Voice after complaining voice was what the entire afternoon beheld. Whether it was someone calling — and complaining — about a missing bike or reporting a rat infestation, Callahan and Powell asking her where they needed to go, or Hopper moaning and groaning about the coffee being all gone, she was there for it all. Their normally slow afternoon turned on its head, upside down and crazy, into a near madhouse, and her patience was wearing thin.
Flo told her it was normal. A rush of calls — whether big or small — would usually come in after school or early in the morning. This time though, all of them were complaints, and because the guys knew almost everyone in this town, they weren't dealt with happily — rather like arguments between grumpy neighbors that when on forever, never seeming to reach their end. There weren't many policemen in Hawkins, to begin with. Hopper dealt with a lot of it himself — Callahan and Powell when he wasn't there — . . but Rowen had to deal with listening, biting back her tongue, writing down a report no matter how rude the person was or how crazy it might've been. To put it simply: nothing was dealt with happily by any of them and, over the course of the day, her once 'okay' mood began to tumble downhill until she was left begging for a break.
But the calls kept on coming and now she was trying to get out the door so Max wouldn't be left at school.
Hopper shook his head. "No, the phone is ringing off the hook. I need you here right now."
"Hopper, c'mon! I won't be gone for that long."
"I can't let you take a police car by yourself. You're not a cop," he pressed, the pair of them walking quickly, impatiently. Rowen reached the coat rack first, turned to face him.
"I'll go get my stepsister and come right back. I'll be gone for . ." her hands waved around, ". . ten minutes at the most."
He gave her a look, unconvinced by the time estimate.
Impatient, she returned his look in equal measure. "I'm not letting her skate down the road alone for half an hour. She doesn't even have a key to get into the house!"
Silence.
"Please," she begged.
More silence.
Powell and Callahan came in, the later disappearing to the back room while the former plopped behind his desk.
Then, Hopper sighed. "You know what . ." He swiped his coat from the rack, rummaging through his pocket until he pulled out a set of keys, tossing them to her. "Take my car."
She caught the keys, twirling the metal around in her hand.
"I'll take the cop car," he added.
"Isn't your SUV a police car too?"
"Technically . . It isn't an actual police car. You can drive it without people looking at you like you're insane."
She huffed. "I think you're being a little overdramatic."
His chin tilted down. "I dunno how things worked in California, but around here, an eighteen-year-old driving a police car isn't normal."
A ring from her desk interrupted whatever quip that was beginning to cross her mind. She left Hopper to look for his hat, moving to answer the jittering phone. "Hawkins Police Department, this is Rowen."
"What the hell did you do to my car?!" Billy's voice screeched into her ear.
She flinched. "Ow! Eardrums!"
"I don't give a shit about your hearing. What did you do to my car?" he hissed.
"What are you talking about?"
"It overheated in the middle of the goddamn road!"
"Billy, I don't have time to talk right now —"
But he kept going, "I had to pull over, and now it won't even start. What the hell do you do to it yesterday?"
"I didn't do anything to your stupid car!" she snapped. Of all the times, she had to deal with his pissy attitude now.
"Well, you were the last person who had it before me, so either I have a ghost or you did something to mess it up."
"Ha ha . ." she mock-laughed. "It was fine when I was driving it. I didn't do anything to it."
"Then explain why I'm stuck at a payphone with a broken-down car and a pissed-off date."
"You probably did something to it this morning. You know? When you left me at home," she spat.
She could hear him scoff. "Don't give me that shit."
"Uh, no. I think I will . ." she retorted. "Why the hell are you calling here anyway? Call for a tow truck or something."
"I already did. It's gonna take them forever to get here. Get one of your police buddies to help us out."
'My police buddies?' she mouthed, an incredulous look on her face.
"Ro!"
"I'm not getting 'one of my police buddies' to help you out."
"You will if you don't wanna get ratted out," he threatened.
"Huh, really?" she stood straight, challenging. "Okay then. If you rat me out then I will blab about how you left Max at school so you could go on a date."
The line went silent for a moment.
"No, you won't."
"Yeah, I won't. And you won't either because we both know what would happen."
He said nothing.
She groaned. "Look, I don't care who the hell you have with you right now. I'm not going out of my way to help you just so your ego's saved. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go pick up the stepsister you abandoned."
The phone was hung up with a slam before she could fall victim to more of his angry rambling.
