Chapter 10: What a Word what a World
Author Notes:
Hi everyone it's me your favourite author the Mandalorian terminator coming to you with my first chapter of 2021 for my story Tales of The Wheeler Family. I hope you all had a good New Year and that together we can turn the page on 2020 and look forward to 2021.I do not own Stranger Things. The only character that is my own is Mary/Ten. The rest belong to the Duffer Brothers. I know my last chapter was a bit darker so I decided to take a detour and have this chapter focus a little bit on what the world outside Hawkins is like before resuming the fallout of Will's death. Please read and enjoy!
Somewhere in New Hampshire:
It would never pass for a typical church, a fact that pleased both those that belonged to typical Churches and those who assembled in this structure. A breaking from tradition was part and portion of their goal, though rather than chaos it was instead a new order and tradition they sought with such vigour.
The building was round, though the true structure was only roughly three quarters of the circle; the remainder was a courtyard centred about a glorious fountain hemmed in by the outer wall. Windows dominated the structure, letting in light of the sun pour in through the stained glass windows telling the triumphant saga of their god like the world's most ornate comic book. The letter "H" was engraved with a simple elegance over the main entrance, which led immediately into a sanctuary that stretched the length of the building to where a pulpit stood elevated against the backdrop of the Plexiglas wall looking out onto the courtyard. The statue that served as the fountain would be mistaken for Atlas in another age – it depicted the object of their veneration holding the world aloft, though unlike bound Atlas his chiselled face looked upon those assembled with an easy friendly smile.
The Church of Homelander could be found lovely or discomforting depending on who you are.
By comparison, the congregation might be a let down to the visitor. Ordinary people to look at them; some dressed just a little better than normal; others wearing what would easily be labelled Sunday best. There was the odd attendant who came in tights of some variety, but they were enduring by the regulars with an air of long suffering patience. They were confident if words of reprimand were needed the priest would see to it. He was also rather unassuming; with balding salt-and-pepper hair he looked like how a young grandfather might be imagined. His robes were blue and held the American flag, but beyond that he was unremarkable as he took his place looking over those assembled.
"The light be upon you all," he greeted the worshippers, his hands raised, microphone carrying his voice to the furthest recesses.
"The light grant him strength," he was answered by the mass.
"It is a glorious day we come together! I see so many familiar faces, and so many new ones as well.
"As you may know, today is a special day, today we announce a new deacon to our temple. But in light of the many new faces here, before we announce him let us share with those guests who have braved the tension to witness our worship.
"We are not a cult, a collection of rejects and madmen as so many portray us. Rather we are those who see the writing on the walls and chose to take those words to heart.
"Where others throw themselves on the words of long dead prophets, invest their hope in vague prophecy, and kneel before silent distant deities, we embrace the miracle in our midst.
"Homelander, leader of the Seven, saviour of mankind. He is not a hope on the horizon, or a legend; he can be glimpsed in the sky, and he descends from the heights to punish the wicked and defend the righteous! In what way, I ask of you, is this great being who does so much and demands nothing in return, beneath reverence?
"My children, speak and be heard, on how the Greatest Superhero has touched your lives!" the priest called out jubilantly.
Several people stood and announced their close encounters of the cape kind:
"He caught the plane I was on when it was crashing."
"Stopped a mugger from robbing me."
The process carried on for a few minutes when a gray-haired gentleman with a Homelander lapel pin stood to have his words and was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. The left window flanking the entrance was shattered, the depiction of the caped hero holding a raven-haired woman of flesh ruined. The object landed in the second to back row of pews; frowning an old woman leaned forward, already reaching for the offended object.
When it exploded she was hurled back, already dead. The grenade claimed six other lives in the blast – and more would die in the hour. The priest was a middle-aged man, and despite his profession pursued with enthusiasm, he would by most be described as a man of moderation who refrained from extreme emotion for the trouble it brings. Now his face contorted and reddened in a blinding rage that strangled any fear that dared draw near his heart.
The entrance was kicked open, six men rushing in wearing green windbreakers and ugly green ski masks. Somehow you could tell none of them were comely beneath the cloth. The one with the least unflattering posture lifted his rifle and fired a shot into the ceiling.
"Nobody move, we don't need to kill any more today, but try anything funny and the world won't miss a few more race traitors. Those pigs in Washington may think it's right for you traitors to gather like decent folk and kowtow to a goddamn Supe, but if you think real Americans will sit by and-" the lead mask was interrupted when the preacher emerged from behind his pulpit holding a pistol at ready.
The leader dived behind a pew, while the priest fired rapidly without any trained skill. One went down as two bullets slammed into his chest, and the others took cover until the pistol clicked empty, the enraged priest still pulling the trigger. The leader popped back up and held down the trigger set on auto; the priest's head exploded in a hail of lead, the bullets denting the Plexiglas behind him.
