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"The Gambler"

You've got to know when to hold 'em

Know when to fold 'em

Know when to walk away

Know when to run

- Kenny Rogers

Joyce's fingers were shaking as she dialed the number for her house. She let it ring a long time, but she could practically hear the sound echo through the empty house. Okay, so they weren't at her house, she thought, her fingers automatically dialing a second time just in case. No reason to panic. They could be—they could be anywhere.

That wasn't a reason to panic, either, she told herself, as the phone rang and rang in her empty house. The kids spent half their time outside, roaming the fields of Hawkins. They were fine.

Of course, that was before strange things from a dark, dead version of Hawkins started stalking her child. Her breath came fast, her heart thudding against her ribs as she dialed Mike's house. The phone rang a long time there, too, before it was picked up by the answering machine. Karen's calm voice: "You've reached the Wheeler residence. Leave a message at the tone."

Joyce didn't bother. What was she going to say, "call me back at this weird guy's house"? Hardly. She dialed again, and this time Karen picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Karen, it's Joyce. Are the kids over there?"

Karen held the phone away from her mouth and shouted "Mike!" After a moment, she came back on the line. "I don't think so, Joyce. You want me to check the basement?"

"Please. If you wouldn't mind."

There was a silence and then Karen's voice came back. "No, they're not here. Is anything wrong?"

"No! No, nothing's wrong. Just … checking in. You know how I am with Will these days." She gave that half-apologetic laugh that came so naturally while she was calling herself a lunatic. "If they come in—if you see them, um—" What should she say? "Tell them an old friend of Will's might be in town, and they should watch for him." Maybe they would get that. No, they were smart, they would get that.

"An old friend of Will's, and they should watch for him," Karen repeated, slowly, as if she was writing it down. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it."

"You know what, Joyce?" Karen said suddenly. "I bet they're at the festival. We were just heading over there with Holly."

"Oh, of course! I completely forgot. If you see them—"

"I'll tell them."

"Great. Thanks, Karen!" Joyce hung up, leaning out into the room. "Hopper!"

He and Murray both came into the room where the phone sat. "What?"

"I can't reach the kids, but I'm pretty sure they're at the festival. You think they're okay there?"

"Festival?" He looked blank.

"Yeah, you know, the Mayor's whole big Fourth of July deal?"

"Oh, yeah. That. You think they went there?"

"I think they're kids and it's a carnival, so … yeah. You think they're okay there?" Joyce repeated.

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course they are."

Joyce would have liked it if he sounded more sure of that. "So what else can we do? How can we stop this?" she asked him, trusting him to be able to come up with something.

"Well, there's a number I can call."

She held the receiver out to him. "Then call it!"

"Wait, who are you calling on my phone?" Murray demanded.

"This is an emergency, all right?" Hopper told him. "Lives are at stake." He came to the phone and started dialing.

Murray hovered next to him, saying urgently, "Two minutes, Jim. This is a secure line. Any longer than that and they can trace you."

"Yeah, I want 'em to trace me," Hopper mumbled, his attention on whatever he was hearing through the phone.

"What?" Murray clearly didn't like that answer.

"Uhhhhh," Hopper suddenly said uncertainly into the phone. "This is Jim Hopper, uhhh, Police Chief, Hawkins. I got this number from Dr. Sam Owens." He listened for a moment. "Identification code?"

"You don't know it?" Joyce demanded. How could he not know it?

"You must be joking!" Murray whispered.

"Oh, no, no, I got it. I got it." Hopper reached into his pants pockets, hunting for something, trying to assure both them and the person on the other end of the line. He found his wallet and started digging through it.

Murray's eyes were as wide as saucers. "You wrote it down and kept it in your wallet?" he asked in disbelief.

Hopper vigorously waved at him to be silent, unfolding the slip of paper he had finally found. Murray responded by making rude hand gestures and imperatively tapping at his watch to indicate that too much time was passing.

"Antique chariot!" Hopper said into the phone. "Listen, um, tell Owens that the Russkis are opening the gate. Now, he'll know what that means. Not about the Russkis, but about the gate. Tell him there's an entrance at Starcourt Mall. I know how to get in, but I need backup. A lot of backup. Have him call me back here." He glanced at the phone base, where the number was helpfully written out. "At 618-625-8313."

As he read out the number, Murray jumped up and down next to him, waving and frowning in his deep unhappiness with this development.

Hopper put the phone down, pushing past both of them.

"So now what?" Joyce asked.

"Now we, uh … We wait." He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and sank down onto the couch.

"You've compromised me, Jim," Murray said. "You do realize that, don't you? I'm going to have to relocate!"

Joyce wasn't at all happy with this "wait for the cavalry to decide to show up" approach. "How long do we wait?"

"As long as it takes."

"How can you just sit there … being calm?" she demanded.

"I am not calm!"

"Our kids are in danger."

"You said they were at the festival!"

"Which is like ten minutes from the gate!" she reminded him.

He looked at her in shock, clearly not having thought about that at all. Joyce sighed in frustration and stalked off to grab the phone.

"What are you doing? Joyce, what are you doing?"

She dialed the number he had called, which he had conveniently left sitting next to the phone. On the other end of the line, she heard a very calm male voice say, "Philadelphia Public Library."

"Yes, hello, this is, uh, Antique Chariot's partner … Wheelbarrow. I don't think Antique Chariot properly conveyed the urgency of our situation."

Hopper crouched down next to her, whisper-shouting, "What are you doing?"

"I can't just sit around waiting for a call," she told him.

"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to stay calm," said the voice of the Philadelphia Public Library.

Between the two of them, Joyce had had about enough. "No," she told the voice on the phone, "don't you dare patronize me! I don't know who you are, if you're some glorified secretary, or what, but if you don't want to lose your job, here's what's gonna happen. When I hang up, you're gonna get up off your ass and you're gonna go find Owens, tell him what's going on. We don't have time to talk about it, and neither does he. He's gotta get to Hawkins, and he's gotta bring his men RIGHT NOW! Do you understand me?"

"Yes! Yes, ma'am." The Philadelphia Public Library sounded like he was finally ready to take the situation seriously.

"Thank you. And … good day." Joyce hung up the phone.

Hopper leaned over her, clearly not as impressed. "It's been exactly one minute, Joyce."

"That's one minute too long." She pushed past him and went to Alexi, who was asleep on the couch—although how he could have slept through all of that, Joyce didn't know. Gently, she shook him awake, whispering his name. She made car-driving motions. "Vroom-vroom, back to Hawkins. Come on."

He got up, obediently, and let her lead him to the car. Hopper, shaking his head, followed. Murray hastily grabbed the papers off the coffee table and ran after them.

Sometimes, a woman just had to get mad if she wanted to get something done.