"Son of a bitch."
"Hopper!" Rowen hissed.
A huff bellowing from his mouth, he slammed his pencil on his desk, papers shifting, coffee cup rattling, spilling a bit of dark liquid onto a notepad. His hands raked through the continuously-thinning hair on his head, scrunching and tangling. Max looked at him through muffled giggles and Rowen tried to keep imaginary smoke from blowing out her ears. She didn't like that particular curse word.
"I thought you said this stuff would be easy," the chief complained.
"It's eighth-grade algebra, of course it's easy."
Hopper wheezed out a laugh, unamused. "This is not algebra, I can tell you right now. What I learned in school: that was algebra."
Dangling her legs from the chair next to her stepsister's, Max snorted. "Weren't you in school like thirty years ago or something?"
Offense, he looked at her with an overdramatic expression of offense. Hopper raised his pencil at her. "I'll have you know, kid, that it wasn't too long ago when I was a kid."
He received a chorus of giggles.
"And doing real math."
"Mr. Anderson calls what we're learning 'new math' . ." she told him, waving her hands around as her teacher had done in an attempt to make it exciting. She wasn't sure who he was trying to fool. It was math. Nothing about it was exciting.
Hopper's face looked comical. "New math?" he echoed. "There's a new math, are you kidding? You can't just reinvent math!"
"Was it different before?"
"It was easier before," he grumbled.
Rowen rolled her eyes, standing from her desk to approach his. Hopper's office reeked of smoke and coffee, a little aftershave. She crinkled her nose. It was the fragrance of the cheap product that made her do so, out of all things. She was used to the whisps of smoke twirling around her nose, trays of stubbed-out cigarettes her brother left around the house, and occasionally breathing in the smoke herself. Coffee was the same. She practically lived off of it now.
"Take a break, chief. I'll help her." She snatched Max's homework out from under him.
"No no no, hey — . ." He snatched it back. "I got this. I can figure it out."
She raised her hands in surrender, let them flop back to her sides with a pat. The sound of frustrated scribbles resumed. Feet trudged away from his desk and, momentarily, Hopper glanced up from the pile of papers to see her leave.
"You don't have to hang around the station, you know," he told her. "It's Friday night, end of the week. Go see a movie or something."
"I would if you didn't have Max's math homework."
She could hear his snort of disagreement. Hopper shook his head and said, "Not what you said yesterday."
"What?"
He cut his eyes at her. "The kid's homework. It's been here since you left yesterday."
It was? Confused, she turned around stepping over the threshold to peek out into the office. "Max, is this your homework from yesterday?"
"Yup." The redhead had her nose stuck in her journal.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I did tell you," she said, turning her head toward her. Max fiddled with the page in her hand, cluttered with creases and Rowen's messy handwriting. Her attempts at salvaging were a work in progress, but Max still liked to read them. ". . but you weren't listening. You were too busy wanting to go home."
Rowen turned her attention back to Hopper, no longer scribbling, just giving her a look that said told you so. She glared his way, but a wrinkle in his forehead replaced his expression and suddenly, he pondered, "I've never known you for wanting to go home."
"She went into our room and stayed there all night when they got back," Max said loudly.
"Max," she hissed.
"What? You did."
Now she was glaring at her stepsister.
"Something I should know about?"
Back to Hopper.
"No," she shook her head, "no, it's just . . I had a bad night. That's all."
He never asked about why she came in late . . later than she said she would. But when she threw Powell curt answers and Max sank into her chair that afternoon, he gave her a look with a little too much care for her liking. He was doing it again, now, as she stood under his doorframe.
That wrinkle in his forehead was still there, his I told you so look contorted into one of concern that made her feel weirdly compelled to tell him everything. It was that same look that had been across his face when he offered her a job, too. It made her frustrated . . she didn't like it.
"Stop looking at me like that," she ordered, quietly so Max wouldn't hear.
"Like what?"
"Like that," she said, roughly gesturing to his face, "With some weird, trusting look that makes me wanna tell you my darkest secrets."