Hopper never left his place near the coat rack, having heard the whole thing. "Was that the 'better than thou' brother?" he asked, securing the fedora hat onto his head.
She gave him a look as if saying 'no shit', sighing loudly. "And now I gotta go get my 'sassier than thou' stepsister."
His brow raised. He watched as she began to head for the front door.
"Woah, woah, woah, hold up . ." Hopper pointed to the pile of police coats once she turned around. "Take a coat. You're gonna freeze out there with that jacket of yours."
She shrugged. "I'll be fine," she said, even though she knew she would not.
"You were shaking when you got into my car this morning. I'd say otherwise." He waved her over.
Rowen grumbled, trudging over to the sea of coats as he passed her, went out the door. She didn't want to take someone else's coat, knowing it would either one: smell, or two: piss the owner off if they discovered it was gone. Personally, she was concerned about the smell . . but she was on a timetable, too. And Hopper was right. She was still shaking under Hawkins's cold temperatures.
Begrudgingly, she settled on a coat with a familiar name across the front, only finding out that the sleeves were too long when she shrugged it on — as was the entire coat, really. She unbuttoned the ends, rolling them up.
"Callahan, I'm taking your coat!" she yelled into the back room.
Hands stuffed into the pockets, she headed for the front door. Rowen stepped out quickly, yanking open the door to Hopper's SUV as she climbed in, slamming it shut harder than intended. The keys were jammed into the ignition before she could think twice about it. She buckled her seatbelt, ready to pull out of the lot . . . but then the radio blared, and she jumped. Rowen was welcomed by the lyrics 'you don't mess around with Jim'. She rolled her eyes.
Her gaze trailed to the watch on her wrist. 3:15 . . Great. She was already late. Rowen pressed her foot on the gas, propelling the car down the streets.
Kids were still walking along the side of the road, which made her relax a little, knowing Max wouldn't be the only one there . . . but it didn't stop the pounding she felt near her temples. She wasn't sure if it was because of the people she spoke to, the complaints that she had to deal with, Billy's unwanted outburst over the phone, or if it was all of those rolled into one.
People were either yelling at her or yelling near her all day and, with the way it began to hurt, her head was telling her it was nearing the point of too much.
When the middle school came into view she parked the SUV, climbed out a little faster than she intended. The parking lot was nearly free of cars when she got there, the same way the area around the back entrance was free of kids. Rowen shut the door before leaning against the side, placing her hand on her forehead. The pounding was very obvious now.
Nevertheless, she pushed her feet forward. A groan escaped her lips. She forced herself along anyway, moving at a pace that had been a little too fast for what — or who — she almost ran into. Rowen nearly fell back on the concrete once a head of dark curls came into her peripheral vision.
She gasped, as did the girl in front of her, both stumbling back in opposite directions.
A girl about Max's age stood still with her mouth hung open, staring at Rowen with wide eyes, almost like she got caught in an act. Rowen almost thought her face was frozen in that expression until her attention trailed over to the SUV next to them.
Rowen followed her gaze before trailing her own back to her. "You okay?"
The girl's gaze jerked back to her. She looked lost — dazed, even, nodding vigorously.
"Are you waiting for your parents?" Rowen tried.
She didn't know what to ask besides what any normal adult would. The girl was at school, alone, wide-eyed, and didn't talk — so far . . . but a shake of the head debunked that thought. Rowen forgot about Max in that moment.
The silence between them left the girl to look over to the SUV once again. "Hopper's truck."
Rowen's brow raised. "Uh, yeah. It is . . Do you know him?"
"Where is he?"
She stared at the younger girl for a moment, wondering, but still answering, "He's at the Merril farm, I think. He's working."
The girl's gaze trailed back over to her, mouth opening. "Do you . . know him?" She was hesitant.
"Yeah, I work for him."
"Don't tell him I was here," the girl uttered quickly. She looked almost desperate, the cautious expression on her face shifting into a pleading one.
"Why not?"
"He'll . . he'll be mad."
Rowen said nothing, wheels turning in her head. Hopper never mentioned having a daughter . . . Maybe she's his niece? Friend's daughter? It had to be one of those things.
"Are you guys family?" Rowen tried.
"He . ." the girl paused, thinking. ". . looks after me."
Rowen began to understand. "Is that why you don't want me to tell him?"
