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"Bad Moon Rising"

I see a bad moon rising

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightnin'

I see bad times today

- Creedence Clearwater Revival

Joyce couldn't get her mind off the picture on Will's desk. She kept going back to look at it. Sure, it could be a villain from a story, like he said, or from a Dungeons and Dragons campaign—but it didn't feel like that. It felt … menacing. As though she could feel the anger and Will's fear just by looking at the page.

She went to the phone, dialing the familiar number and dealing with the resignation in Flo's voice when she asked for him.

"This is Hopper."

"Hop?"

"Yeah, what is it, Joyce?"

He sounded wary. She supposed she couldn't blame him for that.

"I have something I need you to look at. Can you come out here? It won't take long."

There was a pause and she could hear papers shuffling around on his desk. At last, he said, "Okay. Hang on."

"Thanks, Hopper."

"Yep."

He showed up looking tired and frazzled. "I don't have a lot of time."

Joyce held up the picture. "I found this on Will's desk this morning."

She held her breath, hoping he would see what she had seen. Hopper took the picture and looked at it, really looked. Lonnie would have glanced at it briefly then told her she was imagining things. Hopper didn't do that—he never had.

"Okay, what am I looking at?" he asked at last.

"I don't know. I just—do you feel it? It's so … angry. And … come look at this." She led him to the porch, showing him what she had realized as she stared at the image. "Now look. At the picture, then at the yard."

Hopper did so, scowling at the drawing on the page, the long spiky black legs and the angry black head, and then at the yard, the clothesline that was reflected so accurately on the page.

"See?" Joyce asked after a moment. "It's an exact match."

He looked again, and this time he nodded. "Okay, I see it. But couldn't he have just used the back yard as a background for the story he was writing?"

"He could have, but he didn't. I think—Hop, I think he saw this. In one of his spells."

Hopper glanced down at her. "You're shivering. Let's go inside."

She followed him in, knowing that he was turning the problem over in his mind, deliberately. As he took a seat at her kitchen table, he sighed. "I think you're right. I think he saw this thing."

"Why would he lie to me?"

"He's a kid, Joyce."

"I mean, you—you heard him describe these episodes. It's not like he's describing a nightmare. He talks about them like they're real."

"Yeah, because they're not nightmares, they're flashbacks. I know a couple guys who have had these things, and it feels like you're … there. Like it's happening."

Joyce put the picture in front of him again. "Then what the hell is this?"

"Owens said it would get worse."

"That place!" she said in despair and frustration.

"Yeah, what do you want to do?" Hopper asked, getting up. "You want to take him back to Chicago?"

No, she didn't, but there had to be something. "Well, there's that guy in Boston that's supposed to be, like, the best—"

Hopper took the seat next to her. "Yeah, they're all a bunch of quacks. They'll all just tell you the same thing, just cost you more money." He tapped the ash off his cigarette in the ashtray, looking across kitchen, really considering the situation. "I think he's right. About trauma. He's right, we're comin' up on a year, you know. I think everybody's on edge. Me. You. Will most of all."

Joyce looked at him, wanting to believe this was all it was, the memories of last year, the secret fears hidden in Will's mind. She wished she thought so. But something about that picture … it didn't feel the same as the nightmares Will had suffered in the past year. There was a new something about it, something … ominous.

"We just gotta get through the next few weeks," Hopper went on, unaware of her skepticism. He looked her in the eye. "Nothing's going to go back to the way that it was. Not really. But it'll get better. In time."

Joyce didn't know what to say—nothing about this situation was good, and she felt … well, maybe it was the anniversary. Maybe this dread she was feeling came from remembering what had happened, and it would ease as they got through the next month. Maybe. She reached for the pack of cigarettes, finding it empty.

"Here," Hopper said gently, holding his out to her.

"Thank you." As she put it to her lips, she wondered how many times they had done this, shared a cigarette and their problems. How many times he had helped talk her through what was going on in her life. A lot. In high school, and in the past year. She took a drag and coughed, spitting out bits of tobacco. "Jesus, Hopper."

He laughed, ducking his head. "Brings back old times."

"What?"

"Well, sharin' my cigarettes between, uh—"

"Fifth and sixth period."

"Yeah. Under the steps. Mr. Cooper caught us that time, remember?" He imitated old Mr. Cooper's voice. "'Hey, assholes …'"

"We ran! We just ran." She couldn't help smiling, thinking of it. They'd thought their problems were so big, but really they'd had such a good time hanging out together. She laughed, looking at Hopper, whose eyes were on her, warm and tender in a way that at first touched her but then reminded her of why he was here. She looked at him, trying to hold back the tears that stung her eyes. "God, I want this to be over."

"I know." He reached for her hand. "It will be soon. I promise."

Joyce clung to his hand, and his promise, hoping he was right.