Chapter 12: Out of the Blue and into the Dark
Author Notes:
Hi everyone it's me the Mandalorian terminator coming to you with another brand new chapter of my story Tales of The Wheeler Family. This chapter will be the "calm before the storm" where I will explore several different characters including Nancy, Bruce and his family life, Steve in two flashbacks to season 2 and Karen. Think of this chapter as a character study into them. I do not own Stranger Things. The only character that is my own is Mary/Ten. The rest belong to the Duffer Brothers.
"There are always unpleasant stories. A town's history is like a rambling old mansion filled with rooms and cubbyholes and laundry-chutes and garrets and all sorts of eccentric little hiding places . . . not to mention an occasional secret passage or two. If you go exploring Mansion Hawkins, you'll find all sorts of things. Yes. You may be sorry later, but you'll find them, and once a thing is found it can't be unfound, can it? Some of the rooms are locked, but there are keys . . . there are keys. You may come to think you've stumbled on the worst of Hawkins's secrets . . . but there is always one more. And one more. And one more."
Murray Bauman had told that to her once during their first meeting. Back then Nancy Wheeler had just dismissed it as one of Murray's many, many anecdotes he liked to tell. But now as an older, wiser woman she had come to appreciate that particularly anecdote.
Jonathan had stayed behind at their apartment after the funeral. He had taken an old family scrapbook and had quietly been going through it, paying particular attention to the photographs of Will. Nancy had wanted to say something to her husband but decided not to. He was grieving and needed space and time to properly deal with the death of his brother. Nancy on the other hand pushed those feelings of grief down. She needed to focus. Grief could come later. Right now, all that mattered was finding out who killed Will and why.
Nancy had called the cab to pick her up from the apartment but unfortunately she had underestimated the lunch-hour traffic -flow . . . and how much Hawkins had grown.
In 1983 it had been a big town, not much more. There were maybe thirty thousand people inside the Hawkins incorporated city limits and maybe another seven thousand beyond that in the surrounding burgs.
Now it had become a city — a very small city by London or New York standards, but doing just fine by Indiana standards, where Indianapolis, the state's largest, could boast barely three hundred thousand.
As the cab moved slowly down Main Street, her first thought was predictable enough: how much had changed. But the predictable thought was accompanied by a deep feeling that Hawkins was cold, that Hawkins was hard, that Hawkins didn't much give a shit if any of them lived or died. Will's death had proven that much.
The police had labelled it a suicide. The anti-depressants mixed with the sleeping pills had been the spark that had light the match, they said. Not to mention the traumas he had suffered during childhood. But Nancy knew better. Will may have struggled but he would never have just simply killed himself. He never would have just left Joyce and Jonathan to pick up the pieces alone. No something had happened to Will. And Nancy was determined to figure out what.
The Hawke movie theatre was gone, replaced with a parking lot (BY PERMIT ONLY, the sign over the ramp announced; VIOLATORS SUBJECT TO TOW).Nancy had noticed several branches of the Northern National Bank now littered Main Street. A digital readout jutted from the front of the bland cinderblock structures, showing the time and the temperature — the latter in both degrees Fahrenheit and degrees Celsius.
She vividly remembered when she and Jonathan were driving back through Hawkins for Will's funeral noticing Hawkins General Hospital — a white wood frame building with two wings, three stories high — was still there, but now it was surrounded, dwarfed, by a whole complex of buildings, maybe a dozen in all. She recalled seeing a parking-lot off to the left, and what looked like better than five hundred cars parked there.
"My God, that's not a hospital, that's a fucking college campus!" Nancy had exclaimed. New Hawkins, fine. But the old Hawkins was still here, just mostly buried under all the new construction . . . but your eye was somehow dragged helplessly back to look at it . . . to look for it.
She wondered idly if the trainyard was still there or if it had become nothing but ruins and rusty tracks now.
She knew from Murray that most of Hawkins's older residents she had talked to were dead by the time Nancy had started her own investigations, but they had sons, daughters, nephews, cousins. And, of course, one of the great true facts of the world is this: for every old-timer who dies, there's a new old-timer coming along. And a good story never dies; it is always passed down.
There was a kind of curtain of quiet which cloaked much of what happened in Hawkins . . . and yet people did talk. Nancy supposed nothing could stop people from talking. But you had to listen hard, and that was a rare skill. Nancy flattered herself that she had developed it over the past decade. If she haven't, then her aptitude for her job at CNN would have been poor indeed.
It was only by chance that Nancy had even been reminded of the neighbour that lived opposite her parent's. Karen had absentmindedly pointed the neighbour's house out to Nancy as they were leaving for the funeral.
Nancy and Mike must have passed by that house a dozen times when they were kids and yet had never fully paid attention to the house. No sunlight danced in through the dirty windows. Cobwebs hung listely, its occupants dead or gone. It was broken down with weeds having filled the garden where once the grass has been as soft as a blanket. Birds no longer sang in the trees, and even the insects had largely left the house. It was an empty, forlorn building, without a breath.
The cab pulled up across from the house. Nancy paid the driver and watched as it drove away. Now alone, Nancy walked towards the house and quietly rang the doorbell. Silence. No answer. She shifted on the porch from one foot to the other, suddenly needing to pee.
She heard someone approaching, and the sound of tired old slippers. Standing in the doorway and looking out at her was a tall woman in her late seventies. Her hair was long and gorgeous, mostly white but shot through with lodes of purest gold. Behind her rimless spectacles were eyes as blue as the water in the fjords her ancestors had perhaps hailed from. She wore a purple dress of watered silk. It was shabby but still dignified. Her wrinkled face was kind.
"Yes, miss?"
"I'm sorry," Nancy said. The urge to laugh had passed as swiftly as it had come. She noticed that the old woman wore a cameo at her throat. It was almost certainly real ivory, surrounded by a band of gold so thin it was nearly invisible. "My name's Nancy Byers. I'm a journalist with CNN. My brother-in-law's funeral was today."
"Oh I'm sorry to hear," the old woman said.
"I was wondering if I could ask you some questions." Nancy asked.
The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What about?" She asked hesitantly.
"I was wondering if you'd seen anything suspicious or strange lately in Hawkins. Anything out of the ordinary," Nancy suggested.
The old woman's hand rose to the cameo and touched it. She peered more closely at Nancy, making her feel ridiculously young, as if she should perhaps have a box of Girl Scout cookies in her hands. Then the old woman smiled . . . a kind smile and beckoned her forward. "I see. Please come in and let me give you tea. My name's Kersh. Alice Kersh," She introduced.
Before she could protest, Nancy found herself being led through her doorway and into her living room. There was a small round table, really not much bigger than an end table, with silk flowers in a pottery vase. Bright blue curtains hung in the windows, and she could see flowerboxes outside them. Nancy couldn't help but notice there was no TV in the room or a landline. Strange, she thought as she took in her surroundings.
Mrs Kersh looked around from the stove, where she was placing a teapot. "You grew up here in Hawkins?"
"Yes," Nancy said. "But it's very different now."
"Change is inevitable, miss," Mrs Kersh said, and her smile made her younger. It was radiant. "I've lived in Hawkins since I used to live in Washington. I had a small apartment near the Capitol Building. Yes, I remember it so clearly. I could see it from my kitchen!"
"I live in Washington too," Nancy echoed.
Mrs Kersh looked up at her brightly, smiling a little. "What a coincidence! I hope to return there. One day perhaps," She said with a hint of sadness in her voice.
Delicate cups and saucers stood on the round kitchen table, a clean bone-white edged with blue. There was a plate of small cakes and cookies. Beside the sweets a pewter teapot chuffed mild steam and pleasant fragrance. Bemused, Nancy thought that the only things missing were the tiny sandwiches with the crusts cut off: auntsandwiches, she'd thought them, always one word. Three main types of auntsandwiches — cream cheese and olive, watercress, and egg salad.