A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Your darkest secrets?" He was amused.
"Yes. Now just . . stop it. Give me her homework." She yanked the papers out from under him again.
Quickly exiting his office, Rowen shoved the homework in Max's face, coming around the desk to grab her bag. Max watched her stuff her belongings into it, roughly, wasting no time.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," she told her, lifting her chin and loudly saying, "Chief just doesn't want my help today, that's all."
"That's not what I said . . " she could hear him drawl. He stepped over the threshold of his office. "I'm just saying it's five-thirty on a Friday. You don't have to hang around here if you don't want to."
Placing her hands on her hips, she said, "Really?"
"Really."
She blinked. "Huh . . well, I think the phone calls I got this morning from the same person would object," she retorted. Hopper scowled, and she continued, "Mrs. Byers called eight times Hopper, and there was no one else here. And you were gone all afternoon just to answer her multiple phone calls. I may be giving Flo a break, sure, but for the past few days it's felt like I've been picking up your work along with hers."
"Look, kid —"
"I'm not a kid."
Now he was glaring at her. "Rowen," he corrected, impatient.
She only stared, arms crossed.
He huffed. "Listen, what happened with the Byers, there's more to it than you think, and more than I can explain right now," he told her. "I'm sorry everything's been falling on you, but I've had other things to take care of that have been taking up my time."
Rowen wanted to mention that girl that she almost knocked over; the one that knew him. The one he looked after. She could easily throw that in his face. Hopper had been slacking ever since she started working at the police station, truth be told, and with Flo's stories of his late-morning drop-ins and early-evening disappearances, she knew she wasn't overanalyzing. Granted, he might have been having some issues with said girl. He was her guardian, or at least as far as she could guess.
She wanted to mention it . . but that girl was relying on her to keep her mouth shut. They pinky-promised.
Most people her age and older thought 'pinky promises' were complete bullshit; kids' stuff. She did too, sometimes. But promises themselves? Rowen still made one, and she was a stickler for keeping hers. So she bit her tongue, glaring at her boss until he began to move around the station. Hopper went in and out of his office, searched through a couple of desks, took Powell's untouched donut from its plate. Then he disappeared into the back.
"What are you doing?"
Her question went unheard.
Hopper reappeared with a shovel in one hand and his jacket in the other.
Her bag plopped back into her chair. "Where are you going now?"
"I gotta take care of something."
"Something?"
"Yes, something."
"Real informative of you," she deadpanned.
He gave her The Look — a name dubbed by Callahan — as he went from one end of the station to the other, collecting his hat, placing the shovel against her desk as he shrugged his coat on. "It has to do with the Byers again if you must know."
"What is it with you and the Byers?" asked Rowen, frustrated.
"There's nothing with me and them. They've been through a lot this past year, that's all."
Max made herself known with a snort. "What do you need a shovel for, then?" she asked, picking up the dirt-covered tool. "Are you helping Mrs. Byers bury a body or something? 'Cause that would be kind of ironic of you."
Hopper snatched the shovel from her much smaller hands. She received The Look now. "No . ." he told her, looking back over to Rowen, "It's just something I gotta take care of, alright? I won't be gone for hours this time."
She groaned under her breath. "Fine. I'm taking your word for it, though."
Biting through Powell's donut with muffled words, he said, "Whatever floats your boat, California . ." He swallowed, then pointed. "I'll be back. Promise."
Hopper flew out the door, welcoming Hawkins' very cold November air into the station.
"Can we go now?" the redhead asked. Max stood from her seat, skateboard under her arm with a face that was begging her to say yes.
Picking up her bag for the third time, Rowen sighed, saying. "Okay, c'mon."
"Thank you," Max breathed. The thirteen-year-old bolted for the door, stretching out her hand to push at the handle . .
RING!
She groaned.
Dropping her bag into her chair for the third time, Rowen reached to answer the phone with a, "Hold on, Max!"
