After she was torn so abruptly from his life, Mike had found himself slipping into the hopeless despair that had almost destroyed him the year she was missing. This time around, he found he was able to pull himself out of the downward spiral by reminding himself that, unlike last time, he knew she was still out there. She was safe in hiding, and he knew Hopper would do absolutely anything to keep her from harm. While he still hung out with the guys most weekends through High School, he poured himself more and more into his studies and secret dreams of how he might find her again someday.

In college, he had spent the first semester taking the introductory courses for his intended major of accounting, bored out of his mind. While others in his classes struggled with the basic concepts the professor was covering, everything just clicked for Mike and most days he had already completed that day's homework before class was even done. Meanwhile, he spent most nights grilling his roommate Craig, a computer science major, on what new topics they had covered that day. He found the rapidly emerging field fascinating and full of possibilities. Finally, just before they headed their separate ways for Thanksgiving, Craig had given him the piece of advice he needed to hear to set himself on the right direction in life.

"Look, your miserable doing accounting classes and you clearly have a knack for this computer stuff. I've caught you more than once trying out my homework just for fun, nerd," he said, good-naturally. "Why don't you give the CS program a try next semester. If you really miss accounting, you could always slip a class or two in there just for the sadistic fun of it."

In the end, he had taken Craig's advice and never looked back. He had taken to computers like a fish to water and by senior year, he and Craig had partnered up on a side project and sold their software back to the college for use in their administration offices. A couple small projects propelled them further until they struck big with their latest venture. While all the big-chains were already switching over to computer-based reservation systems, there were still thousands of small-town hotels and motels still working out of thick, dusty registers. Mike and Craig had put together a package deal of hardware and software to help bring these mom-and-pop establishments into the 21st century and onto the new frontier of the World Wide Web. Of course, this usually meant traveling to small towns all across the country to visit these hotels and make the sales pitch.

Mike had been only too happy to put on the traveling-salesman hat and go on the calls himself. He knew the system inside and out and found he was actually pretty good closing sales with customers who still regarded computers as some kind of black magic, best kept at a safe distance. He had another reason for volunteering to take on the lion-share of the trips as well. He had spent years trying to picture just where Hopper would have taken El to hide away and start a new life. Mike just couldn't picture Hopper opting for a big city with thousands of inquiring eyes passing by on the street. While small towns were notorious for their gossips, anxious to know every last detail of peoples lives, it was also easy to spot outsiders taking too much interest in someone. If he had to put money on it, Mike could best picture them settling into a little town with a carefully rehearsed back-story and falling quickly into a routine that would hold them over until it was safe.

Each new town he came to, Mike tried to get out and about as much as possible and visit the places the locals tended to congregate: cafés, grocery stores, dusty bars far from tourists; the kind of place he might run into either of them by chance. He casually scanned faces for features he might recognize. He was certain he could still pick Hopper out of a crowd; the Chief's face burned hard in his memory. El would be harder to recognize as she undoubtedly changed a lot in the last twelve years, and he did his best to picture what she would look like at 26.

Mike decided he liked Clear Brook the second he turned off the highway and started down the town's only major street. It was a small fishing town right on the Pacific Ocean, with a small harbor protected by a jetty, right where a river met the sea. A couple hundred residents, two gas stations and a single grocery store, the quiet town was worlds away from the bustle of Chicago. Still, being situated a reasonable three hour drive outside Seattle, two hotels welcomed year-round guests to Clear Brook. He had tried to arrange demonstrations at both of them, but only the Pacific View Inn had been interested. Still, if he could close that sale, the other would probably come calling within the next year, doing their best to keep up with the Jones', as it were.

Needing a little getaway of his own, Mike had actually arranged to arrive two days early for his meeting with the couple who ran the Pacific View. He intended to spend some relaxing time kicking off his shoes and walking barefoot on the beach, and maybe finally finishing the latest John Grisham novel he'd been packing around for almost three months now. And, of course, he would hit the local gathering places in his desperate search.

Realizing he still had a few hours to kill before the afternoon check-in at the hotel, and his stomach reminding him that his airline breakfast was long gone, Mike decided lunch was in order. At the end of the street, he found a little restaurant overlooking the harbor and its docks full of deep-sea trawlers and day-charters. The dusty gravel parking lot was mostly empty and he pulled his rental into a spot next to a dented old brown pickup with 'Walker Marine Engine Repair' hand-painted in neat, white lettering on the side. Stepping through the front door, he found the place was nearly deserted despite it being a few minutes before noon. Two men sat at the long counter, talking over coffee and burgers, and a third stood at the register paying for his meal. Based on the grease-stained jeans, faded Carhartt jacket and brown Stetson hat, Mike guessed that was probably the "Walker" that went with the truck outside.

