Chapter Four

Eddie watched Chrissy cautiously. He wasn't entirely sure he had heard her right. Surely, he hadn't. "Stronger?"

"Y-yeah…" She was agitated, picking at the edge of the table. Eddie had spent many years watching Chrissy– it was hard not to. When she took the field or the court, it was hard to look away. She just demanded that kind of attention.

Or, at the very least, Eddie's attention. He liked the way she danced.

But in all of his years of watching Chrissy, he had never imagined she would be so anxious, so obviously distressed. Something big had to have her asking him for this kind of relief.

Eddie felt a pang in his chest. He knew what it was like to want to cover up whatever was haunting you with a substance. Eddie was familiar with the never-ending search to fill the void, to find peace. He exhaled slowly. "Look, have you ever even smoked before?" He held up the bag of pot and gave it a small shake. When she shook her head no, he continued. "Do you know how to smoke it?"

"Yes!" She answered rushedly, and then quietly added, "Well, not entirely…"

Eddie nodded. "Right. So. Maybe stronger isn't better?" He probed.

A look of grief and defeat crossed Chrissy's face and Eddie felt a flash of panic. He didn't want her to give her the wrong idea. "No, no, no, not to say I won't come through, I'm just wondering…" He gave the back of his neck a scratch, looking to the trees over his shoulder. The air was humid, stale, like it was about to rain. "How about I give you a little how-to? Tonight? After the uh, the game. The championship?"

A beautiful blush rose in Chrissy's porcelain cheeks, and she smiled brightly, clearly relieved. Eddie's panic eased. "Are you going to be there?" She asked.

Eddie laughed, once, loudly, and then seeing the panged look on her face added, "I have my own championship to attend to. The Cult of Vecna must reign against the Hellfire Club at all costs, and that's an occasion I can't miss." He gave her a wink and a smirk.

"C-cult?" Chrissy's eyes widened. "V-vecna?" Her skin had gone pale.

Eddie leaned over the table, closer to Chrissy so he could whisper, "Don't worry– he'll probably lose. Those kiddos in Hellfire are a force to be reckoned with." He grinned, widely, proudly. Chrissy looked confused, but was smiling in spite of herself, or maybe him. Eddie wasn't sure, but he liked making her smile.

A shrill beep rang through the forest, making them both jump and Chrissy scrambled to silence her left wrist, where a soft cream-colored leather-bound watch was wrapped. "It's t-time. For f-fifth period." She looked at the baggy, panic returning to her pale green eyes, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide and looking to him helplessly. Eddie ached and he had to fight back a groan. She was so sweet, it made him hurt. Like an overtly sugared candy, tightening the muscles in his jaw and lips. He wanted to help her so badly.

He snatched the bag and tossed it into his metal box, quickly latching it closed. "I'll meet you behind the gym after the game. Our campaign will be done around the same time, and I'll take you back to my place." He held his box up as he began to take steps backwards, away from the table, but still keeping his eyes trained on the pony-tailed cheerleader ahead of him. "We can smoke– and if it's not enough, we'll move on to something else. It's cool."

Before he could hear Chrissy's response– a rejection, surely– he turned and jogged back towards the high school.

Had that really just happened?

He had always assumed Chrissy was playing some role, some act he didn't quite understand, since that day at the talent show. She really was a freak– she had said something about how the "rigor mortis" would corrode a coffin, how it was well thought out and sounded hardcore. She was a nerd.

That's why he never understood why she spent time with the jocks, dating Jason Carver. Sure, he didn't expect her to date him, but she had to have better standards than Jason. He was a creep. Eddie was many things, but a creep wasn't one of them.

By the time his van was in sight, the kids were already standing outside of it. Mike Wheeler, leaning against the sliding door in an attempt to appear casual, but he kept fidgeting his hands– from his pockets, across his chest, hanging from his belt loops. He was like a live wire, electric and jumpy. Beside him, Dustin Henderson was excitedly chattering, a wild display of his arms and a loud shout erupting from his awkward, teenage body. Eddie smiled.

A faint drizzle had begun to descend over the parking lot and Eddie tossed his jacket over his hair as he approached them. "Hey! Beat it, punks! Shouldn't you be in class?"

Dustin grinned widely and stepped aside as Eddie worked to unlock his van. The locks were heavily in need of greasing, and he had to carefully maneuver the key in the lock with finesse and patience. With a loud, clunk! the metal door slid open, and Eddie climbed into the van, the two kids following behind him. "We convinced Mrs. Hale to give us the period to study."