The girl nodded, looking down at her shoes — shoes which seemed a little too big. Rowen fiddled with the keys in her hands, pressing her lips in a thin line. That feeling of worry panged in her stomach again, even if the girl looked fine. She wasn't breathing heavily, she didn't have any bruises or cuts. She was nervous, but only that nervousness that Rowen recognized and used to feel herself.
There was still a lot she didn't know, and honestly wondered if she should know . . . but the girl looked alright. She was in one piece . . and Hawkins wasn't dangerous, right? Save the heavy silence that blanketed its woods, the disappearances that happened last year . . She wasn't sure.
"How about this . ." Rowen eventually said. "I'll promise not to tell him if you pinky promise me that you'll get home safe."
The girl's brows drew together. "Pinky promise?"
Rowen blinked. "You don't know what a pinky promise is?"
She shook her head.
What thirteen-year-old didn't know what a pinky promise was? Rowen tangled with her words. "It's like . ." she paused, bit her bottom lip. ". . It's like a really important promise. You wrap your pinkies around each other and swear you'll never tell whatever it is you promise not to. Like a pact."
"A pact?"
"Yeah, like an agreement."
"Like . . friends don't lie?"
A smile crept onto Rowen's face. "Yeah . ." she nodded, holding her pinky up. "Now, will you pinky promise me?"
The girl stared down at her hand, hesitating.
"I won't bite, I promise," Rowen assured her.
A hint of a smile came across the girl's lips. She nodded, walking forward. Her smaller pinky wrapped around Rowens. "Pinky promise."
"My lips are sealed, then," Rowen said, stepping aside.
The girl nodded, and she did move eventually, clunking away in the shoes that just barely stayed on her feet . . . But when she came to the road, she stopped to turn back around. She gave Rowen a small wave — one which Rowen returned.
"And hey!" Rowen called, catching the girl's attention. "Watch out for cars, okay?"
The girl nodded, and Rowen turned away with a sigh. She hoped that she hadn't just made a terrible decision.
At the moment, there was no one there but them. She expected a couple of high schoolers to show up eventually, given a handful of cars were still sprawled out behind her . . . but there was no one near the middle school. If anyone was inside, there was no sign of it. Rowen didn't want to jump to conclusions and think that Max was sitting somewhere in the school all alone. For one, that was the least Max thing to do . . . but after turning her gaze away from the girl who she just introduced the concept of pinky-promising too, Rowen couldn't help but feel a chill crawl up her spine.
It made her turn around, wanting to confirm that the girl was still walking away; that someone didn't show up and kidnap her or anything.
Shit . . . The girl was gone.
She felt her stomach drop. Rowen knew the thought that popped into her head was more impossible than possible. She tended to overthink things when her surroundings got too quiet, nevermind when she ran into a kid that was there one minute and gone the next. Still . . . she really hoped that a kidnapper didn't show up while she had her back turned. She surveyed the woods that lied to the left of the school, looking for a head of dark curls and oversized wool coat . . . But she saw nothing. Nothing but the high school building, a scarce number of cars, and dead foliage among trees that were beginning to lose their leaves.
"WILL!"
A yell broke her out of her confusion. She narrowed her eyes. Dustin?
"Will!"
She heard another yell, recognizing her stepsister's voice this time.
"Max!" she called back, walking towards the school. One of the double doors were yanked open, she saw, once she reached the blue exterior. Rowen came stepped into a white-walled entryway. She began to walk down one of the halls, listening for footsteps or another voice to shout out.
"Max!" she called out again.
Nothing. Her eyes rolled dramatically.
She didn't have time for this.
"MAX!" she tried again, louder.
Footsteps suddenly trudged down one of the halls, revealing both her stepsister and Dustin.
"Rowen?"
She looked between the two. "What's going on? I heard you guys yelling from outside."
"We're looking for my friend," Dustin told her.
"Yeah, I could hear that, but why were you shouting?"
"Well, see, I brought my — . ." he paused, hesitating. ". . pet, to school. I let him out so they could see him but Mike didn't like it and scared him off."
"Your pet?" If he meant Mews, she had some questions.
Max and Dustin shared a look. "My lizard," Dustin explained. "You know, the one you heard at my house?"
The one that makes the weird noises, she thought. "Yeah, I remember . ." Rowen shook her head impatiently. "What does this have to do with Will?"
"Will radioed us and said he found him in the bathroom, so we went to meet him there . ." Max intervened, ". . but when we got there, he was gone. Now we can't find either of them."
"You can help us find him, c'mon." Dustin waved her along, going back the way he came.