"Sit down," said Mrs Kersh. "Sit down, miss, and I'll pour out."
"I'm not a miss," Nancy said, and raised her left hand so that her ring would show.
Mrs Kersh smiled and pushed a hand through the air — pshaw! the gesture said. "I call all the pretty young girls miss," she said. "Just a habit. Don't take offense."
"No," Nancy said, "not at all." But for some reason she felt a feather-touch of unease: there was something in the old woman's smile that had seemed a little . . . what? Unpleasant? False? Knowing? But that was ridiculous, wasn't it?
Nancy watched as Mrs Kersh poured out. The tea looked dark, muddy. Nancy wasn't sure she wanted to drink it . . . and suddenly she wasn't sure she wanted to be here at all.
Mrs Kersh passed her tea.
"Thank you," Nancy said. The look of it might have been muddy; the aroma, however, was wonderful. She tasted. It was fine. Stop jumping at shadows, she told herself. "I don't mean to pry but do you have a husband?"
"No," Mrs Kersh replied and suddenly her eyes seemed downcast, sad. "Once I had a sister long ago. Yes, long ago." She reminisced. "Now I have no one." The fact of Mrs Kersh's sister would indeed be relevant later on, but that is another story for another time. (1)
"I'm sorry," Nancy said.
"It's alright, dear." Mrs Kersh smiled at Nancy and she got a better look at the old woman's teeth. Her teeth were very bad — strong-looking, but bad all the same. They were yellow, and the front two had crossed each other. The canines seemed very long, almost like tusks. Suddenly Nancy was not just a little frightened. Suddenly she wanted — needed — to be away from here. "You said you had some questions to ask me?"
Right yes, Nancy remembered. Taking out a small yellow notepad and a pen, she looked at Mrs Kersh and asked, "As I said today was my brother-in-law's funeral. The police have assumed he took his own life but I don't think that's the case. I think someone killed him. I've already spoken to several of Hawkins's oldest residences. I'm not naïve, Mrs Kersh. I know Hawkins has secrets. The Lab that use to be here for example."
Mrs Kersh's eyes flickered ever so slightly at the mention but she resumed listening.
"I've also heard stories of children disappearing. Runaways, orphans. Do you know of anything strange, out of the ordinary that you have seen in Hawkins?" Nancy asked.
Mrs Kersh fell silent. She barely seemed to breathe. Her eyes darted up and down Nancy as if trying to gage her intentions.
"Have something to eat, dear." Mrs Kersh exclaimed, and drank her cup of tea off at a single gulp, with a sudden, shocking slurping sound. She smiled at Nancy — grinned at her — and Nancy felt like Hansel and Gretel in the Witch's oven.
"No, thank you," Nancy heard her mouth say in a child's high oh-I-must-be-going voice. The words did not seem to originate in her brain; rather they came out of her mouth and then had to travel around to her ears before she was aware of what she had said.
"No?" the woman asked, and grinned. Unbeknownst to Nancy the old Mrs Kersh was clutching a large sharp kitchen knife underneath the table. "Perhaps you'd be in the mood for something else!"
Brandishing the knife suddenly the old woman lunged at a shocked Nancy, who stumbled backwards from where she had once been sitting. Mrs Kersh lunged again and this time the knife made contact —slicing across the side of Nancy's left arm. "Who are you? What are do you want? Did she send you? DID SHE?!" Mrs Kersh ranted, her eyes now gleaming fanatically.
Clutching her arm in an attempt to stop the bleeding, Nancy moved quickly to dodge another swipe of Mrs Kersh's knife. Her arm still bleeding, Nancy quickly reached into her handbag and pulled out a small Smith & Wesson Model marksmanship had grown quite proficient over the years to the point where she had taught herself how to take a gun apart and put it back together really fast. As a result she had taken to always keeping a gun hidden in her handbag. It was America after all.
"Drop the knife," Nancy commanded as she held the gun tightly in her hands pointed directly at Mrs Kersh. The old woman's eyes went wide with fear and she obeyed, quietly dropping the kitchen knife.
"Please don't shoot," Mrs Kersh begged her face awash with emotions as she collapsed onto her knees in front of Nancy almost as if in prayer. "I didn't mean to hurt you, dear. I thought she had sent you."
"Who?"
"Ten," Mrs Kersh whispered so quietly that Nancy almost couldn't hear her. "She's been keeping me a prisoner in this house. She made me spy on your parents I promise you I didn't want to but she forced me too! She used to visit every month to check up on me. One day when I begged her to let me go she got angry and said she wouldn't visit for 5 years! 5 years I've been stuck here with no television or phone just dial-up internet! Please, please help me!" Her eyes were swelling with tears as Mrs Kersh continued to beg at Nancy's feet.
Nancy crouched down onto her knees so that she and Mrs Kersh were now face to face with each other. "Why would she keep you hostage?" She asked.
Mrs Kersh gazed into Nancy's eyes and replied, "Because I'm one of the few links she has left to Brenner and Project MK-ULTRA."
Nancy's eyes widened. Brenner. She'd heard that name be mentioned before. According to Mike and Eleven Brenner had been the man responsible for Eleven's powers and later trying to recapture her when she had escaped."Tell me everything you know," She demanded.
Mrs Kersh nodded. Rising to her feet, she led Nancy into her room."I was a part of Project MK-ULTRA as doctor. I had meet Ten before when she was a little girl. I had no idea the Government was conducting mind experiments on people! It still sounds so unbelievable even now," Mrs Kersh remarked.
"When where you taken prisoner?" Nancy inquired.
" height of the Iran-Contra affair, I had broken into a government building to retrieve information relating to my previous involvement with Project MK-ULTRA that would have incriminated me. With everything going on with Iran-Contra I didn't want to take any chances. Unfortunately the FBI caught me. Luckily I was able to give them the slip. While I was on the run, Ten somehow managed to track me down. She brought me here to Hawkins. She'd bought the house and told me I was going to be living here for the foreseeable future. When I protested and tried to leave, she... hurt me. That was the last time I tried to leave this house," Mrs Kersh explained as she began rummaging through her room. A gigantic surprise-quilt lay on the bed."She told me I was to spy on the Wheeler family and make notes of everything they did."
"Why?"
"I have no idea. Ten never told me. Since the house didn't have television or a phone I tried to use the internet to send a message out to someone, anyone but Ten was clever. She must have been monitoring everything I did on there," Mrs Kersh continued as she finally found what she had been looking for. It was a small video tape.
"You wouldn't happen to have something I could play this on?" Mrs Kersh asked.
Nancy stood in her family living room while her brother, Eleven, Lucas, Dustin and Max sat behind her on the family couch as she slotted the tape into the VCR. Thank goodness her parents still kept their VCR machine. As she turned the TV on, the screen in front of them began to show them images that were grainy and constantly shifting slightly. They were clearly shot on an old video camera.
On those images there was a young girl, somewhere between 8 and girl had red hair and two different coloured eyes. She was seated behind a small desk dressed in a white hospital gown. A large smile was across the girl's face. Despite it being a massive smile that screamed both innocence and a lust for life, something about it was just a little off. Not much but just enough to be noticeable.
The focus of the camera changed as the camera began to back away. As it did the terrain surrounding the girl became visible. It was a small gray-looking cold room with no doors and a large light hanging above her head.
After moving a little distance away, a voice is heard, clearly the voice of the one holding the camera.
"This is Doctor Martin Brenner, recording this footage. It is April 30th 1966, 3:12 PM. And this is trail number nine. The subject known as Ten has what I've termed "fear manipulation", the ability to amplify a person's darkest fear into a terrifying nightmarish hallucination. I have conducted several tests already on Ten's abilities. Today I shall examine the full extent of Ten's abilities. Are you ready, Ten?"
The young girl nodded."Yes, Papa," She said enthusiastically.
"Bring in the prisoner," Brenner's voice said.