"Well, we do have to study, but that's not why we're here." Mike chimed in while Eddie quickly worked to wrap his tin in an old shop rag and shoved it haphazardly underneath the passenger's seat. "We have a gift for you."

With a swift turn, Eddie hopped to face them, closer than he was sure they were expecting. Mike's cheeks flushed and Dustin nervously gave a shaky laugh. "Is it my birthday?"

"N-No," Dustin giggled. "I-I mean, I don't know, man. Is it?" He looked at Mike, unsure.

Mike gawked at him and shook his head, pulling his backpack from over his shoulder and yanked out a chunky piece of 1980s tech.

A large black TCR-214 was outstretched from Mike's hand, out to Eddie. "It's nothing, really. You just gave us the shirts, and the club, and the…the, you know…" His thin pale face was the shade of a tomato.

"It's our way of saying thanks for taking us in– like the little sheepies we were!" Dustin saved, patting Mike on his chest. "This year has been…different… without Will." His voice grew thick with emotion; he continued. "High school would be really hard if we didn't have a group to be a part of, and you've really made an impact on us this year." He took the walkie from Mike and handed it to Eddie, clasping it into his hand.

A lump formed in Eddie's throat. He had been a Hawkins student for the past six years, and it had been hard. High school was a brutal place that sought to snuff out your light, to stifle your creativity, to beat the personality out of you. He had worked hard and relentlessly to establish who he was and to maintain it. He was Eddie "The Freak" Munson, but he was more than that. He was a sanctuary for those who didn't fit in, those who didn't understand the stupid rules society believes we should all play. He had wanted to be this to them. He was proud he had succeeded.

He cleared his throat with a scoff, snatched the device, and swatted Dustin's hand away. "What makes you think I want this junk anyway?" He flipped it over in his hands, checked the battery. "And it's dead? C'mon, Henderson. Wheeler." But he smiled at them sweetly and rustled both of their heads of hair. "Thanks, guys. I'm sure it'll come in handy."

The pair beamed to one another and began to chatter.

"It's already tuned into Cerebro–"

"It has a range of–"

"And you can radio at any time!"

"Lucas has one too, and–"

Eddie chuckled, carefully placed the walkie talkie beside his bundled-up box beneath the seat, then shoved the boys out of his van. "Speaking of Sinclair," He loomed darkly and watched as the excitement drained from their faces at the mention of their swiftly approaching treacherous friend. "Find a replacement yet?"

Dustin squeaked, "Something like that," and smiled sheepishly, to which Mike gave his eyes a dramatic roll.

"Good." Eddie said, finally, and gave his van a solid close. With a wiggle of his key, he locked the metal beast and began to saunter away from them. "So, we're done here then?"

The boys hurried to keep up with him, their shoes squeaking against the wet road. Rain was coming down harder now and the sky was nearly black. They had to shout to be heard over the raindrops on the pavement. "I mean– we were thinking we could tag along with you for a little bit." That was Dustin.

"Yeah, l-like I s-said," Mike stammered, "we do have to study, but we have some time to kill."

But Eddie didn't have time. Eddie had only a few hours before their campaign began. He had a room to set up– he had a whole thing planned. To finish the campaign with a bang, he had worked out a deal with Fred Benson on the Drama Club's stage crew to let him and the Hellfire Club use the theater that evening. He was going to fill the room with dry ice machines and atmospheric music, and he had purchased a bunch of half-off clearance Christmas lights– all red. He had some cases of pop and beer and was planning on ordering a couple pizzas. It was going to be perfect.

All he had to do was tell Rebecca Starley that he and Freddy-boy had jammed out once, or something like that. Of course, that had never happened but hey, Eddie was a nice guy, he could help a chum out. So, tell Rebecca some made-up cool guy stories about Fred and spend about six hours on stage creation. Easy. But first, he had to ditch the kids.

Once they had reached the coverage of the school's overhand Eddie said, "As much as I'd loooove to babysit you two diaper rashes, there's some grown-up stuff I need to attend to, kay?" He gave a smug, tight smile and opened the doors wide. "I'll see you tonight, nerds."

Eddie suddenly shoved Mike and Dustin into the high school, "But–" They both protested as they stumbled into the building and the heavy school doors slammed in their faces.

Quickly, Eddie turned and ran.