She looked over to Max, but the redhead just followed his lead.
"Hey — guys!"
Nothing.
Rowen groaned, following the two thirteen-year-olds.
"Max, we don't have time for this! I need to get back to the station."
"It'll only take a few minutes!"
"How do you know that?"
"Because we've already walked around half the school and Mike and Lucas looked through the other half," Dustin answered for her, turning the corner and shouting again, "Will!"
"Where could he have possibly gone if he isn't in the school?"
"Wouldn't we all like to know?" Dustin flung his hands up in exasperation. "WILL!"
They looked in every classroom they passed, every bathroom, every side room; but still, Will was nowhere to be found. According to Dustin, he could be pretty much anywhere on the grounds. He could be right under their noses for all they knew, hiding somewhere. He filled her in as they went. As she had expected, this Will was the same Will Byers that disappeared, and the son of Mrs. Byers — who she now knew as Joyce. He was also the kid brother of one Jonathan Byers, the same guy she met on Halloween.
With everything Will had dealt with and was still dealing with, he would often wander off. Sometimes far away from where he was originally. That didn't help with their situation, nor did it help with Rowen's impatience.
"Dustin!"
An older woman, who she instantly recognized as Mrs. Byers, appeared as they rounded another corner.
"Mrs. Byers?"
"What's going on? Where's Will?"
Dustin shrugged. "We don't know. We're still trying to find him."
The worried look on her face only intensified. "I saw Hopper's car outside. Is he here too?"
"Uh, no. I drove it here." Rowen answered, bringing the woman's attention to her. "He let me borrow it so I could pick up my stepsister."
Mrs. Byers's worry momentarily relaxed, twisting into realization. "Oh, Rowen. God, I'm sorry I didn't recognize you," she said, her face now morphed into a look of confusion. "Wait, you work for Hopper?"
"Yeah," Rowen nodded. She didn't have time to elaborate though.
A door suddenly creaked open, barreled through by another boy with a walkie-talkie in hand. "The field!" was all he said before heading back in the direction he came.
All four of them immediately followed — three worried and one wondering why she was still there. Rowen ran with them nevertheless, all the way out into the field until they came up to two other boys.
"I just found him like this!" one said. "I think he's having another episode!"
The boy who spoke had his hand on the other, and the other, well . . he stood still. His eyes were closed and his body was frozen . . like a statue. She assumed that was Will.
Mrs. Byers pushed past them, grabbing at her son's shoulders. "Will!"
No response.
She shook his shoulders, continuing to say his name. "Sweetie wake up! It's mom!" she cried . . but his eyes stayed shut. He wouldn't wake. The only response they received was the flutter of his eyelids.
Rowen stared at Will and his mother, slightly bewildered — but slightly more worried, and growing more so as every second passed. Did he always have episodes like this?
"Will, wake up! Can you hear me?" Mrs. Byers didn't know what else to do. None of them did.
"Will, please wake up!" she pleaded. "Wake up! It's mom!"
Still, nothing. But Mrs. Byers kept trying, saying his name, telling him she was there.
"It's me!"
Everyone held their breath, watching as she begged, pleaded for him to wake up. To snap out of it . . . Nothing happened. No one moved.
Until Will suddenly jolted.
Rowen forgot about the watch on her wrist, gasping as if she had been holding her breath, much like Max and the boys around them.
Will took in a deep breath, eyes flashing open as if he'd awoken from a nightmare.
"Will!" His mother let out a sigh of relief, pulling him into a hug before stepping back to check if he was alright.
"Is he okay?" Rowen asked.
No one answered her. No one said a word, actually.
Mrs. Byers placed a comforting hand on her son's back, guiding him to the school. The boys followed, then Dustin, Max . . until she followed, too. Once they were inside, the family of two disappeared and Rowen was left with the rest of the kids.
"Oh, guys, this is Rowen by the way," Dustin told them, turning towards her. His hand gestured towards his friends who resorted to awkward smiles and waves. "Rowen, this is Mike and Lucas."
She barely acknowledged them, turning her gaze to two thirteen-year-olds trailing awkwardly to the right of her as she inched closer and closer to the front door. Rowen had heard Dustin mention his friends before, sometimes in a good way, other times not so much. She knew she would probably run into them sooner or later . . . but if there was a last way she expected it to happen, it would be this.