"DON'T ANSWER IT!"
Rowen startled, presented with a loud voice and flurry of red hair.
"Please don't answer it, c'mon," Max begged. "Just leave it for tomorrow or something. I wanna go."
Rowen gave her a look, plucking the phone from its stand. "Hate to break it to you, but that's not how things work here," she smiled, bringing the piece to her ear. "Hawkins Police Department."
"Hello? Rowen, is that you?" a perky voice asked.
Surprised, she answered, "Oh, yeah. Hi Mrs. Henderson, this is Rowen."
"Are you working, sweetheart? I hope I'm not interrupting you. I tried calling your house but your mother said you were still at the station."
Stepmother, Rowen thought.
"I'm still at the station, Mrs. Henderson, yes. But I'm done working."
"Oh good, good," said the mother. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but is there any chance you could come stay with Dustin for the evening? Our cat disappeared yesterday and we still haven't found her, but we just got a call from a friend who saw her wandering near Lover's Lake. I'm leaving now to go look, but I probably won't be back until very late and I hate to leave Dusty all alone. He says he'll be fine, but I was wondering if you could keep an eye on him? I'll pay you for it, of course, and extra for your tutoring session tonight, since you were coming over for that already."
Rowen's mouth fell open slightly. She would get paid . . twice.
"Rowen," Max whispered, waving her hand. "C'mon."
She was hushed.
"Rowen? Are you still there?"
"Oh, sorry, Mrs. Henderson," Rowen apologized. "Yes, I can totally keep an eye on him. It's no problem at all."
"Are you sure, sweetheart? You sounded unsure there for a second. If you can't, I completely understand."
Max walked back to the desk, beginning to poke at her arm.
"Oh no, no. I wasn't unsure. My stepsister — . ." at this, she swatted at Max's head, who, despite dodging the swats, was still ushering her to hurry up, ". . just had me distracted for a second. I don't mind hanging out with Dustin for a few hours."
"Oh, wonderful. Thank you so much, dear. I'll leave the money on the kitchen counter for you to take whenever you wish. And help yourself to whatever you want while you're here. Dustin knows how to make his own dinner, so you'll have no trouble there."
"Okay. When did you want me to come over?"
"I'm leaving now, so if you could come as soon as you can, that would be great!"
"Alright. I'll drop Max off at our house and then come right over."
"Perfect," she could hear the mother practically beam through the phone. "Thank you so much, Rowen, I really appreciate it!"
"Of course." The phone was returned to its original spot. Rowen looked over to the redhead and said, "So . . . change of plans."
Max deflated. "Come on, Rowen. You promised you'd come with me to the arcade again."
Flopping her hands down to her sides, she gave her best puppy-dog face in a last-minute attempt to sway her. But Rowen, even with the tug she felt, sighed and said, "I know, but Mrs. Henderson is offering me over double what she pays me just to keep an eye on Dustin for the night."
"But can't you just . . drop me off on the way or something?"
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Rowen moved away from the desk with her stepsister in tow. "Max, if I left you at the arcade by yourself, we'd both be in trouble and you know it." Hearing her groan, she turned her head back and gave Max a sympathetic look. "Sorry, Speedster."
"It's fine," she mumbled, but her words were only for show.
Upon pushing the door open, Rowen shivered. She couldn't think amidst the cold air they stepped out into, wanting only to climb into the warmth of Billy's Camaro as quickly as possible . . . but as she flipped the keys between her fingers, unlocking the door, an idea came to her.
Looking over the hood of the car, she suggested, "Unless you'd be okay with Dustin coming with us? His mom lets him go to the arcade all the time. I don't think she'd mind if he came along."
Max gave her a look that debunked the thought. She shook her head. "No, it's okay. We can just go another day or something . ."
They both slid into the car, shutting the doors with a slam and rubbing their hands together. It was now a time Rowen wished that California weather followed them here.
Cranking the engine to life, she looked over to the redhead. "Did something happen between you and Dustin that I don't know about?"
