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"Words"

You look at me as if you're in a daze

It's like the feeling at the end of the page

When you realize you don't know what you just read

- Missing Persons

It had been such a good day, Hopper thought. Such a good day, in a long damned streak of bad ones. Talking his way into that facility, catching them in the lie about the tapes, finding out all the back story on the microfiche … he'd felt like a real cop again. Like Detective Jim Hopper, two steps ahead at all times. It had been awkward seeing Marissa again at the library, but it was always going to be awkward seeing her again.

He'd been prepared to go to Joyce and tell her progress was being made, that he had reason to believe they were moving forward, and to deal with whatever emotions that news brought up.

But now—now he was driving away from the quarry, where they'd pulled that poor kid's body out of the water. He'd had a bad feeling about the place from the start, the chill in his gut he always got when he was in the most obvious, and therefore most likely, place. Nothing strange, nothing sinister, just a poor damned kid who got scared and lost his footing and ruined his mother's life.

The very last place he wanted to go right now was to Joyce's house, to watch her break when he told her that her son was dead. But he didn't have any other choice. It had to be him. He couldn't bear for her to hear the news from anyone else.

She met him first, before he could get the words out. "Hop, there was something in my house. It came out of the wall. It—it was a thing, a monster. You have to go in there, you have to get it out."

He drew in a breath to tell her anyway, but he couldn't. Not yet. "All right. Let me look." He gestured to Powell, and they went in, guns drawn, neither of them surprised to find that there was nothing there.

The house was—he didn't understand what was going on in the house. There were Christmas lights strung everywhere, all over the ceilings, and a string on the wall with the alphabet painted under them. What had she been doing to herself? He was willing to bet she hadn't slept since Will had gone missing, and had only eaten when someone forced food on her. She couldn't keep on like this. He wanted to hold her the way he had in high school, all those years ago, to take care of her. But he couldn't do that. He was the Chief of Police, and instead of making things better, he had to make them so much worse.

He brought her inside, with Jonathan. Joyce went immediately to the wall, putting her hand on the smoothness of the wallpaper, frowning at it.

"Joyce. Joyce!"

"What?" She came toward him, but turned her head so she could stare at the wall, puzzled and worried about it far more than she was about what he had come to tell her. And he couldn't put it off anymore.

"Joyce. We found— We found something."

She nodded vaguely, but wasn't listening.

"We found Will, Joyce. In the quarry."

Behind him, he heard a sharp gasp from Jonathan.

Joyce didn't look at either of them. "No." She said it as though she was distracted, as though she hadn't heard him.

Gently, Hopper kept trying to reach her. "We think … well, our working theory right now is that he crashed the bike, made his way to the quarry, and accidentally fell in."

Joyce was staring at the smooth, unblemished wallpaper. He wasn't sure she could even hear him, and he was terrified that they were going to lose her to this, that she was going to go under with the weight of her grief.

"The earth must have given way," he went on. She moved her head a little, but then continued staring at the wall. "Joyce." He said it again when she didn't respond. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No." She looked at him, clearly shaken, but not by his news. "Whoever you found, is not my boy. It's not Will."

He had seen this before, this denial in the face of the facts. He had pretended Sara was just in the other room for … far longer than he should have.

"Joyce."

"No. You—you don't understand. I talked to him. A half hour ago." She went to the wall and opened up a cupboard, lifting a bundle of Christmas lights out of it. "He was—he was here. He was talking, with these."

"Talking?" Hopper echoed. Well, that explained the lights. It hurt to see her like this—she'd always been so smart, even if she had never believed it about herself. But this kind of thing had always been a possibility, hovering just out of sight.

"Uh-huh. One blink for yes, two for no." She put the bundle back in the cupboard, going to the alphabet wall. "And—and then I made this so, so he could talk to me. Because—" She pointed at the cupboard. "He was hiding. From—that thing."

"The thing that came out of the wall, the thing that chased you."

