The Road Home

Somewhere Else

Time Unknown

Eleven awoke and stretched, soaking in the warm sun shining down on her. She knew it wasn't right, but for just a moment she kept her eyes shut and tried to imagining she was back at home, stretched out on a blanket on the lawn overlooking the lake. She could picture the ducks paddling lazily around the cool water. She never ventured too close to the waters edge but loved to watch the gentle rippling waves on a breezy spring day from her perch on the hill. Eventually, she let her eyes slide open and pull her back to reality, or whatever this other place was. Still, she found it reassuring that the grassy hill and the warm sunshine had remained while she slept.

"Good Morning, Jane," came George's comforting voice from behind her.

She rolled over and faced her new friend, his book laying closed in his lap. "Good Morning, George," she smiled.

Sitting up, she looked around and was startled to see more people, like her, in various states of confusion. There seemed to be twice as many people as she had remembered seeing the day before. "Or the sleep before," she thought to herself. George had been right when he said there was little sense of time in this strange place.

Seeing her eyes looking about and stopping at regular intervals as she turned, George asked "So, you see them all too?"

Turning back to George, she nodded.

"That's good," he smiled back. "That means your mind is waking up more. I think you might be ready to give it a try. What do you think? Are you ready to go home?"

Eleven was on her feet in an instant and George had to laugh.

"Hold on now, it's not quite that simple. It's a short road but a long journey to get back. But as they say, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. So let's take one, shall we?"

Eleven nodded and brightly replied, "Yes."

"Splendid. Have a seat," he said, motioning to the place she had been resting in the grass a moment before. She settled quickly and he went on. "First, we'll find the short road. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

He paused and watched as she rested her hands gently on her knees and slid her eyes shut. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, settling her whole frame as she did so.

"Very good. Now, this next part will sound strange, but bear with me. I want you look deep into the middle of your mind. Somewhere in the turmoil and confusion there will be a light. I know that's probably hard to visualize, but concentrate hard and find the light. That light is the road home."

He sat back and watched the calm but determined look of concentration on her face. It had taken him weeks to find the light inside the first time he found himself here, and he was prepared to stick it out as long as it took to help his friend Jane get home.

After a few minutes of deep concentration, she startled George by asking, "What happens when you find the light?"

He laughed, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. First we find the light, then we'll talk about what to do with it."

"I did find it," she clarified. "It's small and flickery, like a candle sitting alone in the middle of a big, dark room."

He leaned forward in astonishment, looking closely at the expression on her face and found no signs of confusion or misunderstanding. "Okay, you can open your eyes."

She slid her eyes open and was surprised to find George staring back, looking confused for the first time since she had met him.

"I knew right away there was something special about you," he complimented, "but I never dreamed you would find your light that fast. How is that possible?"

She gave a sly smile and, in the same secretive voice he had used the day before, whispered "I've done that before."

Relishing the puzzled look on his face and figuring the confession couldn't cause any harm, she explained, "I can do things with my mind. I can make things move without touching them or send my thoughts somewhere else to see and hear people. So I've spent a lot of time exploring the dark corners of my mind already."

George shook his head with a laugh. "Well, my dear, at this rate, we just might have you home in time for dinner," he teased. Then, getting more serious once more, he continued. "Okay, so you know where to find your light, now comes the hard part. You have to focus on the light; focus just as hard as you can. With all the strength you can muster, you need to gather every fiber of your being and draw it to the light and pull yourself through."

He watched her face for signs she was following what he said. While she nodded along, she was still looking puzzled at the concept. He tried explaining another way, although if he was honest, the whole idea still confused him more than a little too.

"Think of it another way. Right now, it's a little like your mind is stuck inside out. And the light, that's the opening you can pull your mind through to bring it right-side out again. Does that help any?"

She smiled then, "Yes. I think I understand."

"Wonderful. Care to give it a try?" he teased, sensing her eager anticipation.

She closed her eyes and quickly found the light again. Concentrating, she reached out for the flickering point and began to pull her consciousness toward it. At first, it came easy and the light grew closer and brighter before her. However, the closer she got, the more it felt like something was pulling her back. It was like stretching a rubber band, easy at first but harder and harder the closer it came to the breaking point. She fought onward, willing herself into the light, straining to get through. All at once she felt herself falling away from the light. Her eyes shot open and, panting hard, she fought to catch her breath.

