El dreamt of the void.
Again.
Her pregnancy had inspired countless dreams—Simmons said this was normal, that all her subconscious fears and anxieties came to the surface as she slept, a common side-effect of pregnancy for any mother-to-be. Combined with El's traumatic past and tendency toward nightmares, it was no surprise that El dreamt almost every night.
Some were terrifying, filled with blood and violence and hands that choked her, and a baby's cry, in the night. A recurring nightmare led her a one-room shack in the middle of a dark wood, where she'd sit in wait, amongst the foliage, watching the darkened windows until a light from a single bulb flicked on. She'd enter, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her feet and the scent of mildew and sawdust and something rotting. The inside of the shack was bare except for that single light bulb and a wooden crib. El would approach the crib, finding herself terrified to look inside. Knowing if she did, what she saw would make her blood run cold. But she looked anyway, drawn to the crib as if by a magnet, feeling like one feels when passing a car accident on the highway. At first, there was just a blanket, but something told her there is something else lying beneath the blanket. She steeled herself, lifting the corner of the blanket and peeking inside. The thing beneath the blanket changed as often as the dream occurred. Sometimes it was Mike—unseeing, glazed eyes staring up at her, blood running from the corner of his mouth a dripping onto the white cloth, staining it crimson. Sometimes it was Hopper, a bullet hole making a third eye in his forehead, oozing thick, black, congealed blood. Sometimes it was Joyce, corners of her face pulled tight in the final expression that crossed her face before she died—terror. Sometimes it was her Mama, or Dustin or Lucas or Will or Max. Sometimes it was Papa, or Kali, or her Aunt Becky. And sometimes it was this horrible, bloody, mangled thing, so small it could only be her baby, except that it wasn't human.
Sometimes the dreams led her through dark tunnels and mazes that went on forever. She never found the end of those tunnels, and the dreams were more frustrating than terrifying, though they teased up a nauseous kind of panic that tugged at the roots of her stomach when she knew the dream has been going on too long and still, she couldn't find an exit.
Sometimes they were just strange. El dreamt she tap-danced naked in front of thousands of people. In another dream, she befriended a talking giraffe, and they painted her bedroom walls bright, neon orange. On one occasion, she dreamt she gave birth to a cat.
Sometimes the dreams were good. She walked through a thick snowfall, feeling nothing but peace and contentment. She sat on the porch of the cabin, feeling sunlight on her skin—a reminder of that first summer, in 1985. And the smell of cigarette smoke and pine lingered in her nostrils when she woke. Sometimes she dreamt of Mike, of his voice and his smell and their hands entwined.
Tonight, the dreams were different. When she dreamt of void, she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't really dreaming, at all. That whatever she was seeing and hearing in all that blackness was all happening for real. Her mind slipped into this third space all on its own, and she was helpless to do anything but wait it out until it showed her what she needed to see. There were things lurking here, things of the Demogorgon variety. But they couldn't see her and she wanted it to stay that way. Sometimes she saw Kali in the void. Her sister, who was god knows where doing god knows what, but El could sometimes catch glimpses of her. El didn't know if Kali could see her, but the mirage never lingered long enough for her to find out. The image of her sister would fade into a puff of supernatural smoke, leaving El alone in the dark.
Tonight, El was alone in the void. Or, at least, she thought she was. She turned her head, trying to catch the echoes and whispers that passed like fleeting shadows through the air. The water around her feet remained undisturbed. El took a step, then another. Something disturbed the water, a few yards to her left. She squinted, trying to make it out in the darkness.
"Hello?" She asked, hearing her voice rebound back to her, a thousand times repeated. The echo was jarring against the silence.
She received no answer, although something was moving just beyond her scope of vision. She walked towards it, taking careful, measured steps, until she could literally smell the thing. Rotting flesh. Wet mildew. Death.
El froze.
The thing she was hunting, or the thing that was hunting her, crept out of the darkness. El saw the glint of its slimy, reptilian skin pulled tight over muscle and bone. She saw it's flower-petal maw unfurl, slightly, as it scented the air. It was the stuff of nightmares, all the horrible visions that had assaulted her in the aftermath of her showdown with the Demogorgon in that science classroom, and again as they descended into the rift and the Mind Flayer's minions attacked from all sides. Another monster. Another evil.
It turned its head, looking straight at her, and a low growl erupted from its throat. It knew she was here. It could smell her.