Off-screen a door was heard opening and two guards carrying a hooded man bounded became viewable to the camera. The guards seated the hooded man opposite Ten and removed the hood revealing a young man with mocha skin and black hair. The man took a while to adjust to his surroundings, a gag wrapped around his mouth. A heart monitor was rolled in next to him. Two doctors began attaching wires from the heart monitor to the man.
"Ten, this is Peter Blake. He was caught trying to cross the US Canadian border to escape the draft for the war in Vietnam. You remember the war don't you?"
Ten nodded.
The doctor then takes a few steps away before facing Ten."This is Trail 9/Test 1.I would like you to use your powers on him. Can you do that?"
Ten nodded and raised her hand forward towards the bound man. The heart monitor began to spike as he immediately began thrusting around and slowly his eyes began to go white with fear and panic. Blood began to slowly drip from Ten's nose like water coming out of a tape.
"That's enough," One of the doctors said suddenly looking at the heart monitor.
"Not yet," Brenner replied calmly as he continued to watch. "Ten increase your powers."
"You'll kill him!"
"Exactly."
The Cheshire cat grin on Ten's face grew even greater as she moved her hand closer towards her captive. The man continued to thrashing around, desperately trying to escape his bounds. The camera stayed squarely on Ten and her outstretched hand. It wasn't just her nose that was bleeding now her eyes appeared bloodshot too. The heart monitor continued beeping rapidly as the line on the screen went crazy.
Finally the beeping fell silent as the heart monitor flat lined and bound man stopped thrashing. The doctor who had spoken up went over to the bound man and checked his pulse."He's dead sir. Cardiac arrest."
The camera now shifted to Ten. Blood had ceased dripping from her nose but her eyes were still bloodshot and her smile was growing even wider.
"You did well, Ten," Brenner said in a calm manner that seemed just as surreal to the teenagers watching.
Ten nodded her head proudly. "Thank you Papa."
The camera suddenly shifted to two guards patrolling a lone corridor. "This is Doctor Martin Brenner. It is November 20; is Trail 9/Test 25," Brenner's voice was heard speaking.
The audience watched aghast as the two guards suddenly appeared to start screaming but there screams were silent. The only sound from the camera was Brenner's voice.
"Ten is currently three miles away from where these two guards are. It appears her abilities are not limited by proximity. Further research will need to be conducted to see if her abilities are limited by geography as well," Brenner's voice continued before the camera once again cut away to a different location with an older looking Ten now standing to attention. The hospital gown was now gone replaced with combat fatigue and her hair now cut short in a military style. She now looked to be between 13 and 15.
"This is Doctor Martin Brenner, recording this footage. It is June 14th, or Mary as she has taken to calling herself is about to begin her knife training. This will mark the beginning of Trail has thus completed Trails 1-9 satisfactory and passed all 100 tests with similar satisfactory results," Brenner's voice was again heard as a man dressed in military uniform approached Mary.
On a table in front of her were several different types of knives. The instructor picked up a knife with a longer blade and held it up for Mary.
"This here is a well balanced throwing knife. When used properly, it can disarm, or even kill your opponent." The instructor then walked her through how to throw and then demonstrated. The knife hit several inches off centre on the bulls-eye about 20 feet away.
Mary picked up the knife, getting used to the feel. She held it upside down and swung it between two fingers to get used to the balance. After about 15 more seconds of examining the knife, Mary stopped, turned around and walked ten feet further back than the instructor did.
Mary turned towards her target. She twirled the knife around her right hand very quickly several times before throwing it with deadly accuracy. It hit. Dead centre.
"Well done, Ten. Your skills are most impressive," Brenner's voice was heard from behind the camera. "Soon your training will be complete and you will be deployed to Vietnam and assist in protecting, preserving and defending the South Vietnamese against the communist North. Do you understand?"
Mary nodded."Yes Papa I certainly do." She answered as she stood there with that awkward smile, awkward for those watching it.
There was silence from the Party until it was broken by Dustin:
"Holy shit El's sister is like the Joker mixed with Captain America and the Terminator!"
"Thank you Dustin for that well thought out comment," Max replied, giving him a light shove for his insensitive nature.
"El? Are you okay?" Mike asked softly.
"I...I had no idea she went through all that. Her test they're different to the ones I did. And Mary she seemed to...enjoy them," Eleven noted her eyes fixed on the screen.
"This woman who gave you this tape...she was spying on mom and dad? For how long?" Mike inquired.
"Since at least ' was when she claimed Mary brought her here," Nancy replied.
"Jesus-this whole time someone was watching our parents, our little sister and we had no idea," Mike exclaimed in a mixture of disbelief and anger.
"Where's this woman now?" Lucas asked.
"Don't worry I've already made arrangements for Mrs Kersh to stay somewhere else," Nancy said. I just hope he says yes, she added to herself.
"Does this look like a hotel?!" An irate Murray Bauman bellowed.
Age had clearly not softened her former mentor. Despite the grey hair and the slight hunchback Murray was the same paranoid, cantankerous and suspicious man he had been when Nancy had first met him in 1984.
"Murray, please she's hardly a Russian spy. She's an old woman who's been a victim of kidnapping and forced imprisonment. She's clearly traumatised," Nancy explained.
"What does that have to do with me?" Murray snapped.
"Until we work out where her kidnapper is and what she wants, Mrs Kersh is in danger. Your place is like a fortress. Where better to hide her than here?" Nancy urged.
"Fine. She can stay. But only until you've figured out what her kidnapper wants. Got it?" Murray said.
Nancy nodded. "Plus I think it'll be good for you to have some company. Don't want you getting lonely."
If looks could kill then Nancy would be dead on the spot. Realising she was pushing her luck, Nancy quickly made a beeline for the door.
Troy was in the wrong goddamn decade. He belonged in the sixties.
Not because of all the hippy shit, though he wouldn't have minded trading the frigid bitches of the '80s for all the dumbass free-love chicks of '69 that renamed themselves Moonbeam Rainbow and dropped acid and screwed anyone asking- he would've been a fox in a hen house in The Haight. Could have made himself a harem- hell, if that ugly little fuck Charlie Manson could do it he sure could have. But then the 70's had to roll around and all the Moonbeam Rainbow's got used up and started turning tricks for smack money at truck stops out by Barstow.
Ass wasn't why, though. He did fine with Stacey.
No, Troy belonged in the sixties because what he really needed was a fucking war.
He knew he would've come alive in that decade and not been one of the pussies who couldn't hack it. Not like his dad.
"Never the same after what happened in '68" His mom had always said. The bastard even has a Bronze Star he wouldn't talk about in a desk drawer. Troy had fished it out to look at once when he was ten, made the mistake of asking about it. Got the buckle of the belt. Slept on his stomach for a week.
Troy had found out later it was for saving kids from some shit-hole village with his aero-scout company. Fucking hilarious but hardly surprising that his dad gave more of a fuck about some little baby Vietnamese than his own son.
Troy learned back in his chair as he took another puff from his cigarette. Stacey sat opposite her husband on their couch staring expectedly at the front door. The boy was late.
Bruce had a good head on his shoulders despite his shy and geeky nature. Troy hoped he would outgrow these sentiments. The last thing he wanted was his son to become a pussy. Another thing Bruce seemed to have developed for some reason was a desire to help people. Like those illiterate fucks in Honduras.
The front door finally swung open and a tired looking Bruce came in. His black suit he had worn for the funeral looked ruffled. "I'm home." Bruce sounded vague and distant.
"Where the hell have you been? You didn't go to Byers funeral did you?" Troy inquired.
"Great to see you too dad and yes I did," Bruce replied.
"Goddamn it I told you not to go to the fucking funeral! You don't want to be associated with him and that family. Will Byers was a queer faggot who probably never saw pussy in his life!" Troy said cruelly. Stacey laughed in agreement.
