XCIV
The footsteps that reach her door are not Henry's: they're much heavier and somewhat slow, as if unfamiliar with the house.
Must be Hopper.
The sound of knuckles against wood is abrupt. Different, too, from Henry's more delicate knocking.
"Come in…"
The handle turns and, sure enough, through the half-open door, Hopper pokes his head in.
"Hey, kid."
"Hey," she greets weakly.
With her permission, the sheriff opens the door fully and goes to sit in the chair next to her bed. Poe opens his eyes slightly to observe the newcomer.
"That's a nice cat you have there," the officer mentions. "It seems to be one of those only rich people have. Know what I'm talking about, yeah? The kind of cat that has a better life than you or me…"
Eleven giggles. "The vet said that: that he possibly ran away from home some time ago… or that maybe he is a mix of…" It is a little difficult for her to remember the name of the breed. "Ragdoll. That was it."
Hopper gives a weak grunt in acquiescence. "So, you haven't had it for a long time?"
"I rescued him yesterday," Eleven answers.
"Seems to love you a lot for such a short time," the man says. "At ease with you."
Eleven nods at his comment. "The feeling is mutual…"
"That's nice."
It's the last thing he says for a while. Eleven, however, doesn't mind: she knows Hopper is a man of few words, but with a big heart. And, besides, she's the last person who would judge someone for choosing to remain silent.
When the officer clears his throat, she looks away from Poe to glance at him. For a moment, she thinks he'll comment on the strong smell of the cat's wound, but the man seems determined not to broach any thorny subject.
"So how was school?"
She is doing horribly to be honest—that doesn't stop her from smiling at his attempt at conversation.