El froze, heart in her throat, listening to the click of its jagged teeth. She could ribbons of skin and flesh—bits of something it had just eaten, perhaps—hanging like ragged tissue paper from its jaws. Its muscles coiled, and it lunged for her.
El screamed, throwing her arms out to protect herself, but she was too slow. Its claws raked across her abdomen, setting a dull, throbbing ache through her core.
A hand closed around her wrist, and it took her half a second to realize the monster and the void and the blackness had faded. She sat up, a scream dying in her throat. The grip on her wrist was rough and tight, and she tried to wrench her hand away, still half in the dream, fending off imaginary blows.
"El." Someone said, though they sounded distant and washed-out, like they were speaking through T.V. static.
"Stop." She moaned. "No."
"El, it's okay." The voice was clearer, now. She recognized it. It belonged to Mike.
She stopped fighting, eyes flying open. He'd switched their bedside lamp on, and the light illuminated their bedroom. She drew a lungful of air, tears running down her face.
"Mike." She sobbed, reaching for him. His arms encircled her.
"It's okay, you're safe." He soothed. "You're safe, El."
She choked back tears, nodding, huddling against him. Something warm and wet dripped from her nose and onto her upper lip. She wiped at it, and the back of her hand came away streaked with blood.
"It's okay." He repeated, against her hair, tracing patterns over her knuckles. She squeezed his hand so tightly her knuckles turned white. Just then, another dull, pulsing pain grew in her abdomen and lower-back. She moaned, tears springing in her eyes.
"Something's wrong." She said, and the words felt like glass in her mouth. She pressed a hand over her bump, face screwed up against the pain. It faded, leaving her sweaty and shaking and hollow.
"What?" Mike asked. He looked at her, pushing her hair back from her face. "El, you were dreaming, it's not real."
"No." She shook her head. "It's the baby, something's wrong." She gritted her teeth as another wave of pain washed over her. Like menstrual cramps, but a thousand times worse. "It hurts." She moaned.
"What?" Mike yelped, grabbing her hand. "Where does it hurt? El . . ." There was a note of panic in his voice. "El, talk to me."
"I'm having contractions." She gasped, through her tears. She couldn't stop the shaking in her hands.
"No, that can't be right, that's . . ." He shook his head, color draining from his face. "It's too early."
El swung her legs out of bed, made for the bathroom. Another contraction began, and she paused, leaning against the doorframe. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting it out.
"Did your water break?" Mike asked. "I mean, is there . . . anything, are you . . . are you bleeding?" He got out, looking at her with pained, frightened eyes.
El shook her head.
"No." She said, shakily. "I don't think so."
"El, look at me." Mike pleaded, taking her hand. She pulled her hand out of his grip. She looked at him, face shining with sweat and tears. Mike's frown deepened. He reached up, wiping at the blood still streaming from her nose.
"Your nose is bleeding." He said, softly. He reached for her hand again, and his time she didn't pull away.
"If you're having contractions, we need to go the hospital." Mike said, trying to keep his voice steady. "We need to go."
"No." El shook her head. "I'm not ready." She sobbed. "I'm not ready to have a baby."
"Dammnit El, listen to me." Mike said, taking her face in her hands. "We need to go the hospital. I need you to work with me, alright? It's too early for you to be going into labor, which means something is wrong. At the hospital, there are doctors who can help you." He said. "I know you only want what's best for the baby, and I think the best thing you can do right now is go to the hospital, okay?"
She choked back a sob.
"Okay."
"I'll call the hospital."
Mike reached for the phone, all the while looking at her like he expected her to burst into flames or drop dead, right there. His face was chalky white, and his fingers shook so bad he had trouble dialing the number. Someone picked up, on the third ring, but El lost track of the exchange as she prepared herself for another contraction, pain shooting through her lower back. She tried to measure out her breaths, like Hop taught her to do, so many years ago.
In.
One. Two. Three.
Out.
She closed her eyes.
Mike hung up.
"Okay, let's go." He said. He grabbed a jacket from the closet and draped it around her shoulders, then helped her down the hall and out the door. She climbed into the passenger seat, and he started the engine, pulling out of the parking space. She didn't bother with the seat belt. Blood rushed in her ears. She held onto her belly, tears and snot dripping down her throat, trying to stamp down the panic that coiled like a tentacled beast around her lungs.
The drive to the hospital was the longest ten minutes of Mike's life. He ran a yellow light, gripping the steering wheel for dear life, trying to stop the trembling in his hands. He came to screeching halt at another red light, swearing under his breath. El reached over, fingers wrapping around his inner elbow.