"Real mature dad," Bruce said in disgust as he moved his way up the stairs to his room.
"That Wheeler girl–was she with you?" Stacey spat the word in disgust.
"Yes I was. And frankly it's none of your business who I spend time with, mother," Bruce said halfway up the stairs.
"Don't turn your back on me!" Troy threatened as he grabbed Bruce and shoved him up against the wall. "I fucking told you to stay away from that little slut. I don't care if you like her, or that you used to tutor her, hell I don't even care if you gives you amazing blowjobs, you are to stay away from her! Don't go near her, don't call her, don't look at her, and especially don't go over to their house okay? You are NOT to associate yourself in any fucking way with that family understand? The fact that fucking Mike Wheeler was even able to get some pussy is beyond me," Troy remarked more to Stacy than to Bruce.
"Dad please..."
"Do you understand?" Troy interrupted his voice low.
"I said DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" Troy repeated this time with added emphasis when Bruce didn't respond.
"Yes sir," Bruce answered, bowing his head submissively and his voice low. He knew from past experiences how violent his father could get. His dad was used to his obeys being obeyed and if they weren't he got...physical. He recalled how often he would come to school with bruises and...burns. Best not to rock the boat, he thought.
Troy smiled at the response and turned to Stacey who remained seated on the couch. "How hard was that?" He joked. Then his voice took on a serious edge as he uttered: "Open your shirt."
Bruce's eyes widened. "Dad please no..."
"Open your shirt," Troy said adding extra emphasis on each word.
Bruce began unbuttoning his shirt. Troy took a puff from his cigarette and gazed at the light burning from the cigarette before moving it close to Bruce's chest. Bruce immediately began to whimper, knowing what was about to happen. The flame from the cigarette touched his skin.
"Just in case you think of going behind our back with this girl," Troy said as he pushed the cigarette deeper into his son's skin. Bruce immediately began to scream as he always did but his dad was quicker. Immediately covering his son's mouth with his left hand, his right hand holding the cigarette dug deeper into Bruce's chest. Bruce's screams were silenced by his father's hand as he struggled against his father. After almost an hour Troy finally pulled back the cigarette and removed his hand from his son's mouth. The small patch of Bruce's chest had begun to blacken and char as a result of the flame from the cigarette.
"We understand each other, son," Troy said – not as a question but a fact.
A timid Bruce nodded.
"Good. Now get upside and have a shower. Dinner's on the way. Don't want to keep us waiting anymore than you already have right?"
"Yes sir. Sorry Sir," Bruce said as he hurried up the stairs towards his room as quickly as he could.
"Where did we go wrong, Stacey?" Troy remarked to Stacey who shrugged in reply.
"It's the Wheeler's girl twisting our son's mind. That little whore," Stacey hissed with disgust.
"Can't believe Wheeler even is married. Who would want to marry him?"
"Beats me," Stacey replied. "I still can't believe Max punched you. Crazy bitch! She must have been off her head! Drugs probably."
Troy waved his hand dismissively. "I don't think we'll have to worry about her or that nigger Lucas," He said cryptically.(2)
"What do you mean?" Stacey asked curiously.
"Just a good feeling," Troy replied, a Cheshire grin breaking across his face.
Upstairs in his room Bruce was examining the new burn on his chest. The external layer of skin had split open and actually separated away from the layers beneath it. The top layer looked pale and papery while the skin underneath looked raw, shiny and splotchy.
God it hurt like hell. How was he supposed to explain this to Sara on their date tomorrow night? Shit. Their date. If his father got wind he was going on a date with Sara...
Should he cancel? Make up some excuse as it why he couldn't go?
Yes, part of him said. Just to keep dad happy. Besides they'll be other dates.
No, another part of him thought. Why should you have to cancel? Just because Dad doesn't like her father? Since when does he get a say in your dating life?
"Yes that's right," Bruce said aloud quietly. He was done being pushed around by his father. He was going to take Sara on this date, his father be damned! He would worry about the potential consequences later. If only Bruce knew, but that is another story for another time.(3)
The soft music of Barbara Streisand's "The Way We Are" twinkled throughout the air of the dimly lit bathroom of the Wheeler house. Candles of all shapes and sizes cast a mere glow against the wall's tiles, their sweet aroma mixing when Karen Wheeler inhaled them desperately. Covered by the bubbly foam of her bath, the woman read a small copy of an adult novel. Head full of relaxing thoughts from her current spa-like situation, the sudden ring of the house's doorbell brought Karen down to Earth. Letting the first chime go unnoticed, the woman remained engrossed in her novel, but by the second toll, she did something about it.
"Ted!" She yelled from the confines of the bathtub. "Would you please get that?" Unfortunately, her husband's form slept deeply on his Lay-Z-Boy recliner. Ted Wheeler would not be getting the door, and that was realised by the doorbell's fifth chime. "TED!" Karen shrieked. The doorbell's noise began to sound frequently throughout the house, and the woman slammed her book down in anger before lifting herself from the tub. Karen flew down the stairs as she tried to fasten her bathrobe tightly around herself. "Hold on, please," she muttered to herself, tightening the robe's knot right as she neared the front door. She swung the thing open to uncover the last person she ever imagined seeing.
"Hey sis. It's been awhile."
The man standing in front of her was tall and slime, around 6'3 with black hair that was high lightened with grey and light blue eyes that looked like bombardier's eyes to Karen. The main thing Karen noticed were his guns, finely weighted to his hand. The two belts crisscrossed above his crotch. The stocks of the guns were sandalwood, yellow and finely grained. The holsters were tied down with a rawhide cord, and they swung heavily against his hips. The brass casings of the cartridges looped into the gun belts twinkled and flashed in the night sky. The leather made subtle creaking noises. The guns themselves made no noise. They had spilled blood.
"Leave." Was all Karen said through gritted teeth.
"Sis please..."
"I said leave now!" Karen repeated trying to control the ton of her voice so not to wake her husband.
"Karen please I've travelled a long way to get here..."
"I don't care. I have nothing to say to you, Danny," Karen snapped sternly.(4)
"Actually I go by Roland now," He said. Danny was a different time and a different person. Too much had happened for him to ever go by that name again.(5)
"I don't care what name you go by. I want you leave now!" Karen insisted.
"Karen please I'm your brother," Roland urged.
"A brother who has been in and out of my life. You abandoned me, Danny," Karen stated simply. No anger or sadness just a simple fact. The truth. That was way it hurt.
"I know I hurt you. I can't change that, but I can put my—"
"You missed your chance," Karen cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest. "I'm done with you."
"I seem to recall you wanting to leave the nest just as much I did. You seem to have done well for yourself," Roland said gesturing to the house in front of them.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Karen replied flippantly.
"Come on Karen it's me talking. You got the nice house, rich husband. It's practically paradise compared to how I've been."
"What are you talking about?"
"Can I please come inside? I'll tell you everything I promise," Roland promised.
Karen frowned slightly then sighed and relented, ushering her brother inside.
Karen led him to the kitchen while Roland took the time to examine the inside of his sister's home. "You have done well for yourself," He noted taking his seat at the table.
Karen crossed her arms in annoyance. "I thought you were going to talk about yourself not me?" She said.
"Yes right. Of course. Let's start at the beginning. Did mom ever tell you about my father? What happened to him?" Roland inquired.
Karen thought for a moment. It had been so long ago it was hard to remember. "Only that he died while you were staying at a hotel in the Colorado Rockies. Why?" She asked confused.
"That's where it started. You see my father did die in that hotel. It's uh hard to explain. The hotel we stayed in it was haunted," Roland began saying.
"Haunted?"
"Yes and when the ghost couldn't possess me it ended up possessing my father and made him...unstable praying on his frustration and his alcoholism. He tried to fight it but in the end couldn't resist his dark side and tried to kill me and mom. And in the end he died in an explosion that destroyed the hotel."