Passing by the "Please Seat Yourself" sign, Mike headed to a corner booth overlooking the docks and the ocean beyond. Looking out at the slowly crashing waves, he breathed a contented sigh and thought, not for the first time, of leaving Chicago for good and settling someplace like this. From behind him, he heard the man at the register finish up paying and the waitress handing him back his change.

"Thanks for stopping by, Daddy," she said, cheerily. "Don't forget, I'm fixing meatloaf tonight so be home by six."

He told her he wouldn't forget, and headed out the door. She moved quickly down to the two men at the counter and topped off their coffee.

"Anything else today?" she asked.

Mike missed what one of them responded, but she gave an exasperated laugh. "Bill, you know Dr. Smith said no more pie. I'm not even supposed to still let you order burgers, and I'm not about to get an earful the next time your cholesterol check comes back even higher."

Mike couldn't help but laugh to himself. This was exactly why he liked small towns, and he found himself missing Hawkins just a bit. While he still went home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, he stayed at his parents and did little around town; too many painful memories seemed to crop up everywhere he turned.

Finally done with the men at the counter, and still chuckling over Bill's request for the forbidden pie, the waitress made her way over to the booth to bring Mike a menu.

"Coffee?" she asked, setting the laminated lunch menu on the table in front of him.

"Please," he answered, looking up with a smile.

Their eyes met for only an instant before she turned and headed back to grab a mug for him, but it was enough to make Mike's heart skip a beat. Her face wasn't one he had seen before, but her deep brown eyes held a familiarity that took him back. When she returned to drop off the coffee and take his order, he tried to discretely study her face more closely for some recognizable features, or for her to show any spark of recognition of him.

"What'll you have?" she asked, setting down the mug and pulling a notepad out of the pocket of her apron.

Embarrassed, Mike realized he had been so lost in thought he hadn't even looked at the menu yet. Glancing down to the middle of the page, he blurted out the first words his eyes fell on. "Club sandwich," he said.

"Good choice, one of my favorites," she said with a smile, jotting down the order and heading back behind the counter to drop it off in the kitchen.

His mind was awash with competing thoughts of hopefulness and doubt. He watched her moving about the restaurant, clearing dishes and wiping down the counter when Bill and the other man left. Going back into the kitchen and talking to the cook, coming back out and refilling ketchup bottles. He did his best to be subtle and not stare; the last thing he wanted to do was get caught and creep her out. Her brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail, had just a little curl to it, the way he remembered El's just before they left. She had that same shy, sweet smile.

He quickly averted his eyes, pretending he hadn't been staring, when she came back out of the kitchen carrying the plate with his sandwich. As she set the dish down with her left hand, his eyes couldn't help but land on her left wrist. The chunky band of a watch, a green scrunchy and a blue hair-tie obscured the first few inches of her arm. "It could mean nothing, or it could mean everything," he thought to himself as she turned away with a smile.

With his heart pounding in his chest and a million thoughts in his head, Mike could hardly eat the sandwich sitting in front of him, despite being famished just minutes before. He was desperate to know, and yet afraid to find out. He had been wrong before, and embarrassed himself thoroughly more than a few times by asking women if they just happened to be his telekinetic childhood sweetheart who had to go on the run with her adoptive police-chief father when the government tried to hunt her down. He had phrased it a little better, but had come off looking just as crazy.

As he was nearing the end of his sandwich, the cook came out from the kitchen carrying a black trash-bag, headed for the dumpster. Just as he started out the front door, the phone back in the kitchen started to ring. He looked over his shoulder and addressed the girl behind the counter.

"Hey El, could you get that?"

Mike nearly choked on the bite he was chewing as his eyes snapped up to watch her push through the swinging door back into the kitchen. His mind was made up, he had to say something. There were two possibilities; either he had finally found her, or the universe was playing some cruel trick. Either way, he had to know. A few minutes later, she came back out from the kitchen and, seeing he was done eating, she came over with the check. Although he had enough cash in his wallet, he quickly pulled the credit card out instead. He would put the ball in her court, handing her something with the name Michael Wheeler stamped in gold lettering right across the front.

As he handed the card over, he leaned closer and quietly asked "Eleven?"

Without a word, she made her way back to the register on the front counter. He was certain she had heard him; besides the cook back in the kitchen, they were the only two people in the whole place. A minute later, she walked back over to the table, not making eye contact as she did so. She set down his card, the receipt and a pen, and turned away, moving quickly back behind the counter and into the kitchen.

Mike was dumbfounded at the reaction. If he had been wrong, and she was just another random stranger who went by the name El, the phrase 'Eleven' would have just seemed confusing as opposed to something worrisome. Only after he signed the receipt did he notice the small slip of paper wrapped around his credit card. He glanced back up, but she was still hiding out in the kitchen, clearly waiting for him to leave before she came back out. Gathering his coat, Mike headed back out to the rental car and got behind the wheel before unfolding the note and reading what she had written.

Boardwalk

3:00 PM