"No — no, that's not it," Max shook her head again, brows drawing together. "It's just . . I was hoping we could hang out," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders and facing her stepsister. "Just us, you know?"
Rowen smiled forlornly. "Yeah . ." Turning in her seat, she backed the Camaro out of the station's parking lot, pulling out into the road. "We don't get a lot of that, do we?"
Max didn't utter a word, but they both knew what she would have said. California gave them time to be family, if not by blood, just by circumstance. Ever since the move, that time had been snuffed out and taken away by something they couldn't place; or rather something that wasn't really there at all. Rowen still cared about Max, but when they got to Hawkins she just . . stopped spending time with her. She kept forgetting and she couldn't find a reason as to why.
So, on the way to their house, she made Max a promise. She let her out at the curb and said that they would find a day to do nothing but whatever it is they wanted to do, and they made a point to stick to it because even with Max's permanent scowl and Rowen's busy days, that time for just them was still important.
. . .
ᖭི༏ᖫྀ
. . .
To her relief, Billy had come to the point of "I don't care if you have my car as long as you bring it back in one piece" after so many days of her taking the wheel and disappearing down Hawkins's cold, grey roads. After breaking down in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a towtruck and discovering that he had been the one responsible for his ruined date, his complaints refused to come out of his mouth and somehow never reached her ears again. She figured Hopper and what would soon be an empty wallet had something to do with it.
Being asleep already, their dad never heard a word of it. The only consequence they came to face was an unavoidable interaction with Susan which consisted of having to explain why they came home so late; in the end, it involved "driving in circles for an hour because I got lost". Rowen thought it a terrible excuse, to tell the truth . . but not even a bit of disbelief managed to show on the older woman's face and somehow, Billy was able to disappear into his room without another word of it. And Rowen was able to take his perfectly working car the next day without any questions.
She wasn't surprised he got away with it, really. Susan was always nice with them, almost saint-like in her mannerisms, assuring her husband that whatever they might've done was alright with an "it's okay, really". Rowen assumed it had always been her intention to get into their good graces by being that way . . but, even so, she never failed to be kind.
And now, on a day like today, she was glad Susan acted that way because, when asked, the stepmom was happy to pass along her whereabouts to her dad.
"Your father and I are gonna be out of town all weekend. We're leaving early in the morning, so we'll be asleep when you get back. Probably gone before you wake up, so we'll leave a note just in case you forget."
Rowen replayed the conversation in her head as she drove the familiar path to Dustin's house, thankful that they chose now of all times to escape Hawkins's bitter cold. She wouldn't have to tiptoe around her dad for yet another reason the whole weekend. She wouldn't have to at all.
Maybe, if Hopper didn't ask her to work that weekend, she could spend the day with Max like she had wanted.
Rowen wasn't sure if the chief even wanted her to come to the station on weekends yet; he probably didn't.
She was only five days in and, despite feeling as welcome as she did in such a short time, she was aware that she was still just a fill-in for Flo. It made her frown. Hopper gave her this job because she decided to cry in the police station parking lot . . That was what it was and she knew it. He felt bad for her. She saw it in his expression every single time she talked to him and saw it in the way he pretended he wasn't glancing at her wrist when she stupidly left it uncovered.
She wouldn't speak a word of her annoyances, of course; Hopper paid her well and kept her out of the house. But she worried . . What would happen when they didn't need her anymore? Hopper said it himself, Flo would murder him if he let her go.
She dismissed this thought, rolling up the concrete path that led her behind the Henderson house. Slowing down and putting the car into park, she stepped out. The garage was open, empty, meaning Mrs. Henderson had already gone.
She hoped she hadn't shown up too late. Dustin could look after himself but truthfully, with his mysterious shrieking lizard and his stories, she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he was left alone for too long. She trudged up the steps to the back door and knocked, waited. Half a minute . . two minutes . . . She wiggled the door handle. It clicked, twisted open under her grip. Rowen was presented with a very empty, very quiet living room.