"You expect me to believe a ghost possessed your father?" Karen asked.
"It's the truth!" Roland replied.
"No it sounds like a delusion."
"I am not delusional. What I said is true," Roland continued insisting.
"Okay leaving that aside what does that have to do with you running away from home and abandoning me when I was ten years old?" Karen demanded.
Roland winched slightly. "I didn't...run away. Is that what mom and my stepfather said what happened?" He asked.
"Yes."
Roland chuckled dryly to himself. "Of course, it would have been easier for him to tell mom I had "run away" from home. That was a lie."
"Okay then if you didn't run away what happened?" Karen asked.
"I became a Gunslinger," Roland explained.
"A what?" Karen repeated not understanding.
"Gunslingers they're a secret group considered natural leaders, peacekeepers and mediators in disputes. These people, all of them of noble blood and all but a very, very few males, were rigorously trained from the age of six for their role from early boyfriend to adulthood. Your stepfather choose me to become a Gunslinger. That's why I disappeared. I didn't "run away" I was training in another world called All-World. It's where the Gunslingers are from," Roland continued.
"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Karen?" He asked looking at the expression on his sister's face.
"I was wrong. You're not delusional you're full on psychologically disturbed to believe this – this nonsense!" Karen declared.
"It's not nonsense, Karen! Please I'm trying to explain –"
"Tell me then why would Dad choose you to be a "Gunslinger"?"
"Because I'm special!" Roland blurted out, his frustration boiling over.
"Oh here we go again. "I'm special". That's what you use to tell me when I was little. How special you were," Karen said, spitting the word special like it was venom. "Do you have any idea how inferior you made me feel compared to you when I was growing up?"
"I told you Karen I have a gift. I can read people's thoughts, communicate telepathically with others who "shine" hence why we're called "shining". There's not many of us here. And on All-World a person who "shines" is non-existent. That's why my stepfather choose me to become a Gunslinger," Roland continued to explain.
"My mother had only just remarried when she became pregnant with you. And I was still traumatised by what had happened with my father and that hotel so when you were born I wanted to see if you had the "shining" like I do."
"Turns I don't though remember?" Karen reminded him.
"Obviously the "shining" skipped you," Roland replied calmly.
"Guess I wasn't as special as you, right?" Karen hissed.
"That's not what I meant."
"I thought I was the reason you had run away. Because I wasn't special like you I thought you had decided to leave me!" Karen snapped, taking a step toward him.
Roland was speechless. "I'm...I'm sorry. I had no idea you felt like that."
"That's what happens when you're in and out of your sister's life."
"You forget I was there when you gave birth to Nancy, Michael and Holly! I was there for their birthdays!" Roland reminded.
"Only to then disappear again," Karen replied.
She was right of course. Roland would usually only stay for an hour and then leave to go back to climbing the Dark Tower as part of that godforsaken quest of his. "I know and I'm sorry for the hurt me leaving caused and I know it probably won't amount to much but I'm here now to make amends. Not just with you but with Nancy and Michael too. If you'll let me."
"Nancy isn't here. She's staying in a hotel. But Mike. Whether or not he wants to talk to you is up to him. Michael's asleep at the moment. I'd rather not wake him or his kids," Karen mentioned.
"Mom?" A third voice suddenly interrupted. Mike stood dressed in pyjamas half tired looking between his mother and Roland. "Uncle Danny?"
No. Mike had been a child when Roland had last seen him. Standing in front of him was an adult. It couldn't be. "Michael?" He asked hesitantly. "You look..."
"This was a mistake," Roland said as he hurried out of the Wheeler house.
Mike followed after him. "Uncle Danny, wait!" But his uncle had already gone. "What did you say to him?" He accused Karen.
"Nothing," Karen responded.
Mike immediately went back down into the basement and reappeared wearing shirt and pants. "I'm going after him," He said without preamble as he grabbed his keys.
"Mike its night; you are not going out–"
"Someone has to look for him, mom. He's family," Mike interrupted as he ran out to the garage, started the car and drove off.
It took almost an hour driving around Hawkins until Mike finally found his uncle overlooking the Sattler Quarry. Why did it always seem to led here, Mike thought as he quickly spirited out of his car towards his uncle.
"Uncle, get away from there!" He pleaded.
"Don't worry Michael, can't die even if I wanted to! Just get dragged back to life all over again," Roland replied his back turned, his feet mere centimetres away from the edge.
Mike wasn't quite sure what his uncle was talking about but nevertheless extended his hand out."Here take my hand," He said.
"You've grown up," Roland remarked, not looking at Mike.
"Bit of a growth spurt yeah."
"You're married? And with children?"
"Yes."
"And I wasn't there," Roland sighted bitterly.
"Uncle if that's what your upset over we can talk about it just get away from the edge!"
"Time moves differently in the Dark Tower," Roland explained gazing down at the waters below. "For you it's only been what, a few years since you last saw me. But for me it's been two centuries. Two centuries of an endless circle of death and rebirth trying to get to that fucking Tower. All the people I've lost – my dad, my childhood friends, Susan, my own son, my half-sister Abra, and now a lifetime of missed opportunities with my niece and nephew."
"Because that's my life, Michael – it's not fun, it's not smart, it's just standing up and making a decision because nobody else will. Sometimes, even I can't win. Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose."
"You want to be forgiven," Mike realised.
"Don't we all?" Roland replied.
Mike nodded. "Let me help you. Please."
Roland finally turned his gaze away from the edge and directly at Mike. He studied him for a moment. "Just like that?"
"Of course. If something needs help you help them," Mike said,
A small smile came over Roland's mouth. "Still as hopeful as ever. Tell me, do you still have that D&D board game I gave you for your eighth birthday?"
"Yes. It was one of the best presents I ever got. Why?"
"Hope. It gave you hope. Most people would just dismiss it as a stupid game but not you. You took the lessons the game taught you into your ever day life. The qualities of leadership, compassion and kindness. I saw this...this spark in you Michael and I could see even before that you would be a leader." Roland said proudly as he accepted his nephew's hand and stepped away from the edge of the cliff.
Mike smiled. "It's just who I am, uncle. Come on let's get you home."
Roland paused. "Karen doesn't want anything to do with me."
"So we'll change her mind," Mike said simply, shrugging.
Roland smiled as Mike led him to the car. If only it was that simple, he thought. Making amends with Karen would take time but it wasn't the only reason he had come to Hawkins. There was a presence here in this town. And not just any presence. It was faint but he could definitely still feel it.
Maybe his luck was finally changing. Maybe this was the chance he'd been waiting for to finally get his revenge.
Steve Harrington sat alone in his hotel room. The funeral had been...emotional. When Dustin had first rang him to tell him that Will had died Steve had thought Henderson was playing some sort of prank on him. But no it wasn't a prank. He wished it had been. Admittedly he hadn't known Will that well compared to Dustin but still his presence was always felt especially during a D&D game that the nerds liked to play.
Steve recalled a week after the Snowball back in 1984 Henderson had actually invited him over to play D&D with the boys and get to know the rest of the Party. God what had I gotten myself into? He remembered thinking at the time as he thought back to that moment.
For a year he had been a frequent visitor to the Wheeler house- helping out Karen in the kitchen to try to impress her, watching the game with Ted once or twice in the living room before deciding that he and Nance could always elope if they needed his blessing because nothing was worth that. He'd been in Nancy's room so frequently and stealthily that he could probably climb the drain pipe blindfolded with one arm tied behind his back but no matter how many times he'd been there the basement had always been firmly established as Mike's territory. Here there be nerds.
It looked pretty much exactly how he would have expected. Definitely smelt it.
"We already made a character based on you who shows up sometimes and protects The Party," Dustin began explaining as Steve sat down on the busted old couch, "But there aren't any baseball bats in Greyhawk so he fights with a mace but you can make your own character if you-"
"No...that sounds... good?" Probably? Who the hell knew because the board appeared to be a baffling mix of figures and little slips of paper with stuff drawn onto them and blank squares and it definitely didn't look like Monopoly, "So who's turn is it?...And uh...How do you know how many spaces you move?"