"Fuck! Louis is dead, you said they wouldn't be armed!" one of the thugs called out as the leader marched down the aisle towards the battered pulpit.
"I said they probably wouldn't be. Now shut up and cover these bastards, they so much as breathe funny, perforate them," the leader ordered. His remaining men tried to do just that, glancing over the surviving worshippers, fingers pressing against triggers, though truth be told both sides were too rattled to do anything without further coaxing. The leader reached the pulpit and reached out to finger the blue banner displaying the letter "H", and after a moment's thought released it. Unzipping a pocket in his windbreaker he pulled out a spray can and shook it.
"I got your message of hope, right here," he growled as he sprayed two letters over the "H".
A sound of thunder filled the temple once more; the leader took one step back, then fell, his covered face obliterated by the blast, dead as he took his last step. The deacon-to-be stood in the side door, trembling as he held the smoking shotgun. He fell to his knees and vomited as he saw both the punk and the priest lying dead, divided by the pulpit.
The surviving attackers exchanged heated words and ran, leaving their dead. There was no more killing to be done, but a message had indeed been sent, perhaps two.
Shell-shocked people looked to the pulpit now vacant of its keeper. Its banner was sullied, the letters SK slashed across it in green as a man's final act. To the survivors who now rose from behind the pews the statue of Homelander while still smiling seemed somehow weary now as he looked down on the ruined sanctuary.
Washington D. C
"The simplest explanation for the problem is the Freakshow. While many superhero communities have sprung up over the last ten years, this area of Chicago is easily the largest in population and has gained notoriety for producing Super-criminals while attracting still more Supes and artificial beings as public pressure against them continues to rise.
"Regardless of the truth, the Freakshow and its residents has become the choice target for laying Chicago's problems on. Everything from crime to the recession is directed at the residents. It has reached the point where even individuals with blatant anti-superhero platforms have managed to gain entrance to the city government. Moderates remain in control, but with the ongoing polarization a failure to side against the Feaskshow may soon be costing officials their offices.
"Chicago was brought to a boil nearly a year ago with the Long March Incident. Thousands of anti-superhero protestors stormed the streets of Chicago, all part of the same organisation we believe, calling for segregating the city, even African-American and other minority citizens claiming that their children would never be safe in schools that allowed living weapons past the doors. The city had to be put under lockdown for three weeks while the National Guard was called in to quell the protestors.
We believe the protestors were organised and led by members of the Seventh Kavalry. (1)
"And yesterday things got a whole lot worse. Karl Rosckinzy, a Presbyterian Pastor in the Freakshow, superhuman, and formerly known as the villain Ironhide, was murdered in his home. Rosckinzy was a well-respected community leader in the Freakshow, an example of a villain who was able to reform and escape a destructive lifestyle. He was in charge of a youth outreach program dedicated to preventing young metahumans from turning to crime.
"Considering his highly durable nature we do not think the Seventh Kavalry killed him; the sonic grenade that caused his death seems more like the work of a villain organization trying to shut down his operation. Regardless, Seventh Kavalry slogans were spray painted in his home and the Freakshow is blaming them and its residents are demanding arrests. In the midst of the powder keg the Seventh Kavalry is playing with matches and our people are fresh out of water," the General recapped for those present. The atmosphere in the Oval Office was tense with the presence of power and the looming crisis that power would be directed towards. The cheery sunlight pouring in behind President George W Bush seemed quite inappropriate.
General Frank Kelley, Director of U.S. National Clandestine Services, was the image of an old soldier, the remainder of the hair that ringed his head was white to match his moustache, and his face was deeply lined. Yet his eyes were hard as steel and seemed to constantly be measuring everything, and find it wanting. A hardliner, true, but sadly he was the only man for the job.
"Thank you for the recap General Kelley, now the question is, what can we do to save Chicago from ripping itself apart?" The Chief Executive demanded. He looked around to the six other people assembled in the Oval Office that would help influence the federal government's response to the gathering storm.
Gloomy and pathological Vice President Dick Cheney leaned forward. "What has Vought International had to say in response?"
"They already released a statement condemning the violence and saying it does not represent the Seven or their company." Secretary of Defence Donald Rumsfeld answered, who was seated opposite the Vice President.
"And this Seventh Kavalry? I've never heard of them before." President Bush turned to FBI Director Robert S. Mueller, who rose from his seat on the couch next to the Vice President, crossed to the Resolute desk and handed the President a file.