"It's gonna be fine." She said, eyes glistening with tears. "It's gonna be okay. Right?"
"Right." He said, and the word felt like wet cardboard in his mouth. El's grip tightened, and her face contorted as she endured another contraction. He watched her grit her teeth, watched her whole body tense, forehead shining with sweat, and realized she was the strongest person he knew.
"Hold on, El." He told her, grabbing her hand and holding fast. "Just hold on a little longer, alright? We're almost there."
He parked in the emergency lane, outside the steps, and rushed to the passenger side to help El out of her seat. He pushed open the double doors, heart in his throat. He pushed past a crowd of people, El in tow, and reached the front desk. He drummed his knuckles on the wooden surface.
"Hi, um, my name's Mike Wheeler. I called, um, about ten minutes ago . . . um, my fiancé is pregnant, and she's having contractions. She's only twenty-three weeks along, so we're really worried something's wrong."
The words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush.
"How far apart are the contractions?"
Mike shook his head, looking at her.
"Um, a few minutes, I think. I don't know . . ."
The woman nodded. She picked up the phone and dialed a number, saying something into the receiver. A moment later, two nurses in scrubs came into the waiting room with a wheelchair. They helped El sit down, and then they were rushing her through the double doors and down a hallway. Mike hurried after them. El turned her head, brown eyes locked on his face, torn between terror and relief. And then one of the nurses blocked his view. He watched them wheel her into an exam room, and the door swung shut.
Mike jiggled the knob, finding it locked. He banged on the door with his fists, panicked. A nurse approached him, putting a hand on his arm.
"Mr. Wheeler, it's probably best if you wait in the waiting room. We will notify you of any change in her condition."
"I need to see her." Mike snapped. After everything, to say he struggled with separation anxiety was a bit of an understatement.
"You will." The nurse assured him. "Right now, you need to give her space, for her privacy and safety."
"No, please. Please just let me be in there with her. She needs me . . ."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wheeler, I can't allow that."
"Can you at least tell me what's going on?"
"I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Wheeler. I don't have enough information. I will, however, let you know when I do." She paused. "It's possible she's in preterm labor."
"Preterm labor?"
"She's risk of giving birth prematurely. At twenty-three weeks, it is almost impossible for babies to survive outside the womb. There are ways to stop the labor progression, however, to ensure the baby isn't born at such an early stage in gestation. I assure you, Mr. Wheeler, we are doing everything we can."
Mike nodded, tears welling in his eyes. He allowed the nurse to lead him back down the hallway and into the waiting room, where he took a seat in the corner and buried his face in his hands, shaking with horrible sobs that wracked his whole body. He didn't consider himself particularly religious, but all he could do was ask why why why, and the universe didn't have an answer for him. The terror was nothing like he'd ever felt in his life. El and the baby—they were his family, his whole world. He didn't understand how this could've happened. Just yesterday, they were feeling their little girl kick and shopping for a changing table. And now everything was coming apart at the seams and that black, gaping maw opened under his feet, threatening to swallow him whole.
He'd failed her. He said he'd be there for her, and he so easily let her slip through his fingers. And they wouldn't even let him see her . . .
Eventually, he pulled himself together enough to drag his ass out of the chair to find a payphone, where he called Hopper and told him what was going on. The Chief, a rising note of desperation and panic in his voice, assured Mike he'd be there in a little under an hour. Mike called his mother, too. The sound of her distress over the phone only made it worse. He hung up and went to the front desk, asking to see El. No luck. He sat down, fingers tapping an irregular beat on the chair.
He'd heard people describe time moving slowly, but nothing could've prepared him for this wretched, sluggish crawl. He lost track of everything, and each moment seemed to take him backward in time, not forward. The clock on the wall in the waiting room was four minutes off, though by his watch it was 3:15 a.m.
After an eternity, the clerk at the front desk called his name. His breath snagged in his throat. A nurse awaited him in the doorway, leading down the hall. She looked at him over the top of her glasses.
"Miss Hopper is allowed to have visitors, now." She told him.
"Is . . . is she . . . " He couldn't get the words out.