The nerds exchanged a glance.
"Maybe watch for a while?"
Turned out the game was exactly as chaotic and shouty as the kids were and Wheeler was apparently in charge which seemed like an absolutely terrible choice by everyone involved since Mike appeared to be mad with power and actively trying to kill them all but apparently that was how it was supposed to be and the story Mike was telling was interesting enough that he almost forgot that he had been spending his night watching a bunch of kids playing let's-pretend in a basement.
"-The leader of the yuan-ti guards approaches. Though he was open to parlay last time you saw him, this time he's mumbling to himself ' It dwells in the deep darkness! You cannot wake it- it will destroy us all! ' and you know that there is no reasoning with him anymore as he shouts a battle cry! Roll for initiative."
"Wait, why doesn't Will just make this douchebag snake guy explode?" Really complicated let's-pretend. With math, "He's magic like El, right?"
"Like Jane." Lucas muttered as an immediate simultaneous groan of 'not this again' went around the table. "Yeah, whatever you guys know I'm right. It's her actual name."
"El. Her name is El." Mike scowled out from behind his screen, "Why wouldn't she want to be El? We named her El."
"Because the lab that kidnapped her named her El even! Why would she want to be called that when she has a real name now?"
"Just because it's on her birth certificate doesn't mean-" The argument immediately devolved into three-way bickering as Will fussed idly with his little wizard figurine, ready to wait it out.
"Guys?" Steve tried.
"You didn't even like her when we met her-"
"Hey, nerds?"
"You just don't want to call her Jane because you're still pissed at Hop-"
"Bullshit Lucas- it's because-"
"Jesus Christ. Just call her Jane-El like she's from Krypton, dipshits, who cares? Get back to fighting snake people." The silence was immediate as all four kids stared at him, "What?"
"Like she's from Krypton?" Lucas deadpanned, "Just gonna drop that on us, dude? Krypton?"
"Guys, I think we have an alternate universe Steve," Dustin said, squinting suspiciously at him, "What've you done with the Real Steve, Alternate Steve?"
Mike shrugged, "I say we keep the Steve that knows about Superman."
"Oh shut up, Wheeler." Think fast Harrington, "So what? I've seen Superman, okay? Christopher Reeve, Margot Kidder...Richard Pryor-"
They groaned in abject disgust and wrote him off again but at least the wheels had come off of the argument about what to call the the actual superhero that lived in the woods of their town. Only Will was still watching him because that kid was either weirdly observant or faked it well with those big eyes of his.
Or maybe Byers told him about grade-school Steve's reading habits and the kid was on to him.
He shot Will a conspiratorial wink that made the boy smile a crooked, hidden smile and kicked his feet up onto the couch as Lucas moved his little figurine to fight imaginary snake monsters.
"Okay, Yuan-ti are my favoured enemy so I'm going to-"
Apparently the snake guy was tough, but no match for The Party and Steve started to see why the kids like this game. Using numbers and spells and going invisible to defeat your enemy was actually kind of fun. The couch wasn't exactly comfortable and his feet hang off the armrest but he was already bone-tired with about four hours sleep in two days under his belt and he found himself nodding-off with Mike's narration in his ears.
"You proceed down the catacombs of the Forbidden City, the ceiling drips- drips-drips, foul smelling water onto the Party-"
"I look to see if there's any secret doors."
"Roll perception."
"Modified twenty."
"You see the outline of a passage and the wall opens. There's something just ahead of you in the darkness-"
Twisting hungry tentacles coming out of the walls that shrieked when he hit them as if they were attached to something massive and unseen squatting somewhere below, ready to pull everyone down. Faceless dogs with so, so many teeth. The rotting air that's bad. Not bad like an unopened crawlspace - fucking evil, bones and decay and floating spores. The dark. The kids.
The screaming.
It's not real. Wake up.
No. Wait. They're actually screaming.
The kids. Oh god.
"-We're screwed, we're screwed-"
"Do something!"
"It's gonna kill us."
"Wait guys - Steve? Steve!"
He didn't get to know what was going to kill them because the game had broken up long enough for four no longer shrieking kids to descend on him looking terrified, because they immediately expertly diagnosed that he was having a heart attack and he had to headlock Dustin to keep him from calling for Nancy while also figuring out if he was in fact having an actual heart-attack because it certainly felt like he was dying.
It only took a minute to pass and earn him a chorus of 'What the hell, Steve's' and he didn't actually know what the hell but he wasn't telling these little dipshits that he was scared. Or that he had been having nightmares of his time during the tunnels underneath Hawkins.
"Just a bad dream, okay? Nothing to worry about," He said, breathe still hitching traitorously, "I'm fine."
The kids believed him. Probably. Mostly.
God, what the hell was wrong with him.
"I uh..." He managed to steady himself, "Think I got it. Sort of. Mind if I play?"
The kids steered him to the table because apparently Sir Steve was already part of the campaign and all he had to do was jump in as they settled themselves like nothing even happened and Dustin handed him a figurine that was apparently him.
It was a little guy with a mace in a shit load of armour.
Sir Steve won't ever freak out for no reason. Sir Steve won't have nightmares- no matter what fucking awful thing he faced down. Sir Steve will always sleep a full eight hours, peaceful as a baby, even in an empty bed in an empty house.
"Roll initiative."
"Okay, nerds, let me show you how it's done."
He had ended up winning that game, he recalled much to Wheeler's shock. Steve would never admit it but he kind of liked playing let's-pretend with the nerds. Sure they were loud and argued over nerd things that half the time Steve had no idea about but they had each other's backs unlike his former friends Tommy and Carol. Aside from his nightmare Steve's first game of let's-pretend (D&D Mike kept insisting) had gone well. If only the nightmares would stop.
For weeks after El had closed the Gate Steve had had nightmares of the tunnels and the vines. The smell. The vines reaching for him. The screams of the kids. It had gotten to the point Steve had stopped sleeping all together. Naturally his grades faltered and next thing he knew his dad had got him working at Scoops Ahoy wearing that ridiculous sailor costume and arguing with his new co-worker Robin Buckley.
And then next thing Steve knew he, Robin, Henderson and Erica were fighting evil Russians, Starcourt Mall had burnt to the ground and he was soon working at the video store with Robin once again as his co-worker. It felt almost like a lifetime ago. And yet it was only now that he was back in Hawkins that the nightmares had returned to plague him. Steve had to remind himself that that was all they were: nightmares. But his mind wouldn't obey. Every time he started to even remotely drift off to sleep Steve would once again find himself back in those tunnels as the mouth less demodogs advanced towards him, the screaming kids behind him, his bat swinging wildly...
No, he thought to himself. They were gone. Eleven had closed the Gate.
El.
Steve wondered how she was doing. Will had once been her adopted brother and with the shit that had both been through was no doubt hurting with him gone. He thought about calling her, just to check up on her. As he debated whether or not to, his thoughts suddenly drifted off to his first "proper" meeting with Eleven two weeks after the Snowball.
It was 4:37(Four three seven, El thought) which meant that he was late. By thirty seven minutes.
Thirty seven minutes was not late like Hopper was late sometimes, where it was already dark ("I'm not that late kid, it just gets darker earlier in the winter"- a fact that she had to check over the walkie talkie with Dustin and was surprised to have confirmed) so that she was bored and lonely and he had to bluster and apologize and reheat his meatloaf and pretend it tastes just as good that way.