"Dustin?" she called out, stepping inside.
She heard nothing but the click of the door as she closed it. There was no movement, no voice responding to hers . . . It felt strangely empty. She glanced at the food bowl on the edge of the hearth, overflowing with the cat-food Mews would never touch. She had caught the cat turning her nose up at it once.
"Dustin?" she called again. Rowen looked to her right, walking through the kitchen to the dining room. His notebook sat at its usual spot on the table, left open and abandoned next to a slice of what she hoped wasn't stale pizza. He must've started working on a few things before she got there.
She heard no response that time, either. It made her pause. Her feet carried her through the front room. She glanced out the windows to the front yard . . . Nothing. It was so quiet in that house she swore she could hear a pin drop.
Maybe Dustin decided to go somewhere after his mom left. He would've heard her if he had been in the house, or heard the car engine if he had been outside, somewhere that she didn't see. He would've heard her even if he was locked up in his room.
She stopped in her tracks when a shuffling caught her ears. Dustin wasn't that light-footed; with the openness of his house and the squeakiness of the floors, she could hear his shoes trudge from one place to the other even if the television was blaring. It sounded more like Mews who was shifting through rooms, staying out of her line of sight.
What if the cat had never left the house?
"Mews?" she cooed, walking down the hall to Dustin's room.
The door was closed as it had been the first time she stood before it. She heard no shrieking . . . but the shuffling she had caught moments ago started again, clearer as she approached.
She wondered if the little lizard Dustin spoke of so fondly had gotten himself into a bad situation with the family's beloved cat. It was an image that formed clearly in her head and it made her dread the thought of having to tell him that Mews might have eaten his friend.
So she pulled open the door and peered into the boy's room, a multitude of posters on the wall catching her eye first . . . but, when she stepped further in, her eyes widened at the sight of a broken tank. No, scratch that . . a completely demolished one. The glass was shattered and all but gone, a slimy, green goo dripping from the shards.
She heard the shuffling again. Her head jerked to the left, to a chair in the corner with shirts piled on top. At first, she thought nothing of it . . . but when she spotted blood stained on the edge and trailing down the cushions, Rowen swallowed, and her heartbeat quickened.
Quieter than intended, she said, "Mews?"
She scrunched her nose at the smell of the blood. Her head was telling her to leave, go outside and wait for Dustin, wherever he might've gone. But her curiosity peeked, and she found that her feet were already carrying her forward.
She heard grumbling this time, gulped, and stopped at the chair's edge. She peered over the back.
Not Mews, definitely not Mews.
Whether a seriously freakish lizard or some alien creature straight out of a sci-fi movie, if Rowen knew anything, she knew that it wasn't Dustin's lizard who had become lunch. Limp and lifeless, it was Mews who was dead, and she could feel bile threaten to rise up into her throat at the sight of it. The creature had its head cast down, chomping and gurgling and much too distracted to notice the wide-eyed person behind it.
Out of fear, Rowen's breathing had been shallow, but when she found herself taking in a big breath . . the creature stopped chomping, its tail twitched. Eyes widening, she watched as it turned around, slowly looking up to her with a bloody face . . . or what she assumed was a face.
Kicking into high gear and running out of there would've been the idle move, probably. But her feet no longer carried her to and fro.
She just . . watched as the creature watched her. Probably wondering if she could be lunch, just like Mews. A gurgling emitted from its throat, its head bobbed to the side. She attempted to take a step back . . but then it stopped gurgling, knelt on its front feet and let out a blood-curdling screech.
Rowen screamed, barreled backward, nearly tripped over her feet . . but she made it out of the room, shut the door immediately with a SLAM!
"Rowen!"
She tried putting as much distance between herself and what she hoped was a secure door . . though all Rowen managed to do was back herself against the one opposite to it, across the hall . . which wasn't very far. Her feet were inches from Dustin's bedroom door. She was struggling to catch her breath. It was as if her heart leaped out of her chest and her voice had gone with the scream she let loose. She didn't hear Dustin when he called her name, but when footsteps pounded against the floor and he suddenly appeared . . .