Not only was she feeling an urge to drag Max by her hand and leave that school behind, but her brain was boggled by what she just witnessed, and now she was growing ever so close to an outburst that would more or less be thrown at clueless kids. She felt ready to get out of there so she could get back to work.
Sure, she was worried for Will's well being. Rowen had never seen anything like his 'episodes' before, not even in the slightest. What he went through, what she saw? It made her uneasy and she wanted to get away from it . . The same way she wanted to stay away from the woods . . . but, at the same time, she couldn't help but want to know that he was okay.
She didn't have time to worry, though, so her hands were stuffed back into her pockets. "Max, we need to go. I told Hopper I'd come right back."
Max looked down at her shoes, nodding. "Okay."
"We'll walk with you."
Rowen craned her neck around to see that it was Lucas who had offered. She didn't object, letting the boys follow them to the back entrance of the school. Mrs. Byers and Will appeared from around a corner, meeting them as they all walked through the double doors.
Rowen moved to trail down the steps, but before she could get too far a hand grabbed at the arm of her coat. The pull made her turn to face Mrs. Byers, a now weary expression along the mother's face.
"Hey. Could I ask you a favor?" Her voice was softer than before, almost as tired as she looked.
Rowen pushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Yeah, sure. What is it?"
"Could you tell Hopper to stop by my house tomorrow? He already knows our address, so you don't have to worry about that. Just . ." she paused. Her gaze turned away from Rowen for a moment to check on her son. Will returned the gesture, giving her an assuring nod before climbing into their car. Mrs. Byers then turned back to Rowen, drawing in a deep breath. ". . Just make sure he doesn't forget. I really need to talk to him."
Rowen stood silent for a moment, giving the mother a once over before nodding. "Of course, yeah. I'll tell him when I get back to the station."
Mrs. Byers smiled, squeezing her shoulder lightly. "Thank you."
Once she glided down the stairs with her son, Rowen and Max followed suit, drifting to the right while the family of two drifted to the left. The rest of the boys stayed back on the steps. She could hear them mutter amongst themselves.
"Two episodes in two days."
"It's getting worse."
"You think it's true sight?"
Lucas' question made Rowen glance over her shoulder. True sight? . . She looked down at her watch, grumbling. "Hopper's gonna kill me."
Max threw her a look. "I thought you said he was nice?"
"Yeah, he is. But I promised I'd come straight here and straight back. It's already been half an hour since I left so I'd say we're not exactly doing that."
"Hey, Rowen!" someone called out.
She tried not to groan . . but failed. As they walked, Rowen looked over her shoulder to see Steve, clad in gym shorts and a very sweaty shirt. She could just barely see the track team running down at the field . . but she was sure that Steve hadn't been a part of it. She faintly wondered if Billy had told her he was on the basketball team . . . She couldn't remember.
"Hey," she pushed the greeting out.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Hey, uh . . Listen, I was wondering if we could talk."
"Talk?" she echoed.
"Yeah, you know. About yesterday? What happened . ."
Rowen's eyes fell shut. "Jesus," she breathed. "Listen, can we save it for later? I don't have time."
"Well, I mean, we could. I just wanted to apologize, though —"
"Apologize for what?" she asked, impatient.
He paused for a moment. "For blowing you off," he said, as if it was obvious. "I didn't mean to walk away like that, I was just . ."
Rowen didn't bother to listen to the rest. She shook her head. "No, it's fine."
"No, it's not, I was an ass —"
"Steve, it doesn't matter. I need to go . ." but he wasn't listening. Rowen was getting frustrated, shuffling in place. "Steve —"
"What?" he almost snapped. "Listen, if you'd just let me get the words out —"
"Steve!" she snapped. He shut his mouth, stopped in his tracks. "Listen, I know you're trying to be all gentlemanly right now, but I'm trying to get back to work so I don't get fired, okay? . . I'm sorry for what I said, I'm sorry if you feel like an ass, but I don't have time to talk right now. I have to go."
Rowen walked away from him before he could say anything.
She sighed, ran a hand through her hair, searching for Hopper's keys. She found Callahan's aviators first, hooking them on the collar of her shirt, then pulled out what she was looking for. The keys dangled loudly as she picked up her pace, meeting Max, who waited near the SUV.
Rowen breathed out heavily. Her head was pounding now.
. . .
〝 𝑖𝑖.