"They started out as a simple white supremacist group. During the 90s they primarily operated in Tulsa, Oklahoma waging a violent war against minorities and the police that were enforcing special reparations from victims of racial injustice. On Christmas Eve 1996, during an event that is now known as the "White Night", the Kavalry attacked the homes of 40 police officers working for the Tulsa Police Department. Of those who survived, only two stayed with the force: Detective Angela Abar and Police Chief Judd Crawford. Their files are attached as well, Sir. (2)
"It seems that since then they are now operating throughout the United States and that their object of hatred has changed and is now primarily focused on superheroes particularly the Seven and especially Homelander," Robert Mueller explained.
"Could they be planning some sort of attack?" Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice inquired who was sitting next to Secretary Rumsfeld.
"It's possible. Too many people are spoiling for a scrap and there is nothing we can do to make the two sides not want to kill each other. But the longer we wait the more pressure will build and the more prepared the troublemakers will be. So we let Chicago explode now while the situation can still be handled.
"We position ourselves to intervene so that when the balloon goes up we can put out the fire before too much goes wrong. Chaos will grip the city and we will be in a position of strength to influence the new situation and make it less volatile," General Kelley stated.
"Wouldn't such an intervention in Chicago worsen the tensions between organisations like the Seventh Kavalry and those that support the Seven and Homelander?" Secretary of State Rice questioned. "Not to mention how it would look to our allies across the world, Sir. Especially after 9/11."
"George, does the CIA have any intelligence about the Seventh Kavalry? Any chatter concerning a possible attack?" President Bush turned to his CIA Director who sat to the left of General Kelley.
George Tenet shook his head. The CIA Director and President Bush had developed an extraordinarily close and complicated relationship following the events of 9/11, perhaps the nearest thing to a genuine friendship that has ever developed between a CIA director and the president he served.
"Not much Mr President. Aside from the White Night Incident in '96 and a few other incidents throughout Tulsa, Oklahoma we don't know much about them. As far as we can tell, they don't seem to have a normal leadership structure in the organisation. Instead they appear to be all equal," George Tenet answered.
"Rummy, what do you have?" The President inquired, turning his attention to his Defence Secretary.
"I agree with the General; it is best to let events take their natural course and use the ensuing chaos to re-establish control. However, there is a key flaw to his plan of action.
"If the US government intervenes it will be required to use excessive force to restore order, and we will be blamed for every life lost and piece of property damaged. It will be seen as validation that we are strongmen with an agenda, as opposed to the sainted Seven in the eyes of our detractors. It will also be seen as an act of support for either the superhuman community or the Kavalry, damaging the administration's attempts to be seen as neutral in this. What we must do is observe and allow the Seven to intervene in Chicago. We have files full of reasons we would not be able to, and no one that matters will care when the scenario plays out.
"Calm yourself General; we will merely give Homelander the rope to hang himself with. The Seven will also have to be heavy-handed and we will place the blame on them for the disaster. They will lose credibility with the superhuman community and we will avoid being further stigmatized by the anti-super elements of the populace." Rumsfeld suggested.
The final man in the room, Karl Rove waved his hand up to get President Bush's attention. He sat to the right of General Kelley and had been listening intently to all the suggestions made. His Machiavellian eyes seemed to glisten behind his glasses. "I agree with Don Mr President. You have just won a stunning re-election victory against John Kerry and the Democrats; you have a substantial amount of political capital as a result. I think it would be best if we follow with Don's advice and let the Seven deal with the issues in Chicago."
"With all due respect Mr President I think we should hit hard and fast. Otherwise the situation in Chicago could escalate to the point where we may not be able to regain control of it," General Kelley retorted. "The last thing this country needs is domestic terrorists perpetrating a new 9/11."
"What this country needs, General is to continue focusing on eradicating the cancer that is Al Qaeda and stopping rogue states from supporting them," Vice President Cheney interjected, glaring across at General Kelley. "We'll let the Seven and Vought deal with this so-called Seventh Kavalry."
The rest of the cabinet nodded in agreement except for Robert Mueller.
"Mr President–" General Kelley attempted to reply but President Bush silenced them with a small raise of his hand.
"I agree with Don and Cheney. We'll let the Seven deal with the Seventh Kavalry in Chicago. We'll deal with the fallout there and then."
"Mr President–" General Kelley started to say but President Bush silenced the general with a look.
"I've made my decision, Frank. Dismissed."
The group assembled all nodded and immediately rose to their feet, one by one filing out of the Oval Office. Vice President Cheney flashed General Kelley a triumphant smile as he left.
Now alone, President Bush rubbed his brow; how had it come to this? Photos were laid out across the desk, two showing Ironhide in his gaudy old-fashioned villain regalia, the other him as an old man in civilian clothes. Others showed multiple Seventh Kavalry rallies burning superheroes in effigy, and the graffiti left in Ironhide's home: "ONE NATION, ONE RACE!", "FREAKS OUT", "TALLY UP", "HUMAN RIGHTS" and repeatedly in green letters, "DEATH TO HOMELANDER!"
