The rain drums against the windows, a steady rhythm that matches the thudding in my chest. Dart's guttural growl echoes from the closet, filling me with a sense of urgency that won't go away.
I inhale, pushing down the fear. I could see the truth in Dustin's eyes when he explained the Upside Down—the urgency, the fear, the need for me to understand. He knows what we're dealing with, and despite the deep-seated fear in my chest, I have to trust my little brother knows exactly what he's doing. No matter what I believe or how insane Dustin's story about the Upside Down, Eleven, and demogorgons sounds – there's no time for questions or doubts. Dart is proof that everything is real – true.
Stay calm, stay out of his way. Dustin's voice echoes in my mind as I unwrap the jump rope from the closet door handles. I picture Dart's mouth, gaping wide with razor-sharp teeth, and then Will Byers, somehow alive after everyone thought he was dead. I think of Barb, who didn't really run away. My blood runs cold, and a firm determination settles into me. I tighten my grip around Dad's old hockey stick and pull open the closet doors for Dart.
I crouch in the corner, blocking my body with the door, covering my mouth as Dart emerges, now the size of a medium dog. He sniffs the air, moving hesitantly toward the trail of raw meat we've left out for him. His mouth opens slowly, swallowing the chunk of meat off the floor. He growls, sniffing the air again before slowly walking out of Dustin's bedroom. This is it—he's taken part of the bait, and now we just have to ensure he makes it the rest of the way and into the basement.
I am mindful of my steps, sticking close to the wall. With each tentative step Dart takes, I'm moving behind him, keeping my breath steady, hoping that Dustin is ready. When Dart reaches the back door, I grip the hockey stick tighter, leaning against the entryway to the living room. I can't help but marvel at how calm Dustin seems, how in control he is. My little brother, the one who used to be afraid of the dark, now leading us through a real-life nightmare. When did he grow up so much?
Dart suddenly pauses, sniffing the rain, questioning if it's safe to go outside, but I am ready to swing at a moment's notice in the chance that he decides to turn around. His guttural growl echoes through the yard as he catches the scent of the meat leading to the basement. He hesitates, unsure of the rain, but his hunger wins out, and he takes a tentative step off the back porch.
We're so close, just a few more yards. I reach the back door, positioning myself out of sight, blocking the only entry back into the house. I can see the top of Dustin's head peeking around the corner of a tree, my breath catching in my throat as he begins to move forward. Dart is standing in the doorway of the basement now, sniffing, and I wonder if he can sense our trap. Time seems to stop, the rain thudding in my ears as we wait.
Dart's movements are slow and deliberate. He keeps lifting his head to sniff the air as if he's searching for a threat – or a fresh meal. What if he senses something is wrong? What if he bolts? But then, his hunger seems to win one. He takes one careful step forward, the wooden steps groaning under his weight. Another step – this time into the open doorway. I can see the tension in his muscles, the way he twitches as if he's ready to flee at any moment.
My heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest. "Come on, Dustin," I silently urge, but I find myself starting to stand, moving to meet him part of the way. My body refuses to stay idle as my brother faces the danger alone. Dustin catches my eye and nods, gesturing for me to move with him. Together, we move a little faster, careful of the slick mud and puddles, desperate to reach the doors before Dart realizes what's happening.
Dart hesitates at the threshold, his nose brushing against the raw chicken we've laid out. I can feel the tension in the air, every muscle in my body coils tight like a spring. Then, as if to mock us, the sky splits open with a crack of lightning, Dart flinches, a low guttural growl rumbling from his throat. His body tenses, muscles rippling underneath his gray skin as he readies himself to turn back into the storm. Dustin's eyes widen, and for a moment, we both freeze, willing Dart to stay where he is.
Dart sniffs the air for the danger, before returning to the chicken. I let out a sigh of relief, watching as his head slowly dips down to snatch up the food. In the moment, Dustin makes his move. He breaks into a sprint, feet pounding against the slick ground, mud splattering with each step. I'm right behind him, but my foot slips, sending me crashing into the cold, wet earth. I scramble up, my fingers clawing at the mud, but Dustin's already at the doors. He grabs them with both hands and slams them shut with a deafening thud. The sound echoes through the yard, and I skid to a halt just as the padlock snaps into place. Dustin did it. Dart is trapped.