She wasn't really lonely, she thought. Really lonely was doing something wrong and SECURITY picking her up and putting her in a room alone until she could control herself. Really lonely was looking forward to seeing Brenner after three days of seeing nobody at all. Really lonely was hugging him and begging him to take her away and being grateful when he took her back to be lonely in her room. Really lonely was that she barely remembered how to talk anymore because it had been so long since anyone had asked her to say anything besides yes or no. Really lonely was vague memories of sisters that all disappeared into the depths of the lab leaving Eleven all by herself, forever and ever.
When she was lonely she knew that Hopper would be home soon, complaining about Callahan and Powell and how much he hated mushy carrots. She knew she had a sister in Chicago. She knew that Mike was somewhere, lonely too. She knew she had friends, and even though they were far away Hop compromised and let her have a walkie talkie, so they were never really far and she was never really lonely.
But Steve was thirty-seven minutes late when he wasn't supposed to be late at all and she decided this entire thing was off to a bad start and she was absolutely right when she told Hopper that Mike and Dustin and Lucas and Will should bring groceries instead.
They hadn't had a fight about it. Hopper still had glass in his windows, after all. But afterward Hopper had looked at her with a knowing expression under the brim of his hat and told her not to give Steve a Hard Time (a Hard Time meant scaring someone with your powers or making them watch All My Children and The Young and the Restless for hours) because he was doing them a favour. A favour that Mike or Dustin or Lucas could have been doing.
But she wasn't going to give him a Hard Time. She wouldn't even tell him that he was late. It wasn't Steve's fault that he wasn't Mike.
It wasn't, for example, giving him a hard time when there was suddenly a tentative version of Hop's secret knock (at 4:39 ) and she slammed the door open from her place on the couch with a bang that made the older boy drop the bag of groceries in startled shock.
And she was helping when she picked up a jar that went rolling away with her mind and put it back in the bag as he scrambled to gather everything back up.
"Holy..." Steve whispered to himself as the pasta sauce deposited itself on top of a bag of frozen carrots, before giving a surprised, slightly braying laugh, "I knew you could...but...That's so cool." Then he grinned at her so openly she felt a little bad because even though she wasn't giving him a Hard Time she... might have been intending to a little bit.
"Uh...Sorry I'm late- getting around the booby traps was-" She stared silently as he trailed off, "Sooo- I'm Steve...but your d...Hop...definitely told you that already, right?"
"Eggs." She said and the boy tilted his head in confusion before noticing the spreading wet stain on the grocery bag.
"Ah shit..." He sat the bag down on the kitchen counter and started salvaging whatever he could from the carton, "Great start, huh? Uh...what should I call you? Jane or El or...?"
What should he call her? All the adults called her Jane and Mike and the party called her El but Steve looked too in-between to be an adult and too much of an adult to be one of Mike and Party so she wasn't sure what the right answer was and the boy was shifting nervously as she watched him- then he just smiled again.
"How about you think it over and tell me when you figure it out, okay Supergirl?"
"Supergirl?"
Something about what she said must have been funny because Steve snorted, shoving a box of pasta into the cabinet, "Don't tell me those nerds haven't made you read comics yet? Didn't you like, live in Mike's basement for a month last year? I'm surprised they didn't make you memorize them."
"I couldn't read then."
He stopped halfway to putting a bag of green-beans in the freezer, his easy smile flickering away.
"Right," He says it slowly, before putting on a smile that Eleven was pretty sure was a lie. "Supergirl is...this chick with kick-ass super powers. Like you. But if you don't want me to-"
"I like it."
Steve smiled a real, genuine smile again and she smiled a little back and decided she wasn't going to give him even a little bit of a Hard Time, even if he wasn't Mike or Dustin or Lucas especially when he brandished a white jar with FLUFF written across it in big letters and a box of Eggos, "Hop said you like waffles. I'm about to blow your mind."
"Blow my mind?"
"Yeah like...it's...Okay, so slang isn't your thing right?"
"I have a notebook." Eleven replied matter of fact as she brandished a pen- ready to add Blow My Mind.
"It's like, something is going to be so good it's crazy or so bad or...just crazy. Does that make sense?"
"No."
"Yeah. I can see that." Steve said sheepishly, before shoving a pair of waffles in the toaster, "Well, it's gonna be awesome."
Steve was different than Hopper because while Hopper was quiet Steve obviously needed to talk-even when there weren't things to say- and he filled the cabin with so many words that she could barely keep up in her notebook, going from topic to topic like silence is something to fight with. He told her about Supergirl and about what the party was doing and vetoed her putting 'dipshits' into her notebook because Hop would kill him. He gave her a two page letter from Mike and she read it four times as he told her about how Dustin was making him play Dungeons and Dragons and that he hated it (which was a lie, but she didn't know if it meant she wasn't his friend or if he doesn't know the rules about lying since he could even lie by smiling). He talked about everything in a way that seemed to fill space and finally presented her with a FLUFFed waffle.
"So you're alone a lot, huh?" He said around a mouthful of marshmallow.
"Yes."
"Sucks, huh?"
She could tell him that it was alright. That she had been alone worse before and she wasn't really lonely even when the cabin was quiet and she watched hours tick away, sometimes counting them, sometimes just letting them disappear.
"Yes." Eleven said instead because even though she knew that he didn't understand really lonely, something in his expression made her think he really did understand that being alone sucks.
"I'll try not to be late next time," He said clearing their plates away, "I mean, I'll also have to try not to like, step in a bear trap too so no promises..."
"Next time?"
"Yeah. If that's okay? Hopper asked-"
"It's okay."
Enough was enough. Steve couldn't stay in this hotel room any longer. He needed some fresh air and he knew the perfect place to go.
Flatrock creek.
It was his favourite place to go in all of Hawkins. Here he wasn't King Steve, or Nancy's ex-boyfriend or a babysitter to the nerds. Here he could just be himself alone with his thoughts.
God it's been so long since I've gone here, Steve thought to himself as he drove along the vast forest that surrounded the creek.
As he cruised along, Steve noticed a familiar figure walking up ahead of him. It was Jonathan, hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. Pulling his car up alongside him, he rolled down his driver's window and said, "Byers! You going to Flatrock creek?"
Jonathan didn't reply.
"Come on Byers I know you heard me. Hop in I'll drive you there."
"I just want to be alone okay Steve," Jonathan replied.
"You shouldn't be alone right now you know that–"
"I don't need a babysitter!" Jonathan yelled.
"I'm just trying to help you okay. Do you want a lift or not? It'll be getting dark soon after all."
Steve had a point even though Jonathan had made the walk to Flatrock a hundred times before. Of course Steve already knew that. Reluctantly he accepted the offer and got into the car.
The little creek was iced over, like every other body of water in Northern Indiana. That was the first thing Steve noticed when he drove up to the creek. Jonathan idly strolled across the stones that gave the creek its name. Impossible jumps from childhood made trivial by seventeen year old legs as he muttered something under his breath with each step.
"There's a place on Mars
Where the women smoke cigars-
And the men wear bikinis
While the children drink martinis..."
Two little kids. One on each side of the creek. Steven was older at seven and had longer legs so they decided that in the spirit of fair play that Jonathan would make the rules and the rules he made were indescribably complex- he marked borders and bridges and rocks that were actually crocodiles and not rocks at all and rocks that were portals to another world that froze you and he decided that you could never be caught on the same rock when the rhyme ends or you push each other into the creek. Steven had joined this incompressible game and he had immediately stepped on a crocodile.
Jonathan stopped short, considering, as if he couldn't physically go on before remembering the next line.
"And when all the kids are dead they put flowers 'round their head. Jesus Byers, how do you remember that? We were what? Seven?" Steve asked, shocked that Jonathan still even remembered the words.
"You were seven. I was six." Jonathan replied as he shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled across the last couple of rocks silently, obviously embarrassed to have been caught, "Guess it just stuck with me." He shrugged, his chin disappearing into his coat collar, "How do you remember it?"
"I don't know, man. Just do I guess?" Steve said as he stepped onto a rock. "Is this one a crocodile?"