General Frank Kelley sat in the back of his limo on his way back to the Pentagon fuming silently. His face was a mask of rage.
Those two idiots back there, Cheney and Rumsfeld. How did they not see what dangerous grounds the United States stood on? Chicago was about to become ground zero for a war between the Freakshow and this Seventh Kavalry with ordinary people caught in the crossfire and the President didn't even seem remotely bothered?!
Let the Seven and Homelander handle it. He scoffed at the thought. Their heavy-handedness would make the situation a thousand times worse!
Reaching into his pocket, Frank took out his cell phone, dialled the particular number and waited for the line to be confirmed as secure.
"Yes?" A woman's voice answered.
"M, it's Frank. I've just left my meeting with the President about the situation in Chicago. I trust you're up to speed?" Frank prided himself on what he called his no-nonsense approach and hardball attitude but which others referred to as sheer rudeness.
Across the Pond in her office in the MI6 Headquarters sat M, head of MI6, her own phone close to her ear. "Yes. I assume the Vice President and Secretary of Defence disapproved of your suggestion?" (3)
"Rumsfeld and Cheney are damn fools. Preoccupied with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan instead of a threat right here at home!" Frank snapped. "Mark my words, Chicago will be a flashpoint unless something is done!"
"I believe you, Frank," M replied calmly. "MI6 is also weary of the size and influence Vought International has amassed over the years. Of course at the moment we don't have any proof just rumours and whispers about what really goes on in the company."
"Have you shared any of this with UNIT? I bet Lethbridge-Stewart would have agreed with me," Frank said a hint of sadness in his voice. (4)
In her office M nodded. Though she had not met Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart she certainly knew of his reputation. The former M, Sir Miles Messervy, had been quite close with Lethbridge-Stewart when the former Brigadier had been charge of UNIT during the 70s or was it the 80s? (5)
The two men were even part of the Blades Club, an upscale private club for gentlemen located in London, where they would lunch together. Lethbridge-Stewart was long since retired from UNIT now. Many believed it had marked the end of an era for UNIT as the organisation seemed to struggle in the new decade to be taken seriously, dismissed by the current generation of politicians in the House of Commons as being "from a bygone era" and its budget repeatedly slashed, although following the rather strange and secretive Downing Street Incident (6) some support for a "New UNIT for a New age" had started to emerge particularly from a certain Harriet Jones. (7)
"No I haven't yet. Perhaps I'll have better luck with UNIT than you did with the President," M said hopefully.
"The more people we bring in on this the better prepared we'll be when the shit hits the fan," Frank said. "Have you spoken with – " Frank lowered his voice so that M could barely hear him, "– the other lot?"
M almost chuckled to herself. The "other lot" Frank was referring to was the UK Minister of Magic. It was known only to a few that wizards and magic existed, people like the President of the US or the Prime Minister of Great Britain who kept it a secret. Only in extreme situations like the Second World War or the Second Wizarding War against Lord Voldemort did the Minister of Magic work with the muggle government against such threats. Both M and General Kelley knew about the existence of wizards and magic in their respective countries.
"I suspect I will hear from them soon enough. They're just as concerned about Vought and Compound V as we both are. They fear a war could start between wizards and superheroes," She said.
Frank shivered at the thought. "God help us if it comes to that. Do you think they'd help us?" He asked.
"It's possible." M admitted hopefully.
"There was something else I wanted to discuss as well," Frank said, changing the subject. "Have you seen what came in from SatInt?" SatInt was satellite intelligence.
"Just a moment," M said as she looked to Bill Tanner, her Chief of Staff, standing by her desk. He handed her a photograph. There was a single sheet of paper attached to it and both were stamped with the words TOP SECRET in red. It showed a figure halfway up the stairs to board a plane at an airport. It had been taken above the airport at New York and blown up many times. The face of the figure was blurred.
"It's her, isn't it?" Frank asked, although he already knew the answer.
"We don't know that," M replied.
"Come on M, we both know it's her!" Frank replied gruffly. "I've already run the photograph through the computers at the Pentagon and through what little information is available on her they confirmed that it was Mary Merryweather."
"It's impossible.007 showed me pictures of her body, I saw the bullets in her myself," M said in a calmer tone. "Mary Merryweather is dead."
"Clearly your James Bond isn't as good as you made out!" Frank scowled.
"I trust Bond with my life!" M retorted and she meant it. Sure she disapproved of Bond's womanising and schoolboy antics, but she knew a good agent when she saw one. She had learned to put up with the flaws in favour of the fortunes.
"You promised to send MI6'S best agent to help us kill her. We came to you and MI6 at considerately risk back in Vietnam or have you forgotten?"
"I remember quite clearly, Frank."
"Then you remember what a monster she is. What she did to us? The horror she inflicted on our unit? To me? To Billy? To Jim?" Frank recalled. "And if she survived then she's going to come after us!"