I finally allow myself to exhale. The adrenaline that kept me moving drains away, leaving me feeling both light-headed and exhausted. I glance over at Dustin, who's still riding the high of our success, his grin wide as he pushes his damp and muddy hair out of his face. It hits me then, just how much he's changed.
"You're good at this monster stuff," Dustin finally says, nodding his head with admiration.
I manage a weak smile in return, but my mind is drifting already. The reality of what we're actually dealing with settles over me – heavy and suffocating. I pull Dustin close as we walk back inside, but my thoughts are weighing down.
"Am I a good sister?" I ask, the question falling from me before I can stop it. I feel my face warm with a blush, feeling stupid for even asking.
Dustin makes a face, looking up towards me, "You're the best sister, Lacy."
"I'm sorry," I admit, hoping that it's enough.
"Me too," he smiles, nudging me with his elbow. "I'm glad you know."
I nod, wanting to say more – ask more, but decide against it. Something in the way Dustin looks at me tells me that he's being honest, that he is relieved to have me next to him, even if it is slightly late.
Once we're inside, the warmth of the house feels almost jarring after the cold, damp air outside. Dustin immediately heads for the phone, saying something about calling the guys to figure out what to do next. I nod, distracted as I glance down at the mud clinging to my clothes, caking my hands from when I fell.
"I'm going to take a shower," I say, my voice steady but distant. "Maybe take a nap."
Dustin gives me a thumbs-up, already dialing a phone number. I'm grateful for the solitude as I head down the hallway, peeling off my muddy clothes, and stepping into the bathroom. The hot water pounds against my skin, but no matter how warm it is, it can't reach the chill deep in my bones. I try to wash away the last few days, but the weight of what I've learned lingers.
My mind races, replaying everything Dustin told me – everything I've seen with my own eyes. The Upside Down. Dart. The knowledge that there are creatures out there, things out of my nightmares, lurking just beyond the veil of our reality feels like a sick joke. My little brother has been fighting monsters, literally fighting for his life, and I've been wrapped up in my own world of tennis matches, parties, shitty friends, and Billy Hargrove.
There's no room for boys in this, I tell myself. There's no room for anything but the truth, for the reality of what's happening. But even as I think it, I know it's not true. Billy has been in my thoughts more than I care to admit – before all this happened and even now. But why? Why does he still matter when there's so much more at stake?
Maybe it's just easier to think about him, his smirk, and the intensity of his gaze than to face the fear that's gnawing at my insides. I try to push him from my mind, but he's still there, lingering like a shadow.
I turn off the water and step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel. The fogged-up mirror reflects a version of me that I barely recognize – eyes tired, shoulders tense, but with a new determination etched into my features. The weight of the world presses down on me, but I'm resolved. I don't have all the answers, but I won't let Dustin – or myself – down again.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Dustin begins yelling, slamming the phone against the receiver multiple times. I open the door, feeling the cold fear grip me again, watching as he rushes around the living room, looking for something.
"It's on the side table," I call, meeting him in the living room and holding up my hands to get him to pause, "your walkie-talkie."
"Radio," he snaps, pulling the antenna up. "Is there anyone out there? Mike? Hello!"
"What's wrong?" I ask, watching as my brother stomps towards the front door, pulling his raincoat on.
"I can never get a hold of anyone when I need them," Dustin says, putting on his raincoat. "I'm going to the Wheelers."
"In the rain?" I ask, catching him by his hood. "Let me drive you."
"No," he says pointing towards the backdoor, "you stay here on Dart watch. I'll go get Mike or Nancy and we'll finish this."
I feel my hand grip his hood a little tighter, but there's a defiance in his face. He's no longer the little boy who needs my protection all the time. He's in charge, confident, and for the first time since our parents' divorce, I realize that Dustin's become someone I can lean on too. Reluctantly, I let him go.