In truth, Hopper had gone against all her assumptions of what she thought a normal boss would be. She was afraid she would have gotten in trouble for coming back late — been fired, more like it, even if that was a little ridiculous of her to believe. Rowen had been overthinking a lot lately, stressing out, feeling overly anxious over the smallest things . . yelling in people's faces.
She felt bad about cutting Steve off. She felt worse about getting back late . . She really didn't want to lose her job.
But, after letting her drop Max off at their house — and, admittedly, assuring Rowen she was fine and being late was fine — Hopper had surprised her again and offered to help her tow Billy's Camaro to a shop. For whatever reason, the tow truck he had called was not coming. Rowen wanted to groan, roll her eyes, throw something. As if Billy needed another reason to be pissed off . . . There were enough veins popping out of his temple already.
The chief opted to drive down the roads in the police car he had become quickly comfortable in . . though with the blinding red and blues, and the look on Rowen's face that sent some strange, unexpected yet completely obvious uneasiness through him, he decided against it, and took the keys to his SUV when she handed them over.
Unfortunately, Billy's sense of direction proved no use to them when the task of finding him came up. It was his memory that they had hoped they could use in order to track the blue Camaro down . . . but the thing was, Billy never bothered to pay attention to the streets he had raced down, and it came back to bite not only him, but them all, in the ass.
To say the least, it took the better part of an hour to finally find him and his date.
Heather Holloway was not a smoker, nor did she wish to be — as Rowen quickly found out when they were introduced. She was more pissed off by the fact that he was blowing a cloud of smoke around her head and less that they had gotten themselves stuck in the middle of nowhere. She was not angry as Billy claimed she was; if anything, she was all smiles once she stepped away from the smoke cloud and into some fresh air. It made sense in more ways than one that she was the cheery one of the two because, not only was Heather an optimistic person but she was used to the cold weather . . Billy was not.
Rowen almost sympathized with him . . . Almost.
She wasn't about to feel bad for making him wait in the darkness, freezing his ass off; not in the slightest. She wasn't about to offer him her nice, warm coat, either.
Within the span of a few days, Hopper seemed to have caught on pretty quickly in terms of him. He didn't offer small talk, didn't offer awkward conversation, didn't throw quips; he kept to business and managed to get one lazy tow truck driver on the payphone, made sure they were coming, really coming this time.
They came. Billy showed no gratitude.
Riding to the repair shop as a whole was a much more uncomfortable experience than Rowen would have admitted. Not that she wouldn't admit it . . she just didn't want to talk about it, the way the air hung like a wet blanket over the four of them for a solid twenty minutes in Hopper's SUV.
She felt how a dog did when it needed to shake its coat. She didn't want to talk about it.
She didn't want to talk about the way Heather couldn't take a hint, either. Rowen didn't want to say anything she would have regretted in the long run; Heather was sweet, truly . . . but, at the same time, Rowen felt so tempted to shake her shoulders and keep her from grasping at any more straws, because it was painfully obvious that she wasn't going to get anything else that night. Billy was too caught up in the state of his car to notice her attempts, and it left Rowen and the chief to awkwardly shift, keep their distance as much as possible. It was hard when the repair shop was tiny . . . but, eventually, that ended too.
The mechanic was gentlemanly, patient, almost saint-like when handling Billy. Rowen felt compelled to thank him . . but she didn't. She felt compelled to fall to her knees when Hopper said he would help take care of the cost after seeing the feather-light weight of Billy's wallet . . but she didn't do that either. Hopper didn't pull out any cash; Rowen wouldn't have known what to do if he did . . but he said a few choice words, and somehow the mechanic was convinced in giving her brother a little while before he had to pay in full.
In short, Hopper saved their asses . . . again.
Three times.
But, even with that, Heather still remained a question to be answered. Whether it be in a desperate attempt or sheer ignorance, Rowen didn't know, but Heather had assumed that the older Hargrove would leave with the chief. She assumed her date could resume, that all would go back to the way it was . . . It didn't take a genius to see that that was not going to happen. The look on Hopper's face was evidence enough.
"Listen, Heather. Why don't I take you back home, alright?" the chief offered. "Let's let these two get back."
"It's alright, chief," Billy butt in, unexpectedly, winning-smile and all. "I don't mind taking her. After all, I promised I'd get her home."
Rowen didn't hold back her snort. "Please."
Her brother gave her a look. "What?" he had to refrain from snapping.
She leveled her gaze with his. "You know exactly what," she told him. "Whatever you think you were gonna get with her, it isn't gonna happen with me in the backseat."