"We'll protect you. Billy and Jim too. I promise," M offered.
Frank scoffed dismissively. "Not from her you can't." He said before he hung up. Dialling another number he waited for it to answer. As he waited for the caller to pick up Frank could also hear some sort of interference. Some sort of ticking.
There was a click.
One second of silence.
Then the mobile phone exploded.
Frank Kelley had been holding it tight against his ear. If he heard the blast, he was dead before it registered. The windows in the limo blew apart and it careered into the other traffic. At least a dozen other cars were involved in the resulting pile-up. The aftermath of the explosion was soon on the news and tributes were soon being paid to General Frank Kelley. The road was closed off. Smoke was still rising from the explosion. There was shattered metal and glass everything.
Sitting up on floor Eighty Second of Vought Tower, Stan Edgar saw the news report and smiled. General Frank Kelley was dead. He knew of course that the U.S. National Clandestine Services would soon have a new director but no one as formidable as the now deceased General Kelley. Long had he rallied against Vought, the Seven and superheroes in general. It was a dangerous thing in Washington to talk too much and the best advice was to keep quiet, advice that General Kelley frequently ignored. Now he had payed for it.
No one would know that while at his meeting in the Oval Office his phone (which had been left outside the office for security reasons) had been quickly taken apart by agents of Vought operating inside the White House and a small bomb placed inside then hastily put back together with General Kelley none the wiser.
Stan leaned back in his chair. One less threat for Vought to deal with. Now all that mattered was for Mary to retrieve the pocket watch. He knew there was a danger relying on her. She was the definition of a weird card, uncontrollable and untrustworthy. And then there were her socialist views...
But he needed to get that pocket watch. This would prove to the necessary test for Mary. If she succeeded then Stan would ensure she reminded at Vought with a tight leash around her. Plus he would have the pocket watch and the secrets it held. If she failed then he would discard her. Either way it was a win-win.
The ball was in Mary's court.
The police chief's office at the Hawkins Police Department was as sparsely decorated as River Song – or Melody Malone as she was known here – could manage. On her new desk were two framed pictures, one of her parents Amy and Rory smiling brightly on their wedding day, the second of her husband the Doctor.
River smiled fondly at that photo. It had been taken during their picnic at Asgard. Her Doctor – with his baby face and love for bowties – had surprised her with a date to the planet-sized theme park. Their date had been interrupted however when a mechanical dragon had malfunctioned, forcing the Doctor and River to rescue a young boy named Mure. The encounter with Mure had made River think about her own desire to have a child and she had pondered whether to ask the Doctor his thoughts on her having a baby. She ultimately hadn't, fearing the Doctor might laugh at her or that he would feel pressured to have a baby with her.
She had had been thinking a lot about that moment recently. Perhaps it was regret, wishing now she had told the Doctor of her desire to have a child. Perhaps it was merely contemplation, a simple recalling of memories past.
The rug – threadbare for several decades – had been laid down by her predecessor's predecessor's predecessor.
The rest of her new office room was bare filled with boxes still left unpacked. River looked around it absentmindedly. It was useful for her current purposes. She collapsed into her chain, a new and extremely comfortable ergonomic model.
River knew the following conversation she was going to have would be difficult but as the new police chief she knew it was her duty to. A 911 call had been received an hour ago about a body at the Sattler Quarry. Police and ambulance had been sent and the body identified as Will Byers. The person who had made the 911 called had identified herself as Jennifer Hayes and had spurted some story of being kidnapped by a woman named Mary and held at gunpoint in front of Will Byers. The woman was clearly traumatized by whatever had happened at the quarry.
There were no records by any Mary's living in Hawkins, River had already checked. She sighed as she leaned back in her chair. She knew, of course, who Will Byers was. She'd read the file on his '83 disappearance as soon as she had arrived in Hawkins. As a newcomer to the town (and a temporary one at that if everything went well) River had wanted to immerse herself in as much of Hawkins's history as she could, including their crimes. Before the disappearance of Will Byers Hawkins had been a quiet, ordinary small town (the Doctor would have hated it, she thought to herself) where nothing ever happened. Or so they thought.
After Will's disappearance and miraculous return the town had not gone back to normal as many of its inhabitants had hoped. From a supposed chemical leak that caused the death of Barbara Holland to the fire that burned down the Starcourt Mall to the Hellfire Club, Hawkins would remain known far and wide as a "cursed" town. Her predecessor had even warned her about it when taking the job of Police Chief. But River – who had battled against Daleks, Weeping Angels, and the Silence – was not so easily intimidated. She had taken this job for a reason and she was going to see it through. And she was close. So close. The file she had requested about Terry and Becky Ives was sure to confirm her theory once it arrived. In the meantime she would deal with these twin incidents, the second being a home shooting that had happened last night involving Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield whom River recalled meeting at the hospital.