"Okay," I nod, "don't take longer than you need to."
"I won't," he promises, offering me a quick, reassuring smile before he heads out into the rain. It's luckily only lightly sprinkling now, but I watch him on his bike, until he disappears around the corner.
Alone. I sit down on the couch, the house feeling too big, too empty, pulling my knees to my chest, trying to focus on anything other than the silence of the house.
I pull the blanket from the back of the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders as I lean back, trying to find some comfort in the familiar scent. My eyes feel heavy, the adrenaline from earlier finally wearing off, leaving me drained and exhausted. Maybe if I just close my eyes for a moment, I'll feel a little better.
Before I know it, the steady rhythm of the rain lulls me into a restless sleep. I'm not sure how much time passes before a loud, insistent knock at the door jolts me awake. My heart leaps into my throat, and for a split second I'm disoriented, the remnants of some half-formed nightmare clinging to the edges of my mind.
The knock comes again, more forceful this time, and I sit up, the blanket falling from my shoulders as I quickly scan the room. Dustin's still not back and I know none of his friends would be so demanding. I force myself to stand, my legs feeling shaky beneath me as I make my way to the door. My hand hesitates on the lock, hoping that Dustin has only forgotten his house key.
"Dad?" I say, blinking in surprise as I take in the sight of him standing on the porch, his shirt slightly rumpled, his familiar dark green raincoat almost a welcoming sight. The rain has soaked through his shoulders, and there's a tension in his posture that I recognize all too well.
"Lacy," he replies, his tone clipped as if he's trying to hold back his annoyance. "I've been calling all morning," he greets and I rub my eyes, confirming that I am not dreaming of him standing in front of me.
"Sorry," I mutter, stepping aside to let him in. Dad brushes past me, bringing with him a rush of cool, damp air that only adds to the uneasy feeling in my gut. "Dustin and I were…out," I lie, locking the door behind us.
My dad sighs, removing his coat before looking down towards me. I wonder if he's expecting me to hug him. When I was a little girl I used to stand at the kitchen window, counting down the minutes until he was home. I used to cry whenever he left on a business trip that was longer than a weekend. Now? I don't even know how to talk to him, feeling myself slinking backwards, trying to put as much tension between us as I can.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, friendly, like I'm still that little girl.
"I told you," he says, leading himself into the kitchen and then the living room, "I needed to get my boxes this weekend."
"Boxes?" I ask, staring at the tiny droplets of water now pooling from his wet sneakers. I try to remember if he has always been this careless about the house or if he just doesn't care now. "What boxes?"
"From the basement," he sighs, checking his watch. "Where's Dustin? I could use the help."
My stomach drops, realizing his words, remembering our phone call from the other night. A flash of panic surges through me. The basement. Dart.
No.
"Dustin's at his friends," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, but there's a slight tremor to it. "You should wait for him; he'd want to see you."
Dad shakes his head slightly, checking his watch again. I bite my lip, trying my best to stall, "I can make some coffee while we wait?"
I can't read what he's thinking, but finally my dad nods his head, a soft smile on his face and I wonder if he thinks this is me trying to make an effort, trying to restore what might be lost. "Coffee sounds great, Ace."
I flinch at the sound of my childhood nickname, a steely pit forming in my stomach. I flip the coffee pot on, turning to look out the kitchen window. I need to keep him away from the basement, glancing towards the drawer where we keep the keys.
"You know, Dad," I start, trying to sound casual, "when Dustin and I were putting away the Halloween decorations, we saw that some of the boxes were damaged. It might just be better to leave them – you know, mold and stuff?"
"That would be the carelessness of your mother, I'm sure." Dad quips, watching as I pour him coffee. "I'd still like them, see what priceless memories I can salvage."
I swallow hard, nodding as I sit in front of him. My mind races as I try to think of another excuse, anything to keep him from going down there. I shift my chair slightly, trying to block the junk drawer from his eyeline.
"How's school?" he asks, a weak attempt to keep the conversation going.
"Fine," I say, shrugging, not really sure what he wants me to say.