George was sitting next to her now, a steadying hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he began, consolingly, "I wish I could tell you the first time is the hardest, and it gets easier from here. The closer you get to the light, the harder it is to fight through. Many can't make it through, and there's no shame in that."

He was about to suggest she rest before trying again, but Eleven was already closing her eyes and bringing the light into focus again. She knew what she had to do this time, remembering her morning training with Kali. The name stirred a nagging feeling somewhere in her mind, but it stayed locked away along with so many of her other memories. Kali had taught her that her greatest strength came when she pulled forth her deepest anger. Thinking hard, she immediately pictured Papa. She saw him standing there, expressionless, watching as she was dragged kicking and screaming down the hall to be thrown into the dark room. She seethed at his betrayal, Papa who was all she had in the world, sending her off to that awful place. Her fists clenched, Eleven began to breath hard as she channeled the rage and pulled herself toward the light. She let out a primal scream, pulling with all her might and once again found herself suddenly tumbling away from it.

As she opened her eyes again, she leaned forward, slamming her balled fists into the grass in front of her. Her eyes burned as she shoved Papa's memories away from her mind, cursing how ineffective they had been.

"What on Earth was that?" George asked, staring at her fists, still planted firmly in the grass by her knees.

"I'm always strongest when I get angry," she shot back, harsher than she intended, the frustration at her failure still ebbing away.

"And how did that work out for you?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm, then softening, "It's true, anger has a lot of power behind it, but raw anger isn't going to get you out of here."

Her face fell in frustration; she beginning to get tired again.

"Okay, try this for me." he offered. "Close your eyes and pull up your go-to angry thought. That one thing that just boils your blood and makes the rest of the world disappear." He watched as her face tightened involuntarily, the memory taking center-stage in her mind. "Okay, now focus on it, concentrate hard. Gather every detail about the scene; the sights, the smells, the thoughts that ran through your head. Let the whole experience fill every inch of you, down in your feet, out in your fingertips."

He let her stew on the memory for a second, her body responding to the memory of Papa. "Now how do you feel," he asked.

"Strong. Powerful." she said, through gritted teeth.

All at once, through a series of rapid, clipped commands directed at her, he snapped her back out of focus. "Eyes open. Up on your feet. Stand on your left foot. Balance."

Riding the wave of rage fueled adrenaline, she complied, snapping her eyes open once more. Her pupils were dilated wide, the normal soft chocolate brown looking almost jet black. Her breath came shallow and fast, hands sweating. Every muscle tensed as she stumbled to her feet and lifted one leg, fighting to steady herself.

"Catch," he commanded, gently tossing the book to her. She reached out, barely grazing the cover with her hand as she lost her balance and tumbled to the ground. The book landed softly beside her a moment later, falling open to a sketch of an enormous octopus surrounding a giant submarine with its tentacles. George settled himself on the ground at her side as she fought to catch her breath.

"Anger is like a thunder storm." he softly explained. "There is tremendous power in it, but a power that is terribly unfocused."

He let that sink in as she looked back at him, her eyes returning to their gentle, soft brown.

"How do I pull myself out, if anger is the only thing that makes me feel strong enough?" she asked, beginning to feel the trapped, desperate feeling she had experienced in the Upside-Down.

"What makes you think anger is the only thing that can make you strong? You have other emotions, just as powerful, able to fill you up with all the strength you could ever need, but leaving you centered and focused. Friendship. Compassion. Hope." he offered and then, with a smirk, "Love?"

At once she thought of Mike again. There were so many wonderful things about the world, and he was by far her favorite part of all of it.

Seeing he had struck the right chord with her, he instructed once more, "Let's try again. Eyes closed. Think about a moment you felt love. Love for another and their love in return."

She thought hard, her mind a swirl of memories of Mike. All significant, all wonderful, one coming into crystal focus before her. It wasn't exactly a happy memory, but the feeling ran so deep she pulled out every detail she could recall.

September. It had been the first half day after the start of school. The whole gang had decided to hit a diner in town for lunch. She and Mike had ordered a pair of the best cheeseburgers she'd ever had. As everyone finished, they all decided to order ice cream as an extra little treat. She hadn't thought anything of it as she chose a dish of strawberry and waited patiently, chatting with her friends and playing with Mike's fingers, intertwined in her own. Somehow, in all her time living with Daddy, she hadn't had ice cream. Their go-to desserts were always fresh cookies or peanut-butter cups.