"What the hell are you doing here?!" he yelled at the sight of her.
Wide-eyed and shaky, she shouted back, "What the hell am I doing here?! What the hell is in your room?!" She had found her voice again.
Now his eyes were wide — or wider than they had been. "Uh, well . ." he hesitated. "Um . ."
"'Uh, um' what?" she snapped.
Dustin remained open-mouthed until an idea crossed his mind, and he snapped his fingers. "My journal. I'll get my journal, hold on," he said, and began to walk away.
"DUSTIN!"
He startled, walking right back. "Right, no — sorry. That's stupid, uh . . ." His eyes shut, a beat passed . . . then he let out a sigh of defeat. "Okay, I'll tell you but just . . just move away from the door first."
She stared at him, then the wood she might as well have pressed her feet against with the hall being so narrow. Irrationally thinking the creature would burst through if she moved away from it, Rowen moved slowly. The idea of standing felt weirdly foreign. Her feet were wobbly and were no longer carrying her forwards with ease like they were before. She struggled to move . . . but she did so in time, and Dustin was patient. Rowen was glaring down at him now, still frightened and trying to figure out if she was dreaming or not. Her hands were beginning to shake, and he was staring at them instead of looking her in the eye.
Now next to him, she slowly pointed towards his door, saying, "What . . the hell . . is in there?"
Dustin swallowed, raising both his hands. "Okay, I know it sounds crazy, but the thing in there . . . is Dart."
"Dart?"
"My lizard . ."
Rowen's jaw dropped. "That's your lizard?" her voice was suddenly loud again.
"Row —"
"That teeth-faced thing, that's your lizard?!"
"Yes, it's my lizard," he replied, trying to keep himself calm. "But you need to keep your voice down, okay —"
"Dustin, I just saw a freaking lizard monster whose face opens up," she argued hysterically. "I think I have a pretty good reason to be loud right now!"
Rowen pushed past him, making a b-line for the back door.
"No no no, hey! Where are you going?!"
"Where the hell do you think?! I'm getting out of here!"
Her keys jingled, her hand shook . . She was too slow to beat him to the back door. Rowen startled as he pushed himself between her and her way out, arms stretched flat against the wood, breathing out a: "You can't leave."
Giving him a bewildered look, she said, "I what?"
"You can't. Leave."
"Or what? You'll have to kill me or something?!"
Dustin gave her a look of utter disbelief and shouted, "What?! No!"
"Then why the hell can't I leave?!"
"Because you've seen Dart, which means I'll have to tell you everything now, which means you can't say a word to anyone!"
This was getting very out of hand.
"What the hell are you talking about?!" she asked, baffled. "What, so you're keeping a lizard monster in your room and now you have some secret . . what? Origin story? A club? Do your friends have these things, too?"
Rowen was growing increasingly hysterical with every second she spent in that house . . . and she was sure Dustin could see it so very plainly.
"Okay, okay. Calm down, breathe," he said, attempting to relax her. "Calm down. C'mon, just . . just sit down, and I'll explain."
But she didn't move, and he gave her an incredulous look.
"I'm not gonna murder you or anything if that's what you're thinking."
"That's exactly what a murderer says!" she hissed.
"Rowen! I'm thirteen!" he exclaimed. "I'm not gonna murder you, now pull! Yourself! Together, woman!" He shook her arms in a last attempt to knock some sense into her.
Back still against the door, he gave her a few very tense moments to calm herself. She made no move to get past him, only breathed heavily and fiddled with the keys in her hand, occasionally looking behind her towards the hall. The wheels were turning in her head, he could see.
Eventually, she threw her hands down with a huff, and said, "Fine — fine . . I'll stay. But if you're gonna tell me what the hell Dart is, you tell me everything. No bull-shit."
He nodded vigorously.
She gave in.