"And practice?" he continues, his gaze a little more intense now. I feel like I'm a bug under a microscope, being studied and prodded.
"Coach says we have a real chance of going to the finals," I smile, but wish he wasn't looking at me like that. Like tennis is my only value in his life.
"Good," he grins, "we'll get that scholarship for college."
We. I try not to make a face, try to contain my own annoyance from simmering to the surface. There is no more we as far as he is concerned, wondering why he couldn't see it.
I open my mouth, about to question why he needs the boxes right now. Why he isn't just here to see us, but he is saved by the distinct sound of a car pulling up to the house. A familiar red BMW parking on the side of the driveway. It's a small rush in my gut, realizing that Steve Harrington is now parking his car in front of my house. When we were friends, I can count the number of times Steve had been over, usually with Tommy to pick up Carol, Nicole, and myself. When he started dating Nancy, that changed, and like Carol – I had been annoyed with how quickly he had dropped us – but now? I understood him, compared to Nancy, our friendship was superficial. Meant for our image and our only that.
It's not just Steve – Dustin is with him, hopping out of the passenger seat with his raincoat still clinging to him, the hood pulled tight over his head.
I feel a mix of relief and panic surge through me. Relief, because Dustin is back safe, and panic, because Steve's here. Who knows how long he's been involved.
My dad spots them too, and raises an eyebrow, "Looks like Dustin's brought home a friend."
There's a hint of curiosity in his voice, and I can't blame him. It's not every day that Dustin shows up with the King of Hawkins. I force myself to stay calm, trying to piece together how to handle this.
"Yeah," I say, my voice tight. "Steve's been tutoring Dustin." It's a clear lie, one that's almost comical, but my dad doesn't seem to be in on the joke.
My dad only looks intrigued, "Think he'll be willing to help with the boxes?" His shoulders relax a bit, and I even sense some joy in my father's voice, like he's glad that Dustin is spending time with someone like Steve Harrington. I quickly move to the door, opening it as Steve and Dustin approach.
"Dad's here," I say, interrupting whatever is on the tip of Dustin's tongue. My brother pauses, his steps slowing before he peeks around me. Dustin smiles wide, but quickly it drops from his face, his brows furrowing together as he pieces together what's happening.
"Did you tell him we lost the keys?" Dustin asks, catching me off guard. He pushes past me, the lie rolling off his tongue so easily that it almost convinces me. This is a new side of Dustin, one I'm not sure I like, but can't help but admire. He's learned to adapt, to think on his feet, much quicker than me.
"Wh-what?" I ask, stepping to the side as Steve follows him in. We exchange glances with each other, but nothing more.
"The key, Lace." Dustin continues, walking into the kitchen and hugging out dad. "Lacy lost the key," he repeats, looking at our dad sheepishly. I catch on quickly, moving to block the junk drawer out of sight once again. I doubt my father remembers where we keep it anyways.
"What do you mean?" Our dad asks, his voice rising slightly, his patience with us clearly wearing thin. "How are you, son?" he continues, realizing that he hasn't greeted Dustin.
"Fine," Dustin grins, before dropping the smile again, "Lacy lost the key when we put away the Halloween decorations."
I make a face, but don't argue, trying to look guilty for my father's sake. "Sorry, dad," I mutter, but in all truth, I wish I really had lost the key. I wish that all my father's memories would rot away in that basement.
Dad sighs, a familiar look that bites into my patience. I chew on my lip, suppressing the urge to snap at him. "I have my tool box," Dad finally says, his tone final. "We'll cut the lock."
Panic flashes through me. "Wait, Dad –" I blurt out, desperately trying to think of another way to stall. "Let's just get lunch first. There's this new place Dustin's been wanting to try, and we can deal with the lock later."
For a split second Dustin's face lights up at the idea of a family lunch, the kind we would have before everything fell apart. But the glimmer of hope fades just as quickly, replaced by a resigned look that makes my heart ache. He knows, just as well as I do, my dad isn't here for us.
Dad smiles, but shakes his head, causing my heart to sink. "We need to get this done," my dad sighs, "it's a long drive back to Indianapolis."