An awkward beat passed.
Heather threw an uneasy look at her, then Billy. "Right . ." she muttered, "I'll see you later, Billy . ." She turned to Hopper.
Hopper gave Rowen a mock salute, then followed the teen, opening the passenger door of his SUV for her.
"Thanks, chief," was what they heard Heather say before Billy stomped to his Camaro.
"You know, you're starting to become more and more like Max," he bit, yanking the car door open with a little more vigor than needed.
It was meant to be an insult, she knew that; though she neither took it as one nor felt like it was one in the slightest. Whatever opinions Billy held of Max were solely his own, and, in truth, a near-opposite to the way Rowen viewed their stepsister. If anything, when they met Max at the small age of six, wild red ponytail and all, Rowen dubbed her her protege and proudly took the snide comments; because, if she was irritating Billy, then she wasn't too far from herself. The only difference between the two was that Billy antagonized one and tolerated the other, which was why Rowen said, "Actually, I think it's the other way around. She's becoming more and more like me."
His door slammed shut. "Either way, it's spooky."
"Ah, so now you're into spooky?"
Billy refrained from slamming a hand on the dashboard. He leaned one against the wheel instead, glared at her as she slid into her seat. "Listen, I don't wanna put up with your shit right now, okay? You've done enough as it is."
Rowen gaped at him. "I didn't do anything! This was all you," she snapped, reaching for the still-open passenger door. She barely had time to close it before Billy was speeding off. He switched the knob on the radio, blasting electric guitar in their faces.
"I'm not talking about my car," he said, perusing the stations. "I'm talking about you being a pain in the ass lately."
"Since when has my usual routine been a pain in the ass to you?"
Billy settled on a song that rattled them a little less, sat back in his seat. "Since you started working for him," he said, jutting a finger behind him.
Rowen didn't have to look back to know what he meant, but she looked baffled all the same. "Hopper? What'd he do to you?" She knew exactly what he did, actually, but she hadn't thought it would steer her brother into such a negative opinion.
"Gee, I don't know. How about the extra twenty he made me pay for for a speeding ticket?" he bit again. Rowen couldn't argue with that, though she still wondered at his grumpiness. He said he was annoyed with her, after all, not the chief.
She squinted. "So, what? You're saying I'm a pain in the ass because he made you pay court costs along with the original price of your screw-up?"
"I'm saying you're a pain in the ass and he's somehow making it worse."
It felt as if it dawned on her right then and there . .
So that was it. A little more clarity began to wash over the situation, and Rowen started to feel her confusion fade into the night as if it never was. Somehow, that made complete sense. He had used this excuse with Max before — many times before, to the point of it becoming a default — when Rowen would piss him off in one way or another, and the redhead's presence during these times only edged her on, poked him further. Now he was using it with Hopper.
Wait . . actually — no. She took it back; it did make sense . . but it didn't make sense. It made sense because she knew the root cause of his mood now, but it didn't make sense because the root cause was complete bullshit. The abrasiveness of their petty sibling quarrels was always there; it had always been there, even before their mom left . . but blaming other people for what she said and did was new. Max was one thing; she was his sibling now, too — blood-related or not — and siblings, by default, had a right to annoy the shit out of each other.
But Hopper? . . Sure, he made Billy pay for a speeding ticket and didn't take his tone at the police station, but what else was he supposed to expect? Susan in a police uniform, telling everyone to quit smoking cigarettes?
Rowen wanted to shake her head at it all sometimes . . all the time.
"Well, he also talked that guy into giving you more time to pay what you owe," she told him, without any semblance of remorse, "so I guess you're just going to have to get over it."
Rowen liked to think the silences he gave her were the only way he could handle the moments when he knew she was right, when he knew he couldn't argue or bullshit his way out of it. When he was in the wrong . . When he was wrong. Billy hated being wrong more than most things and she had yet to figure out why — unless her intuition was right and he really did have something of a superiority complex. She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure because there were some instances when it wasn't about having the higher ground at all; when it wasn't about having that prideful feeling . . . Sometimes being wrong just felt shitty — in her case, at least, if not his — like she couldn't do or say anything right. Like she couldn't do anything but apologize. Always apologizing . . always, always, always —
Billy cleared his throat, shook her out of the stupor she was about to throw herself in. He looked like he hadn't wanted to say anything, but shifted in his seat and made himself say it anyway, begrudgingly, "Listen, pain in my ass or not . . Heather wanted to invite you to a party tomorrow."