The waiter brought out their treats, everyone grabbed spoons and started in. She had turned to laugh as Max described something embarrassing someone had said in class. She had brought the first spoonful to her lips and let the smooth, sweet, creamy flavor wash over her tongue. In an instant, her breath caught in her throat as her mind shot backward two years to another diner, to Benny, to the kitchen. She could remember the taste of the strawberry ice cream so vividly. He had let her have the whole carton as she sat there on the counter watching him scrub dishes. She had just put a spoonful to her lips when she saw the bad woman shoot him in the head while his back was turned. She had seen what was going to happen, a moment before it was too late, and had been unable to stop it. The nice man had died because he had tried to help her.

Sitting with her friends, the frozen treat suddenly tasted like poison on her tongue. The spoon had dropped from her hand and clattered on the table as she sprinted for the door. Mike had seen the panic in her eyes as she bolted from the table and was on his feet in a heartbeat, just steps behind her. He kept her steady in the alley beside the restaurant, holding back her hair as her stomach rejected every bit of the lunch she had just enjoyed. He didn't care one bit that she had hit his shoe with part of the mess.

He didn't push her for an explanation as she collapsed, sobbing into his arms. He guided her away from the mess and sat beside the wall, pulling her into his lap and folding his arms protectively around her. He had just held her, rocked her, gently stroked her hair and soothed her as the nausea and memories fought their way around inside her. Eventually, once she calmed a little, she had told Mike the whole story about what happened that terrible day, from sneaking in to steal the fries right up to the moment he found her, lost and cold in the rain. At one point, Dustin had poked his head around the corner to see if everything was alright and Mike had gently sent him away, much to her relief. Daddy was the only other person she had told about Benny, and she wasn't sure she wanted anyone else besides Mike to know.

"I saw what was about to happen and I couldn't stop her; I couldn't help him. He died because he tried to help me." she said, lip quivering.

He gently turned her so she was looking right at him, though she had tried to look away in shame. "Nothing that happened that night, or any other, was your fault. You were a prisoner on the run from terrible people and the things they did were not your fault. Do you understand?" he asked, soft but firm.

Looking deep in his eyes and feeling his concern, his heart breaking for her in that moment, she knew he was right. "Yes," she whispered.

He had pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket; the one he always kept there just in case she had a sudden nosebleed, so she wouldn't ruin the sleeve of whatever she happened to be wearing. Gently, he wiped across her cheeks and at the corners of her mouth, cleaning away the tears and sick.

"Thank you," she whispered, nestling closer into his protective embrace. "I'm sorry I ruined lunch." she said, looking up at him, ashamed.

"You didn't ruin a thing," he comforted. "There's no way to know what things might trigger a terrible memory until they happen the first time. As for the guys, they understand. Whether you feel like telling them at some point or keeping the story to yourself, they all know that horrible things have happened to you and they will always be there for you, whatever you need."

She had looked up at his comforting eyes, that gentle smile and leaned up to kiss him, before pulling back at the remembrance of being sick only minutes before. Despite the overwhelming feelings she had for him right then, she didn't want to gross him out. Seeing her move forward, hesitate and begin to pull back in uncertainty, Mike leaned down, closing the gap and planted a soft, gentle kiss on her lips.

Sitting on the grassy hill, she let the feelings of that day fill every fiber of her. His love, devotion and unending patience filled her with more strength and peace than she thought possible.

"So how do you feel now?" George asked.

A strong, confident smile crept across her face. "Good. Strong. Really strong. I'm going back to him."

"Good, very good," he said, slow and calm. Suddenly, he snapped out his instructions as before. "Eyes open. On your feet. Balance on your left foot."

With the grace of a dancer, she unfolded and sprang up, landing gently on one foot, arms thrown wide. She settled easily this time into a steady balance and slid her eyes open, soft and gentle chocolate again.

"Catch," he instructed, tossing the book to her.

Arms unmoving, confident in her strength, she reached out with her thoughts and grabbed the book, stopping it in front of her face and giving it a gentle spin. Setting her raised foot back down, she reached out and gently took hold of the book, handing it to an astonished George before settling back into the grass.

Smiling, she addressed George. "I need to rest now. Then, I think it's time for me to go home."

Smiling back at the amazing girl, he nodded. "Sleep well. Captain Nemo and I will be right here when you're ready," he said, opening the book once more.