For a moment, he seems to sense the disappointment, because he reaches out and clasps his hand around Dustin's shoulder. My mouth goes slightly dry, remembering the last time we practiced tennis, he had grasped onto my shoulder the same way, using the moment to tell me he was planning on moving out. "We can get a quick bite afterwards, kiddo." he promises, eyes only on Dustin.
He grabs his raincoat then, walking out the front door for his toolbox in his car. As the front door swings shut, I imagine him with his bolt cutters, the lock dropping to his feet, and Dart waiting to greet him.
"We're fucked." I admit, resting my head in my hands.
"Maybe he won't be able to break the lock?" Steve finally chimes in. I shift slightly away from him, forgetting that he is here – that he knew about all of this crap about the Upside Down before I did. Steve Harrington palling around with my little brother is a stranger concept than Dart itself.
"No," Dustin mutters, wringing his hat in his hands, "our Dad'll break the lock. It's what he wants." My brother looks at me now, a silent understanding between us. Our dad is going to get his boxes one way or another. It doesn't matter what we say or do.
Steve is watching us, still hovering in the doorway, a polite distance away from myself and Dustin, "Then what do we do now?"
My mind races through the options, each one more impossible than the last. We could try to stop him, but what would that do? My dad would only push harder. We could tell him the truth about Dart? But, that's out of the question, especially because I barely understand it all myself and Dustin only just began to trust me with the secret. I couldn't blow it all up now because I am scared of what might happen. But that leaves us with only one choice left and it's one that makes my stomach churn with dread.
"We play stupid," I swallow, meeting Dustin's gaze and then Steve's. "We play stupid, but we make sure that thing doesn't go anywhere."
"And dad?" Dustin asks, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Dad'll be fine," I continue, feeling the pit in my stomach widen, "he's always fine."
"What if we distract him?" Steve suggests, his voice low. "Your dad likes sports, right? Maybe there's a game on."
Dustin shakes his head, "The Colts could be playing in the Super Bowl and that wouldn't stop him."
A sense of helplessness washes over me, but I push it down, forcing myself to think. We've got to stay calm. We've got to act like we don't know what's down there – like it's any other day. I nod, more to myself than to anyone else.
"We stick to the plan," I say, my voice firmer than I feel. "We don't know what's really down there, and can't let him think we do."
Steve nods, though he still looks unsure. Dustin's grip tightens on his hat, but he doesn't argue. I can see the determination in his eyes – he's scared, but he's not going to let it show. Not now.
The front door creaks open, and I jump slightly, my heart pounding in my chest as Dad re-enters the house, rain dripping from his raincoat and boots. He's carrying a set of bolt cutters, and the sight of them makes my stomach churn. He's not wasting anymore time.
"Come help me, kiddo," he beams towards Dustin, nodding his head for us to follow him out the front door.
Dustin and I exchange a quick glance. This is it. No turning back now. We follow him outside, Steve close behind us. The rain is pelting down harder than before, the cold seeping through my clothes. The sound of the bolt cutters against the metal lock feels deafening in the quiet of the storm.
I watch, my breath catching in my throat as he positions the cutters around the lock on the basement doors. Time seems to slow, every second stretching out painfully. I feel a sudden, desperate urge to stop him, to grab his arm and tell him not to do it – but I don't move. I just stand there, my heart hammering in my chest as he squeezes the handles together.
There's a loud snap, and the lock falls away, clattering against the wet ground. My dad lets out a satisfied grunt, tossing the broken lock aside before reaching for the handles of the basement doors. This is it. We're out of time.
"Here we go," he says, his voice casual. I glance at my brother, who is slowly inching towards the hockey stick we left propped against the side of the basement. I glance at Steve, who is eyeing the ax we use to chop wood. I feel my legs tense, ready to bolt, ready to push my dad from harm's way.
As the doors creak open, I brace myself, expecting Dart to lunge out. But there's nothing – just darkness and the damp smell of earth. My breath catches as I peer into the void, dread washing over me. Something's wrong. My heart plummets as the realization hits me – Dart is gone.