There was no getting over the fact that she would have to break the news to Will's parents. That was going to be hard especially considering his step-father had been a former Chief of Police! River had already called them round to the police station and was now just waiting for their impending arrival.
After what felt like hours, the door to her office swung open and Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers entered. Jim Hopper was as big and beefy as he had been before in the 80s, his moustache, while now grey, was still as large as ever.
Joyce was thin and like her husband's moustache had gray hair.
River immediately rose from her chair to shake Hopper and Joyce's hands. "Melody Malone. Thanks for coming in, I appreciate it," She introduced, gesturing them to sit down.
"You're the new Hawkins chief of police?" Hopper asked, perhaps more bluntly then he had intended. He had been curious to meet his new successor but he wasn't expecting a woman although even he knew women were not to be underestimated. He had made that mistake once and wouldn't soon forget It.(8)
"Yes I am." River said. "First week here believe it or not."
Hopper chuckled. "I know what that's like." He said. "You a cop before?"
"Private Investigator actually. Worked in New York." River replied.(9)
"I was a cop in New York!" Hopper beamed, interested. "When were you there?"
"Oh it was a long time ago. Long before you," River said.
Joyce spoke."Do you have family here with you?" She asked.
"I have a husband but he's not here. He travels a lot. He's a doctor." River replied smiling briefly before her smile turned sad. "It's...been a while since I've seen him actually." Her sadness faded and her face turned business-like. "Anyway I didn't call you both here to discuss my private life. Early this morning we received a 911 call. Your son's body has been found at the bottom of Sattler Quarry. I'm afraid he's dead."
There was silence. After what seemed like eternity Joyce finally spoke."That – that can't be right. I...I spoke with Will yesterday on the phone. He...he was fine."
"I'm sorry Mrs. Byers I truly am. But the body is Will's. The person who made the call identified herself as Jennifer Hayes. Do either of you know her at all?" River asked.
"No," Hoper finally said his low and solemn.
"This has to be a mistake," Joyce was saying her voice starting to reach hysteria.
"Joyce –" Hopper started to say before Joyce cut him off.
"This has to be the wrong person BECAUSE MY SON ISN'T DEAD!" She screamed, her face red with emotion. "It's a mistake!"
"We're bringing in Miss Hayes to find out more about her story," River said as she rose from her desk. "Would it be ok if you were to stick around to also hear her story?"
Hopper nodded
River paused by the door before asking, "We would also like for you to see the body too to finalise the identity. Only if you want. You don't have to if it's too much for you."
Hopper again nodded and River left the room. "It has to be a mistake, Hop." Joyce whispered. Hopper wasn't sure if she was trying to convince herself or him. "It can't be Will. It can't be."
All Hopper could do was nod and hold Joyce close as she cried.
The bright red Mustang was parked out the front of the police station, its red paint glistering in the warm sunlight. Mary watched as the people walked by it, occasionally stopping to admire it before continuing on with their day.
Mary was people-watching.
When she first started doing it, it had been in Pennhurst and she knew she was just torturing herself with the mundane task because it wasn't as if life in the mental hospital was an unpredictable endeavour; a change in the daily routine usually meant violence of some sort had broken out, and even that was predictable to a certain extent. But Mary would spend hours just sitting, watching her fellow patients, and she'd pick up on everything around her like a sponge because Papa's lessons of always be observant had run bone-deep. The information she gathered was largely useless. It just gave her something to do, a skill to hone.
Mary was content enough to sit quietly for a long time, just watching them. Before her imprisonment, when patience became more of a necessity than a virtue, she used to never be able to sit still for long. The thrill of war, the adrenaline that coursed through her body, she had assumed was what caused it during her time in Vietnam.
Mary turned the radio up until static filled her car. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and began to mediate.
Well, to anyone else it would look like she was mediating but what Mary was actually doing was entering the Void, the visual representation of her mind using extrasensory perception. The same power her sister Eleven had.
Her sister and friends called it the Void but Mary preferred to call it the "Nether". (10) It appeared as a vast endless expanse of nothingness, with the floor covered in a thin layer of water. The rest of the space was empty with the exception of a large table. Mary walked up to it and noticed two people sitting on opposite ends of the table. Immediately recognising one of them she walked over to the person and whispered into her ear, "Hello dearie you're certainly looking better than when I last saw you. Still sad I see. Well you should be. You killed Will after all."
Mary watched as the person she was addressing seemed to turn her head towards her as if she was trying to look at her. "It's your fault Will is dead, Jennifer. If you had had the courage to tell Will how you felt about him then he would have had someone by his side and wouldn't have been so alone."A wolf-like smirk spread across her lips. Oh yes this was going to be fun.