"She's fine." The nurse said, leading him down a hallway, through another pair of doors, and down another, long corridor. "She was in the early stages of preterm labor. Other than the contractions, she's showing no other signs of progression. No dilation, no loss of fluid or any irregular discharge. There's no sign of effacement, which means the cervix hasn't begun to thin and the baby hasn't begun to descend toward the birth canal, all very reassuring. We've given her medication, and the contractions have stopped. She's resting, now." The nurse informed him. A wave of relief washed over Mike. "We would like to keep her another night, and then she can go home. We think it's best she remains on bed rest for the next few weeks, until we can be sure she is not at risk for a premature birth. She will be able to move around the house for short periods of time and lift no more than five pounds."
The nurse paused outside a room marked 318 and opened the door. El lay in bed, hair fanned out around her face, eyes closed He rushed to her bedside, and her eyelids fluttered. She smiled, eyes widening, as she caught sight of his face.
"Mike." She said, reaching for him. He knelt next to her bed, tears streaming down his face. He cupped her cheek, searching her face. He noted the dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of her skin. The exhaustion written there.
"Hey, El." He said, shakily, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "How're you doing?"
"I'm fine." She said. "The contractions stopped. They've got me on a bunch of medications." She made a face.
"I know." He said, pushing her hair back from her forehead.
"How do you feel?"
"Exhausted." She said. "But also kind of . . . caffeinated, at the same time, if that makes sense."
"Caffeinated?"
"The meds make me all jittery, look . . ." She held out her hands, palms down, watching them tremble. He reached out, enfolding them in his own. He leaned over and kissed her, again and again, until he coaxed a smile out of her.
"They wouldn't let me see you." He said.
"I know." El said. "I asked for you. They wouldn't listen to me." She shook her head, frowning. "Nobody takes me seriously, around here."
"We'll be out of here, soon." He soothed.
El nodded. "If the contractions don't start up again, I'll be out of here by tomorrow."
"I heard they want you on bedrest."
"Yes, they told me I need to go on bedrest for four weeks." She said. She rubbed her belly. "You better hang in there, little bean." She chided. "We're not ready for you quite yet." She looked at him, then, the corners of her face drawn tight. Her frown deepened.
"Mike, there's something I need to tell you." El said. She glanced over her shoulder, nervously, as if someone might overhear, but they were alone in the room.
"I had a nightmare, before the contractions started." She said. "I saw a monster. Like the Demogorgon, but different. I don't really remember exactly what it looked like . . ." She trailed off, picking at a loose thread in the blanket draped over her legs. "It saw me, too." She paused, drawing a shaky breath. "It knew I was there."
"It was just a dream, El." He said.
"I don't think so." Her lip trembled, eyes shining with tears. "It felt real."
Heavy weight settled in Mike's gut. He put an arm around her, rubbing her back, thinking about those things that lurked in the shadows. It was all real. He'd seen it. He'd seen the things that lived in an echo of their world, the things that lived in her mind. His best friend had traveled to another dimension and back and lived to tell the tale. He'd fought interdimensional monsters. He'd seen enough weird shit to know that whatever this thing was, it was probably very real and stalking those deep, dark tunnels beneath their feet. He'd seen enough to know that he was powerless to stop whatever evils lurked in the darkness. He's seen enough to know that nothing was ever as it seemed.
"The gate's closed. Nothing can get through." Mike said, more to himself than her. El wasn't listening. She grabbed his sleeve, looking at him with so much anguish and terror in her eyes it made his heart crawl into his throat, tears springing in his eyes.
"It was trying to hurt the baby." She said, choking back a sob. Mike went cold.
"What if . . . what if she's j-just like m-me?" El sobbed, clapping a hand over her mouth. Mike shook his head, eyes welling with tears.
"El, listen to me." He said. "I know you're scared. I'm scared. And I can't imagine what you're going through . . ." He shook his head. "But I need you to try and relax, okay? The stress is bad for the baby." He pried her hands away from her face.
"If she's like you, then that's the best goddamn gift you could give her. I hope she's like you, you wanna know why?" Mike asked. "Because that means she'll understand people. And I mean, really understand them. And she'll be smart and stubborn. God, so stubborn. She won't take shit from anybody. Because she'll be just like her mom."
He looked at her.
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me." He leaned forward, kissing the tip of her nose. El shook her head, furiously.
"You know what I mean." She said, in despair. "What if she's born with abilities? What if she can see things like I can?"
"If she's like you, she'll be able to protect herself. And she won't be raised by bastards in a lab, she'll be raised by people who love her. She can use that gift to do beautiful things." Mike said, tears spilling over his lashes.