"Probably. Also, don't, you're going to fall."
"Probably." Steve said agreeably, lopping onto the next one, "And when the flowers die- when the flowers die...C'mon Byers."
Jonathan gave a grudging snort and strolled onto the rock beside him. He wanted to be close for the inevitable wipe out. The hell with that. There's only room for one babysitter here and Byers knew the rules. Never on the same rock when the rhyme ended.
"They put spiders in their eyes."
Steve twisted around him, making a frankly impressive arm-pin wheeling jump onto the long, slanted rock once and forever dubbed the Sinking Pirate Ship.
"And when the spiders make a web- you FREEZE- shit!"
His feet went out from under him as he hit an icy patch, landing on the frozen creek on his upper-back and elbows and sliding to an embarrassing stop.
"Are you okay?"
Steve was about to say he was fine when he realised what he had landed next to. "What the fuck is that?" He knew he should've been embarrassed by how high a register his voice hit and how frantically his legs scrambled but right now he didn't even care. Jonathan was off the rocks fast enough that he almost wiped out on the ice but recovered gracelessly as he slid up behind Steve on his knees and cat him around the shoulders and chest with one arm as their trajectories collided, lighter already out and extended past his head toward- the thing.
In the moonlight it was disturbing. In the lighter's glow the evil looking- parts of it stretched white like an organic version of novelty Halloween spider webbing across cavities underneath as other parts bloated or collapsed. It was covered with sickly yellow fan-like veining around it like a slime mould.
It couldn't be from there. Everything from there was gone. Hop said. El said and El didn't lie. It's was a thing.
She could be wrong though, right?
"Some kind of fungus or-" Jonathan's voice sounded desperately hopeful and optimistic- especially for him.
"Please Byers that's no fungus," Steve said noticing Jonathan's steadying arm was still wrapped around him. He could feel Jonathan's rapid breathing through his coat; see it in the puffs of condensation next to his face. Made him feel better somehow that the other boy wasn't as stoic as he seemed. "You must've been the worst fucking Boy Scout."
"Dropped out." Jonathan sounded vague and distant. A little like it might be his turn to be sick. He ducked out from under his arm, just in case.
"There's a surprise."
Jonathan was suddenly up on his feet, a little more unsteady than before, grabbing a long thick branch from the creek bank.
"Jesus- what are you doing? Do not touch that." Why does he even have to say that? How did he end up spending all his time with people who would even consider touching that? "Stay away from it, Byers, I'm serious, man."
Jonathan ignored him. "At least let me get the bat from the car?"
"I think," Jonathan used the branch to turn it slightly, "I think it's a- just a body?"
The fact that Steve Harrington now had a life where there was a palpable sense of relief and a 'just' attached to possibly finding a dead body didn't slip past him. "What happened to it being fungus?"
"Yeah. It's definitely not. Good call."
"That's a human body?" Steve asked as he thought back to the hub in the tunnels. The rotting things that crunched underfoot as he sprayed gas around the place. Recognizable bits of animals- an antler here, a sharp toothed jawbone that he figured had once been someone's dog stuck in a wall there and a scatter of human teeth that he kicked mud on top of so the kids didn't see. He remembered the glint of a filling.
"It's uh, really- decomposed- Excuse me."
Jonathan walked past him and clambered up the bank. He was so calm about it that Steve wasn't certain what he was doing until he heard the retching.
Steve followed him up, sat on the edge, one foot thumping a rock as he swung it. "We need to call Hop." He said when Jonathan finished up and came to sit down next to him in resigned silence. "There's a payphone by the picnic tables."
"Yeah." Jonathan agreed, but neither of them moved.
"Draw straws?"
They used sticks.
Steve got the short one.
This night sucked.
Unfortunately Jim didn't answer. Great, Steve thought as he walked back to where Jonathan was sitting. "Well?" He asked expectedly.
"No answer," Steve replied.
"Great. Who are we supposed to call now?"
"What about that woman from the funeral? The new police chief?"
"I don't have her number."
"Me either," Steve said as he gazed out across the icy creek.
"Well there's only thing left to do," Jonathan said after awhile. "You don't happen to have a flashlight in your car do you?"
"You want to get a closer look at a dead body?" Steve repeated in disbelief after he returned from his car carrying the flashlight and tossing it to Jonathan.
"Might as well try to see who it is," Jonathan replied catching the flashlight and making his way across the ice towards the body.
"Jesus can't we leave this for the actual police?" Steve asked as he stood behind on the bank. He didn't want to look at it again.
"Hopper's not picking up and we don't know the number of the new police chief. The police aren't here and we are." With the brightness from the flashlight Jonathan could get a better look at the body. It was still decomposed and covered in that yellow fan-like veining but he could now see the face. A very recognisable face.
"Jesus-it's Tommy," Jonathan shouted so Steve could hear from his seat on the bank. Now it was Steve's turn to throw up.
Jonathan was just about to turn away when his flashlight caught a large shadow opposite where Tommy's body was laying. "Steve-there's something else here too," He said as he leaned in to get a better look. What he saw almost caused him to go numb with fear. It was another body. Female this time: bloated, bloodied, eyes wide open and fluids were leaking from her mouth. Her skin had turned to an inhuman colour of rot and dried blood pooled in the ice surrounding her.
But what shocked Jonathan the most was that once again he knew who she was. "Jesus Christ its Carol!" He said before rushing back to the bank, trying not to slip over on the ice, so he could throw up a second time.
"Shit you're sure it's Carol?" Steve asked, having recovered from his own retching.
"Positive. Question is who killed her and Tommy?" Jonathan said aloud.
"And why?" Steve finished.
This chapter was very much a "calm before the storm" allowing me to explore several other characters aside from the main obvious cast.
If you've noticed a theme running through all these characters in this particular chapter confront something whether it be Nancy confronting how much Hawkins the town she grew up in has changed, Bruce confronting the abuse his father inflects on him and decides to go ahead with his date with Sara, Steve confronting the nightmares he suffers from following his adventure in the tunnels back in the final episode of Season 2 as well as the friendship he used to have with Jonathan when he was younger and Karen confronting her estranged Brother Roland/Danny and him subsequently confronting the fact of how much time has passed him.
Nancy's scene with Mrs Kersh was based off IT when Beverly returns to her father's old house. I even borrowed the name Kersh from the book. Also there is more to Mrs Kersh than meets the eye but you'll have to wait and see ;)
Bruce's home life isn't the nicest. His father is VERY dominating towards him and doesn't like his authority being challenged. Basically like Billy's father Neil except Troy is only abusive towards his son not his wife Stacey who is also not the nicest mother either. Poor Bruce...
Exploring Steve and Karen were my favourite. Showing Steve properly meeting Eleven for the first time and having her learn new words was fun as well as Steve playing D&D too. I also wanted to add some tragedy too about Steve the fact that he has suffered nightmares of his time in the tunnels and the vines as well as the reveal that Steve and Jonathan use to be friends when they were six and seven and then for whatever reason drifted away.
Karen was very exciting to write. Basically a blank slate since we know nothing about her. Well now she has an estranged brother and that allowed me to explore her feelings more. Karen always seems so well put together so to have her crack was very enjoyable.
Plus allowing Mike to have his own heart to heart where he's able to talk to his uncle just simply by being the kind, caring person he always has.
Also it wouldn't be Stranger Things without someone finding a dead body. RIP Tommy and Carol from Season killed them? Stay tuned to find out ;)
(1)Hints at things to come
(2)Hmmm what could Troy mean by that I wonder?
(3)Oh there will be consequences but it might not be towards who you think
(4)Danny of course is the main character from Stephen King's novel the Shining
(5)Roland is the main character from King series The Dark Tower. Here I made Danny and Roland be one character.
Please don't forget to read and review. Stay tuned for Chapter 13 because shit is going to hit the fan in that chapter! Jim and Mary face off in their deadly reunion!