Rowen blinked. "Heather? . . You mean the girl that was trying not to claw my eyes out just now?"
"Jesus, she wasn't gonna claw your eyes out. She looked at you like that because you were being weird."
She had been called weird by her brother many times in her life, whether by something she said, did, or had the audacity to wear . . But, somehow, this one felt different. It felt like a genuine insult. Rowen hid the way it had hit her.
"Weird how?" she questioned. "Weird in a 'I don't want to play third-wheel on one of my brother's dates weird'?"
"Weird as in you don't know when to keep your mouth shut. She probably won't want you to come after that."
She wanted to scoff. She did. "Then why are you telling me she invited me?"
"Because, even if she thinks you're weird now, it doesn't matter," Billy excused, as if it was the most reasonable explanation, "She's not the only one that wanted to invite you."
Yet another thing dawned on her. Her mouth turned downwards. "So this is about reputation, huh? . . Again?"
"It's always about reputation," he said.
Rowen let the side of her head thunk onto the car window, feeling the chill grab at her scalp despite the thick layer of hair between.
"So?" Billy said after a while, impatient. "Do you want to come?"
She lifted her head, dramatically placed a hand over her chest. "Do I want to come?" she echoed, faking the shock. "You're actually asking me this time?"
He ignored it. "Do you want to or not?"
Rowen dropped her act, leaned back into the passenger seat. "I can't. I'm working a late shift with Hopper."
He threw her that look again, as if she had grown two heads. "What?"
"What do you mean what?"
"You know what I mean. I mean you, giving up a party to work. Are you high right now?"
"I'm not high, Billy . . and yes, I am giving up a party to work. It's not like I have much of a say in my schedule, he's my boss."
Billy huffed. "That's never stopped you before."
"Is it that surprising that I'm not trying to ditch work?"
"Mind-blowing," he muttered. Billy began to look between her and the road. "What'd he do to you? Give you some country-boy pep talk that made you feel all righteous all of a sudden?"
Rowen squinted at him. "Your assumptions of people are amazing sometimes . ."
"You're audacity is amazing sometimes."
"Ooh, that's a big word."
He clenched his jaw again. "Shut up."
"You sure you know what it means?"
"Ro . ."
She held up her hands in mock surrender.
"Why on a Thursday, though?" she asked, going back to their original conversation. "Why not have the party on the weekend or something?"
He gave a lackadaisical shrug. "Tina's party was on a Wednesday."
"Yeah, but that was Halloween. This is . ." Rowen's hands hovered in midair, as if she was trying to grasp some understanding of the situation, "not Halloween. It's just some random ass night, right?"
He ignored her question, asked his own. "What's so special about Halloween?"
She threw her brother a bewildered look. "Billy . . it's Halloween."
"Rowen . . you're you!" he mocked.
She gave up, fell silent under the hum of the car engine. Billy's lighter clicked and lit another one of his cigarettes. The radio spewed a low tune. Rowen wanted to roll down her window, feeling the urge for a little fresh air, even if it was cold. She didn't want to disturb what seemed to be turning into a calm ride, though. Billy, for whatever reason, didn't like having his windows rolled down. She had a feeling that the cow shit had something to do with it.
"Where's it gonna be?" she asked, out of the blue.
"Why do you care? You're not going."
Rowen shrugged. "Just curious."
The former silence, filled with low tunes of rock and the muffled rumbles of the car, had dropped back over them for a moment. She figured he had chosen to ignore her . . .
But then: "It's near the edge of town," he said, cigarette between his teeth. "At some old steel mill."
Rowen scrunched her nose. She remembered Samantha mentioning a warehouse on Halloween, not liking how it sounded then . . She wondered if the steel mill had been what she was talking about.
"What's that look?" Billy asked, catching her attention. Tendrils of smoke floated from him to her, curling in front of her face.
She did a double-take. "Oh, uh . . nothing. I think someone told me that place closed down because a guy died of exposure." Rowen didn't try to hide her shiver.
But that didn't phase him. "So? It had to be a while ago for the place to look like it's falling apart. That's what Tommy said."
"And you trust Tommy?"
Billy scoffed. "I don't even trust him as far as I can throw him," he said. "But it's an excuse to go to a party. Who cares?"
Rowen refrained from telling him that she cared.
. . .