With a careful hand, the thirteen-year-old dragged her by the arm, guiding her to his mom's favorite chair. Her face told him that she was struggling to keep her composure — clearly — and with the way she was talking, it made him think that she was inching towards a nervous breakdown . . or something like that.
She plopped down onto the cream-colored cushion, bopping her knee, biting her lip. She wrapped one armhole over the other, hiding her hands in her shirt like he would when it was cold. But she wasn't cold. She was shaking.
Her shoulders shrugged, and shakily, she said, "So . . other than the fact that you're harboring a freaking sci-fi monster, what's there to explain?"
"Its uh . ." he laughed nervously, rubbing the side of his neck, ". . it's kind of a long story."
"Well, your mom asked me to keep an eye on you, so I've got all the time in the world," she said, stressed and increasingly anxious with every second he kept his mouth shut.
"Wait, hold on . ." Dustin gave her a look, pointing a finger at her. "My mom called you?"
"She didn't tell you?"
"No!" he exclaimed, flinging his hands up and turning on his heel.
Rowen's eyes widened once more, watching him go. "No no no Dustin, where are you going- Pleasedontleavemeherewiththatthing," she pleaded.
"I'm just going to the kitchen!" she heard him call. "Jesus . ." was all she heard before his words became a fit of mumbling and grumbling.
A few seconds, then, "Of course!" She heard Dustin groan, then stomp back into the living room. "Of course. I knew that money couldn't be for me to order pizza or something. It was way too good to be true."
Rowen paid no attention to his rambling, eyes glued to the hall, hands still trembling.
SNAP!
She jumped at his fingers snapping in her face. "What?"
He stared at her. "Okay, no offense, but you're gonna have to pull yourself together if I'm gonna explain everything to you."
"You . . you're kidding, right?" she bit. "After what just screeched in my face?"
"Okay, okay . ." he said, hands raised defensively. Dropping his head with a huff of defeat, Dustin plopped his arms to his sides. After a moment of thought, he lifted his head back up, saying, "Listen, I get it. You just saw something . ." he threw his hands out, ". . super crazy, but if I'm gonna explain all of this to you — and I'm gonna have to explain this to you . . I'm gonna need you to keep it together."
"But —"
"But nothing, Rowen," he interrupted. "I'm serious. This is serious."
"Butwhatifhecomesout?" she whispered, pulling her hands out of her sleeves and gesturing them frantically.
"He's not gonna come out," Dustin assured her. "Trust me, we'll be fine."
She said nothing for a moment, hands still shaking. She didn't believe him. Her mind was rattled and she couldn't think straight . . but she needed answers. So, she took in a deep breath and yanked her hands out of her sleeves, saying, "Fine . . okay."
"Okay?"
She nodded, and with a deep breath of his own, Dustin began, "So . . has anyone told you about Will's disappearance last year?"
"Yeah, I heard about it a few times," said she. Rowen began fiddling with her fingers. "Everyone said he got lost in the woods."
Dustin looked as if he expected the second half of her answer, blowing a raspberry and walking over to the couch across from her. "Well, they're not wrong. He did get lost . ." he sat. ". . but he didn't get lost in the woods."
Eyes glued to him, she asked, "What do you mean?"
"The night after Will disappeared, me, Mike, and Lucas went out looking for him," he explained. "We never found him, but . . we did find someone. A girl. Her name was Eleven. Mike hid her in his basement and . . after a couple of days, we figured out she escaped from Hawkins Lab and, well . . . that she had superpowers."
His words only made her more frantic. "Dustin you are seriously starting to lose me here —"
"I know, I know, it sounds crazy . ." he interrupted. "But just hear me out, okay?"
She said nothing, so he continued.
"We found her in the rain, she was cold and scared. Bad men from the lab were looking for her, so we helped her hide . . We didn't believe it either when it happened but . . she did have superpowers. She could move stuff with her mind."
