvertently risked Eddie's safety by having him with me, as well.
…
Hello there, my darlings! And welcome (finally!) to a new chapter in Cami's tale! I am so sorry it has taken me this long to upload another installment, and I know this is something of a filler chapter as well. But I hope that it isn't too disappointing, regardless? I promise, more action is coming, and I am so very excited to work Cami even further into the plot than she already is!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far! And special thanks to last chapter's reviewers: ThimbleKisses, REOspeeddragon, and Crystal-Wolf-Guardain967 for leaving such lovely encouragement the last time around! I truly do appreciate the support and I can only hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the last!
Until next time, my loves…
MOMM