"Miss Hayes? How are you feeling? Any better?" River asked softly as she entered the small interrogation room Jennifer was sitting in. The younger woman seemed better; her eyes and face were still red from crying. A single police office–William–stood next to where Jennifer was sitting, a blank expression on his face. He hardly seemed to even breathe.
"I understand you have witness something very traumatic but I need your help," River continued as she sat down opposite the table. "Can you tell me how you came to be at the Sattler Quarry?"
"I told you already I was kidnapped," Jennifer said her eyes glaring at River. "Why don't you believe me?!"
"Yes by someone who called themselves Mary. But I've checked and there are no records by any Mary's living in Hawkins," River replied.
"Well that can't be right. You need to check again! That's her name! You need to find her now instead of wasting time with me!" Jennifer paused then turned her head as if hearing something.
"Jennifer we found two bullet cartridges at the site that belong to a Glock you shoot Will?" River asked pointedly.
"No! I told you it was Mary! She pushed him off the cliff!" Jennifer protested before turning her head again as if she had heard something. "I didn't kill Will!"
"I'm sorry but I had to ask. Can you tell me what relationship you had with the deceased?" River asked.
The deceased. That's what they were already calling him. The final nail in the coffin that Will was indeed dead. And despite that Jennifer found herself blushing at the word relationship. "Will barely knew me," She admitted. "We danced once and that was it."
"Do you wish he knew you?" River asked.
Jennifer sighed, her eyes cast down. "Yes. I do. It's my own fault. I was always too shy to speak to him. I never worked up the courage to...tell him how I felt."
"I'm so sorry to hear that. I have Will's parents here by the way. Would you be okay for them to come in?" River inquired unsure.
"Will's parents? They're here?"
River nodded."As you can imagine they're quite shocked by what's happened to their son. Perhaps you could help fill in the blanks for us?" She asked.
"Okay." Jennifer said in a small voice. The truth was she was terrified of meeting Joyce and Hopper. What would they think of her? Would they blame her?
The door to the interrogation room opened and Jennifer and Mary (still watching from the Nether) watched as Joyce and Jim Hopper walked in. Mary's attention immediately went to Hopper.
This was the first time she had laid eyes on him since 1972 in Vietnam."You got fat, Jim," She remarked out loud as she approached him. "I don't like that moustache either." Mary turned to the woman standing next to him. So this was Joyce. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss." She whispered before walking back over to Jennifer.
"You took their son from them, Jennifer," Mary said as she leaned in behind her back. "Because you couldn't be honest with your feelings they will never see Will again."
"Also Jennifer I've spoken to your father and he will be here soon," River was saying. The mention of her father caused Jennifer's eyes to widen.
Her father, Luke Hayes, had been the deputy Mayor of Hawkins during the 80' of her classmates assumed she was spoiled due to her father's connections and how great being the deputy mayor's daughter must be. The truth was it was lonely. Her father would always be working late nights in the office so Jennifer rarely got to see him. The only real time they would "spend time" together was during the campaign sessions where she was wheeled out like some sort of prop, told to smile and wave near her father. Jennifer had hated it but she couldn't really say no and so went along with the charade.
While the role of deputy Mayor was really ceremonial at best her father enjoyed the influence he attained as a result and flaunting his wealth. But then it had all came crushing down with Starcourt Mall. Following the then Mayor Klein's arrest her father had insisted he knew nothing about the corruption Klein had engaged in and had resigned as deputy Mayor. It had actually proven to be one of the best things to happen. Jennifer and her father had reconnected their relationship as father and daughter in the decades since.
"Oh look at that. Daddy's already coming to bail you out," Mary said, her voice low and haunting.
"Can you tell us what happened, sweetie?" Joyce asked, her voice breaking through the silence. "What was Will doing at Sattler Quarry?"
"Yes dearie why don't you tell her how I put a gun to your head and threatened to kill you? Why don't you tell Joyce how I pushed her son off the cliff and how you watched as he fell to his death? Why don't you tell her all that?" Mary insisted.
"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!" Jennifer yelled as she rose from the table.
There it was. Jennifer had finally snapped.
"Sit down." William started to say as he loomed next to her. Out of the corner of her eye Jennifer noticed his holster and in a flash her hands lunged for it. Within second she was clutching his gun in her hands. "Stay back!" Jennifer warned in a terrified voice as she shakily pointed the gun at River, Hopper and Joyce.
William immediately lunged forward to retrieve his gun but before he could Jennifer turned around and fired. William's body slumped to the floor, blood pouring from his head. Joyce covered her mouth in shock while Jennifer looked down at the body, her hands trembling as she held the gun.
"Wow well you're certainly a killer now, dearie," Mary remarked.
"I'm sorry I didn't mind to..." A distraught Jennifer said.