"Remember that time you made us fly?" He asked. "After school, we were standing underneath that big oak tree. And we were kissing and you said, 'watch this' and you started floating off the ground. You grabbed my hand and took me with you, do you remember that?"
El nodded. Mike shook his head.
"After I got over the fact that I was floating, I remember thinking, holy shit, my girlfriend's a goddamn superhero." He smiled, lost in the memory, remembering the way it felt as his feet left the ground.
El smiled.
"Remember when you broke Troy's arm?" He asked, with a laugh. "And made him piss himself in front of the whole school?"
"No, actually, I don't." El deadpanned, rolling her eyes.
He reeled off a whole list of crap she'd done, like, remember when you flipped a van? or remember when Dustin asked you to phone in for aliens?
"Point is, if she's anything like her mother, she'll be a goddamn badass." Mike squeezed her hand. "You don't have anything to worry about."
"What if the bad men find her?" El asked, using 'bad men' to describe Brenner's goons, and old habit that hadn't faded after all this time. "What if they take her away?"
"That's not gonna happen, El. No one's going to take her away."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." Mike said. "Nothing's gonna hurt her as long as I'm standing. Okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to my family." He kissed her, then. Soft and sweet. "I need you to trust me on this one."
El sighed. She gazed at him, pressing her palms against his cheeks. She kissed him, fisting her fingers in his hair. When she pulled away, her eyes were lit with a kind of fire. She traced his bottom lip with her thumb.
"I trust you."
El was sitting in bed, eating ice chips out of a little plastic cup, when she heard commotion outside her room and Hopper burst through the door, looking disheveled and a bit panicked, bellowing at the nurse. His face lost all its sharp edges, however, as he caught sight of her. He went to her bedside, wrapping her in a hug.
"Hey, Ellie." He said, softly, stroking her hair. She smiled, inhaling the scent of him—cigarette smoke and liquor and pine.
"Hi, Dad." She said.
He took a seat in the visitor's chair, which was empty of its former occupant (a certain, freckle-faced dork who'd gone to get her something to eat from the cafeteria) at the moment. He took her hand.
"How're you feeling?"
"I'm okay." She assured him, gently. "Just tired, that's all."
"Mike called . . . I came as fast as I could." He said. "I'm glad you're okay."
El nodded. "They said I went into preterm labor, but I didn't dilate or have any other progression besides minor contractions." She told him. Though, she thought, they certainly didn't feel like minor contractions. "They want me on bedrest to play it safe."
"For how long?"
"Four weeks."
Hop sighed, sympathetically.
"Better safe than sorry."
"Yeah, I guess." El said, with a sigh. "I don't know how I'm gonna make it through four weeks of this crap. I've only been here for three hours and I'm already bored. They don't want me moving at all for a whole day. So, I'm stuck here." She fiddled with the IV in her arm, agitated.
"How's Mike holding up?"
"Mike's been great, though. He feeds me ice chips and brings me magazines from the waiting room. He just went to get something to eat. He'll be back."
"Try to rest." Hop told her, gently. "Get some sleep, if you can."
"I can't sleep." She said, with a sigh. "I just wanna go home."
"Patience, grasshopper." Hop said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"I know, I know." She sighed, again. She was doing a lot of sighing, lately. She rubbed a hand over her belly, absently, and picked up the magazine lying on her bedside table. She opened it, riffling through the pages, and set it down again. Just then, Mike walked in, carrying a plastic tray.
He greeted Hop.
"Sorry for the scare." Mike said. Hop waved a hand.
"I'm just glad that's all it was. A scare." Hop remarked. Mike nodded. He looked at El.
"Think you can keep down some real food?" Mike asked.
El nodded, eagerly. She'd been battling waves of nausea that came and went, but her appetite had returned with fervor in the last half hour or so. Mike could tell she was feeling better. Her cheeks had regained some color and her eyes looked considerably brighter.
"Slim pickings, but I grabbed what I could." Mike said. He handed her the tray, and she balanced it on her lap. The plate contained Jell-O, carrots, and potato soup. She unwrapped the utensils, packaged in plastic, and stabbed the cooked, lukewarm carrots with her fork.
"Gross." She said, with a groan. "Did they happen to have any cheeseburgers in the cafeteria?"
"Unfortunately, no." He said.
"Pizza?"
"No."
"Breakfast burritos?"
"I don't think so."
El made a face.
"C'mon, just try it." Mike said. "The Jell-O is good. I had some. It's cherry flavored."
