4

Trigger warning: Physical abuse, neglect and alcoholism. Don't read this chapter if sensitive to this.

December 1st, 1985

Max ducked her head down behind the couch.

Pieces of the mug rained down on her head.

`You can go to hell!' Slurred Neil Hargrove, whisky sloshing from the lip of the bottle. Max's mom watched through a crack in the bathroom door, mascara streaking her cheeks. `You can just go to hell, Maxine!'

He took another pot shot at her; not with a mug this time. Instead Neil hurled a vase. Max protected her head with her arms and the vase exploded three feet to her left, leaving a large water stain on the wall.

`Neil, stop,' Susan whispered ineffectually.

`She knew, didn't she! Knew her brother was seeing some whore of a thirty year old!'

To her shame, Max's voice wobbled with tears. `I didn't know. I didn't, I swear-'

`Liar!'

This time Neil didn't miss and the neck of the whisky bottle smacked Max hard across the forehead. Foul-smelling whisky splashed over her face. Max took refuge behind the sofa again and wiped the amber liquid off with a sleeve as Neil carried on screaming the word. `Liar! Liar! LIAR!'

`I am not a LIAR!' Max screamed back, a wave of anger suddenly pounding through her. She realised she had jumped to her feet, and that there was quite a lot of blood coming out of her forehead. `I. Am not. A liar,' she repeated, quieter but her voice thick with hatred.

Neil looked wrongfooted for a second.

Then went for the firearm on the mantlepiece.

He was almost certainly too drunk to aim properly, but that wasn't a risk Max was about to take. For a second, she stood frozen like a rabbit in the headlights.

`Run!' Max's mother yelled, and Max listened; she dived for the living room door, wrenched it open and fumbled with the lock on the front door.

A gunshot cracked out, and splinters of wood exploded next to her ear.

Max managed to wrench the door open, and sprinted out into the dark. Another gunshot, punching into the gravel, and another.

`Ran out of ammunition,' Neil muttered sorrowfully, and instead hurled the entire gun at her.

Get out, Mom. Get out 'cause I can't save you anymore.

0

Lucas' mom stumbled down the stairs in her nightie. The clock read one in the morning.

The doorbell rang again, accompanied by loud knocking.

`I'm coming, I'm coming-' She pulled open the door and saw a girl standing there, shivering pathetically in dark blue pyjamas.

`Maxine,' she said, surprised. Then Max burst into noisy, gulping tears. `Honey, honey. What's the matter?'

`M-my stepdad went b-batshit crazy. He might kill my mom, he might kill her!' she bawled out. Mrs Sinclair snapped into Mothering Mode; she did it whenever Lucas had a nightmare or when Erica got injured.

Max was gently led to the kitchen. Mrs Sinclair made soothing noises whilst spooning Ovaltine into a mug, then placed it tenderly in front of Max.

`When did this happen?'

`I ran all the way here. 'Bout five minutes ago.'

`Okay, I'll give the police a ring.' As Mrs Sinclair walked out into the hall to phone Hopper, she saw Erica loitering on the stairs. You get yourself back in bed, she mouthed. And get your brother.

Erica crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows until they dissappeared into her hairline. Then Max gave another gulping sob from the kitchen.

Erica had Lucas dragged out of bed, got him alert, and down into the kitchen within thirty seconds.

`You needed the nerd, you got him,' she said, pretending not to notice how Max's face was blotchy with tears. But she did drop a Hershey's Kiss bar next to the mug of Ovaltine.

0

`Man, your dad's messed up,' Mike said sympathetically. It was the next day, and Lucas had called code red. Everyone had been round to his in minutes.

`Step-dad,' Max snapped back. Then took a deep breath. `Sorry. Didn't mean to bite your head off.'

`So Hopper managed to get there before your step-dad could do anything to your mom?' Asked Will, after an awkward pause.

`Yeah. She's fine.' The `but' in the room was obvious. `But they've taken her to hospital for a mental assessment. Apparently she urgently needs treatment. Mom's been depressed for months.'

`So you're staying with Lucas' family?'

`Yeah.'

Mike didn't contribute to the conversation; his brain was filled with thoughts of his own dad. The TV had blared out so loudly last night it woke up Holly. She'd bawled as loudly as she could. Ted never checked on her; Mike did that around midnight. And three new alcohol bottles rested in the trash.

No, this christmas had not started well.

Mike shoved his hands into his hoodie just to find something to do with them. There was a small crinkle. The Derry newspaper article was still in there, dated two weeks earlier.

0

Over the next week, Mike discovered something strange happening. The responsibilities in the house seemed to be slowly passing from his dad's shoulders to his- for instance, feeding Holly and his dad before himself, ignoring the growling in his stomach. And putting off the bills that had come through the letterbox, shoving them beneath the sofa. It carried on until Mike felt constant frustation simmering under the surface of his skin. He bottled it down.

For a while.

Mike found himself standing in front of his dad at midnight, holding a sleeping Holly.

`Dad. Get up, clean yourself up, and go to bed.'

`Noooo.'

`Come on, you smell awful. When was the last time you showered?'

`Nuh-uh, you can't make me.'

Something hot zapped through Mike's body like an electric shock; he lashed out at the LaZboy, and the spring shot out. His dad tipped backwards, a half full vodka bottle dropping off his lap. It shattered onto the floor, joining the entourage of beer cans.

Mike flinched back, images of Max's bloody forehead flashing through his mind.

`Dad?' He half whispered, tensing his muscles. Nothing. `Dad?' Mike got a little closer, clutching Holly so tightly she whimpered in her sleep.

A loud snore erupted from Ted.
He'd fallen asleep.

Mike gave the LaZboy another kick, and stormed up to his room. Holly woke up from the bouncing motion and started to cry.

`Mommy?' She yelled. Mike got to his room, squeezed his eyes shut, then took a deep breath.

`You're okay,' he said, hoping his voice sounded calm. Holly quietened down after he rocked her. She was almost four; too big for this, but since Karen Wheeler's departure Holly seemed to have reverted to a baby.

Eventually she fell back to sleep. Mike sat down carefully on his bed, trying not to wake her again. His billboard hung on the wall, opposite his bed. On it was a crumpled photo of his mom, of Nancy (who'd gone to college) and any number of photos of him and his friends. A shot of them all in Ghostbusters outfits, taken by Jonathan Byers, was in pride of place in the centre.

And half concealed behind the Christmas photos was the Derry clipping.

In that second, Mike made his resolution.

He laid Holly out on his pillow to rest, dragged his school rucksack out from under the bed, threw out the books, and started shoving in socks and comic books.

No way in hell was he staying here any second longer than he had to.

Then he took a second look at the rucksack. Odd socks and X-Men comics bulged out of it. Reluctantly, Mike removed them, put in clean, matching socks, pulled two T-Shirts on himself, packed another outfit, and stuffed in food from the downstairs kitchen. Then packed in clothes for Holly, an empty water bottle, and one comic book.

Come on, one wasn't gonna hurt.

He unpinned the newspaper and carefully stowed it in his jeans pocket. Derry. The word was loaded with hope.

Mike put Holly in her old baby carrier; it was a little tight, but she'd do just fine. And then came the most difficult part.

The door squeaked slightly as Mike crept along the landing to Nancy's old room. Holly sniffled, as if aware of what they were doing. Nancy's door was stiff; it creaked ominously as Mike pushed it open. As he climbed out of the window, song lyrics washed through his head…

Don't walk away… in si-lence.

The entire damnned song had run through his mind by the time Mike was halfway down the road.