She didn't catch that he was humoring her, or that he didn't believe her. "Yeah."

Jonathan came toward her, holding his arms out to her. "Mom, come on, please, please."

"No. It—he's—it's after him! He's in danger." She let go of Jonathan and turned to Hopper, holding his arms. "We have to find him! We—"

"What exactly was this thing? Some kind of animal, you said?"

"No, it was this—it was almost human, but it wasn't. It had these long arms and it didn't have a face." She was animated in her description, her hands moving as she tried to get the picture across, and there was no doubt in Hopper's mind that to Joyce, this thing was very real, as if she had actually seen it.

Jonathan turned away, leaving the room entirely. Hopper felt for the kid. It was hard enough to lose your brother, but now it looked like he might lose his mom, too.

"It didn't have a face," Hopper repeated, gently. He took her by the arms, moving her toward the table in front of the couch, coaxing her to sit. "Joyce." She was talking incoherently now, starting to weep, and Jim knelt in front of her. "Listen. Listen to me." He hadn't spoken of this before, not to anyone. Not even really to Diane, although she'd known what was happening. But Joyce needed to hear it, before she lost her other son, too. "After Sara, I saw her, too. And I heard her." He still could, if he tried hard enough. Or, late at night, if he didn't try hard enough not to. "I didn't know what was real. And then I figured out that it was in my mind, and I had to pack all that away, otherwise I was going to fall down a hole that I couldn't get out of."

He thought maybe he'd gotten through to her, as her body stopped trembling and she got control of the tears, but she shook her head, saying, "You're talking about grief. This is different."

"I'm just sayin'."

"I know what you're saying, Hop. And I swear to you, I know what I saw. And—I'm not crazy—"

Hopper kept his voice low and calm and soft. "I'm not saying that you're crazy."

She wasn't having any of that. "No. You are. And I—I understand. But … God …" She was losing the fight with the tears again, her hands trembling in his. "I need you to believe me. Please."

He couldn't. What she was saying— He had seen her son's body with his own eyes, and here she was talking about him being in the lights. Much as he wanted to be on her side, to be the person who believed her, he just couldn't. "Listen. I think you should go down to the morgue tomorrow and see it for yourself and get the answers that you need." She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no, either, which was better than he'd thought that suggestion would go. He held her hands a little tighter. "But tonight, I want you to try to get some sleep, if you can."

Joyce looked at him like he was the one who was crazy, closing her eyes and shaking her head like she couldn't believe what she was hearing—or like she could believe it, and was incredibly disappointed. He wished with all his heart that he didn't have to be the one to bring her back to reality—but better him than Jonathan.

With a final squeeze of her hand, Hopper got to his feet. He went outside and got in his car and turned it on, ready to drive away, then turned it off again. How could he leave her there like this? Couldn't he go back, and pretend to believe her long enough to get her to sleep, to hold her and tuck her in and make sure she was okay, at least for tonight?

But he couldn't do that. She wouldn't want him to, anyway—nothing he had said had convinced her. Tomorrow, in the daylight, maybe she would see then. He leaned back in the truck, pulling his hat down over his eyes. When she woke up, he would be here, and when she went to the morgue, he would be there. It was the best he could do.

Left alone, Joyce went back to the wall. She couldn't understand how every trace of that creature could have disappeared, how the wall could be so smooth when she had seen the paper tear as that thing pushed its way through. If only she had stayed, and … and killed it, somehow. Then Will would be safe.

Jonathan had retreated to his room, and she went to his door, ready to knock, to ask for his help or try to offer hers, and thought better of it. He needed time alone. He always had, since he was little. He worked through things on his own best. She could talk to him in the morning.

Briefly, she considered doing as Hopper had asked and getting some sleep—but what if Will came back? If that thing came back? She needed to be ready.

From the shed, she got the axe, bringing it back inside with her. Then she sat down on the couch, the axe in her hands, ready to save her boy if there was the slightest chance to do it.