El sighed. She ate a spoonful, then another, grumbling between swallows.
"I called my mom and let her know everything is fine. I told her you'll be out of the hospital by tomorrow afternoon." Mike said. "She told me to tell you she's glad everything's alright and she hopes you're feeling okay."
El nodded.
Mike stifled a yawn.
"Kid, if you wanna go home and get some rest, I can keep an eye on her for a bit." Hop offered. "You look like you've been through hell and back."
Mike cocked an eyebrow, looking at El, looking like a nap didn't sound like a bad idea. She nodded.
"He's right, Mike. You look like you just got run over by a herd of demodogs."
"Thanks?"
He was wearing the shirt he'd slept in, and his hair was a wild mess of tangled curls. The dark bags under his eyes looked like bruises.
"Get some rest, Mike." She said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. He returned the pressure, stopping to press a kiss on her knuckles. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
El smiled.
"I promise."
Mike drove home, numb from the chaos of the last four hours or so. When he finally stumbled through the door, he made a beeline for the shower. He stripped off his clothes and stepped under the stream of water, not bothered by the fact that it was icy-cold. He let it run over him, washing the sweat and sickness and hospital out of his pores. After, he changed into a clean t-shirt and collapsed onto the bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow. When he woke, his watch read 2:32 p.m. He dragged himself out of bed and went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, feeling sluggish and even more tired than he was before, if that was possible.
He set about packing an overnight bag for himself and El. He packed an extra set of clothes and a toothbrush, for her. After a moment's debate, he included Anne of The Green Gables in his bag, as well, knowing she'd appreciate the distraction. He paused in the bathroom to run a comb through his hair, then grabbed his keys and made for the hospital, once again. On the way, he stopped by the convenience store on the corner and bought a king-size Snicker's bar.
He found El sitting up, solving a crossword puzzle in one of those magazines. Hop was snoring, softly, in the chair by the window.
"What's a seven-letter word for a bright, pinkish-purple color?" She asked, without looking up. Mike considered it, a moment.
"Fuchsia?" He suggested.
She stuck her tongue between her teeth, filling in the blank, then grinned.
"Thanks."
"I brought you a present." He said. She glanced up. He held out the Snicker's bar. She gasped, snatching it out of his hands.
"God, I love you." She said, unwrapping it.
"I know." Mike returned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She took a bite and hummed, appreciatively.
"I brought you Anne, too. I thought you might like something else to do besides sit and stare at walls." He said, holding up the book.
El brandished her magazine.
"Crosswords." She said, around her a mouthful of Snicker's bar.
"Yeah, well, when you solve those . . ." Mike said, setting it on the bedside table. She picked up the book, turning it over in her hands.
"Thanks."
"How're you feeling?" He asked, dropping into the chair by her bedside.
"Fine. I felt the baby kick about fifteen minutes ago. It was the first time I've felt her since all the excitement, so that's relieving." She looked at him. "Did you have a good nap?"
"Yes." He touched her cheek. "You should rest, El. You look exhausted."
"I can't." She said. "The meds they gave me make me feel like I just drank fifteen cans of Red Bull. Even if I could fall asleep, a nurse comes in here every twenty minutes and starts asking me questions and checks the monitors." She said, gesturing to the screen that recorded the hills and valleys of two separate heartbeats—hers and the baby's.
El glanced at Hopper, asleep in a chair on the other side of the room. "It's a wonder he can sleep through all the commotion, although I shouldn't really be surprised. I mean, I did manage to sneak out my window like twice a week in high school."
"Ten bucks he's pretending to be asleep and he heard everything you just said."
"That wouldn't surprise me, either." El said, with a sigh. "He hears what he wants to hear. He'll sleep through Dustin exploding hot dogs in the microwave at two a.m. but if he has a shadow of a doubt something supernatural is going on, he's staked out on the front porch, revolver in hand." She rolled her eyes. "Ever the paranoid."
"Understandable, considering . . ." He didn't finish the sentence, didn't need to. El's eyes darkened. She nodded, and the conversation exhausted itself like a balloon deflating. She reached across the bed and picked up Anne from the bedside table.
"Read to me?" Mike asked.
El smiled, nodding. She turned to the page she'd dog-eared and began to read. Mike leaned back in his chair, tapping his toe to the beat of one of the monitors, as it beeped in time with El's heart, listening to her read and feeling, for the first time in the last twelve hours, at ease.