"Jennifer? It's okay. Listen to me I know your frightened you are. Please just put the gun down and we can talk," River said softly as she slowly stepped forward towards the distraught Jennifer, her hand outstretched to take the gun.
"She's inside my head!" Jennifer cried. "Whispering, laughing at me. Telling me that I killed Will! I didn't!"
"Who? Who's doing this?" Hopper asked as he prepared to also take a step towards Jennifer. But she noticed and pointed the gun towards him. "Stay back!" She shouted.
Hopper paused and River signalled for him to stay put. Hopper nodded and stayed where he was.
"I didn't kill Will I swear to god!" Jennifer continued looking directly at Joyce as she spoke. "I had feelings for him. I would never hurt him."
"But you were too stupid and scared to tell him. It took pointing a gun at you to finally get you to admit it to him," Mary added as she observed the standoff.
"Shut up!" Jennifer repeated."Please just leave me alone!"
"No, dearie. I'm going to keep on hunting you forever," Mary said as she stared at Jennifer. "You're going to go to jail dearie. Daddy wouldn't be able to help. No one will be able to help you."
"She's never going to leave me alone," Jennifer realised in a low voice as she looked down at the gun in her hands. "I don't want to go to jail. Please I didn't mean to kill that officer. She's inside my head. Oh god."
Tears were now streaming down Jennifer's face as she backed away from the approaching River. "I need to get her out of my head," She whispered.
"It's going to be alright, sweetie. I'll help you I promise." River was now barely a meter in front of Jennifer, her hand outstretched, ready to take the gun when Jennifer pointed the barrel of the weapon at the bottom of her mouth.
"Don't!" River exclaimed as she lunged towards her. But it was too late.
Jennifer pulled the trigger and fired. The bullet ripped through her skull and her body toppled backwards to the ground. River crouched down next to Jennifer's body. "I'm so sorry," She said as she looked at it with sadness.
Composing herself, River rose to her feet and turned back to face Joyce and Hopper, who were still standing near the door to the interrogation room frozen. Hopper had a similar composed expression to River's while Joyce wore the expression of a mother deer discovering her wounded cub in the wild.
"I'm sorry you both had to witness that," River said sombrely.
"She said someone was inside her head. Who?" Hopper asked.
River looked pensive."I don't know," She said. "But I promise you both I will find who killed your son and who did this to Jennifer. You have my word."
Outside the police station Mary opened her eyes. So Jennifer was dead. Disappointing but not unexpected. A fragile mind was easy to break when faced with the realities of fear.
Besides her main objective had been reached. She had seen Jim Hopper. Finally their long-awaited reunion would come at last. It amazed her that all this time Jim (from what she could tell) had never once been concerned that she would return one day.
Oh well, Mary thought. His mistake. She would show no mercy. Her blood pulsed with rage as she thought back to their time together in the jungles of Vietnam. Always so defiant against her orders. Always so reckless. Jim's defiant spirit had spread to two others within their unit, Frank Kelley and Billy Butcher. Mary still remembered their little mutiny the three had tried to pull on her.
She never forgot or forgave them. Frank Kelley was already dead and Jim would be next. No one is going to save you this time, she thought with glee.
Jim's safe little life was about to be turned upside down. And Mary was going to relish every second of it.
Done! It's taken awhile but I finally have this chapter finished! Trust me it was going to be even longer but then I decided to cut it into two halves. The second will deal with the rest of the Party all hearing the news of Will's death and the funeral.
So you get a look into what's happening outside of Hawkins. That was probably the hardest stuff to write. What would the US look like if superheroes actually existed? And then it occurred to me of course people would set up churches for them worshiping them as gods!
Now this is set in 2005 so I did include the Bush administration in this chapter.
Yes James Bond and M are both mentioned in this chapter. More details about Bond's connection to Mary in Vietnam will be forthcoming.
(1)The Seventh Kavalry is from the live action TV show Watchman
(2)That is all taken from the Watchman series
(3) M of course is the head of MI6 in The James Bond film series
(4) Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart was the Brigadier and one of the Doctor's closest friends on Earth
(5)This is a nod to the infamous UNIT dating Protocol where no one is sure whether the Third Doctor's (played by Jon Pertwee) tenure as UNIT's scientific advisor took place during the 70s or 80s.
(6)This Downing Street Incident refers to the episode "World War III" from the Ninth Doctor's season where Downing Street is in fact blown up
(7)Harriet Jones is another character from Doctor Who introduced who eventually becomes Prime Minister of Great Britain.
(8)This refers to Jim's time in Vietnam under Mary
(9)River did work as a private investigator in New York under the name "Melody Malone"in the episode "The Angels Take Manhattan"
(11)The Upside Down was originally named "Nether" but they got so used to calling it The Upside Down on set it eventually stuck.
Please enjoying reading and don't forget to read and review!