"What does this have to do with Dart —"
"I'm getting there, I promise," he cut her off again. "Moving stuff with her mind wasn't her only superpower. Somehow, with the radio at our school she was able to talk to Will. Or well, not talk but she found him on one of the channels. You know, like Professor X . . She figured out where he was."
"So, where was he?"
"He was right where he was when he disappeared. He just wasn't where we thought he was . ." Rowen gave him a look, but he held up a hand, and she kept her mouth shut. Hesitantly, he continued, "When Will disappeared he was dragged into another dimension . . and the thing that dragged him there is the same creature that Dart is."
Rowen stared at him for a few, reasonably tense moments. Her hands stopped shaking as badly as they originally were, but she bit down on her lip once more and picked at her nails. She was processing everything he told her.. or at least attempting. "So . . Will was dragged into another dimension by . . whatever the hell Dart is."
"Demogorgon," Dustin clarified. "We call them Demogorgons."
"Eleven escaped from this lab, you found her, you hid her. Then she found Will with her — . ." she shook her head, "superpowers."
He nodded.
"But how did you get him out of . ."
"The Upside Down," he finished her sentence for her.
"The Upside Down," she echoed. "How did you get him out of there?"
"We didn't. Mrs. Byers did," he said. "Back at the lab, before El escaped, she accidentally opened up this portal . . a gate, ya know. One that could let people into the Upside Down. And somehow, Mrs. Byers got into the lab, went through the gate, and found Will."
A few more moments of bopping her knee, then: "Jesus . ." Rowen breathed, head leaning into her hands. She rubbed at her eyes. "Demogorgons, other dimensions, superpowers," she mumbled, standing to her feet. She paced for another couple of moments, then out a nervous laugh and said, "This is insane, Dustin. Mental."
He said nothing.
She paced some more, rubbing her head. But then she halted in her tracks and turned to him, pointing. "If you're making this up so you can keep some freakish lizard, I swear —"
"I'm not making this up!" he objected. "I swear, I'm not. And it's not just us and Mrs. Byers that know about it."
"Then who else knows?"
"Will's brother, Jonathan, knows; Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington, Hopper —"
"Wait . . Hopper?" she snapped. "Hopper knows?!"
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "They all know. And I'll take you to all of them if that gets you to believe me. But before we do anything, we need to figure out what to do with Dart."
A long, anxious sigh escaped her mouth. She began pacing again. 'The Upside Down', a girl that can move things with her mind, freaky, green lizard monsters. What did she just walk into? A Stephen King novel? She had pinched herself plenty of times to realize she wasn't dreaming, but . . .
"It's not that I don't believe you," she finally admitted, taking in another deep breath. "After seeing Dart, I would've believed you if you said unicorns were real. It's just . . this is just insane."
"It's a lot to take in, I know."
"A lot to take in?" she echoed, coming back to her seat. "Dustin, you're telling me that things I've only read about are real. We're way past 'a lot to take in' . ." She leaned back in the chair, rubbing at her eyes once more. "Wait . ." at this, she lurched forward. "If Dart is one of those Demogorgon things that dragged Will into the Upside Down, then why is it in your room?"
Dustin laughed nervously once more. "Well, I uh sort of . . kind of didn't know he was a Demogorgon until an hour ago."
Her eyes fell shut, and she mumbled, "Of course you didn't."
"And he was tiny up until today."
"Of course he was."
"And I was down in our cellar when you showed up, but I just figured it was my mom so that's why I didn't come up."
She glared at him. "Hm, so that's why I almost became monster lunch. Just like Mews." A pillow hit her arm. "Hey!"
"He wasn't gonna eat you," Dustin objected.
"And how exactly do you know that?" Rowen challenged.
Dustin's mouth fell open. "I . . I don't."
Her brow raised as if to say 'told you so'.
"Either way, we need to get him out of my house," Dustin added.
They sat in silence for a moment, one still listening for any movement behind that closed door and the other waiting for said person to say something.
Eventually, Rowen shrugged, took in a shaky breath, and asked, "So what should we do?"
. . .