CXXXIV

Hopper parks by the side of the building, far from the main entrance. A white sign announces what awaits them beyond the gates: "HAWKINS NATIONAL LABORATORY. U. S. DEPARTMENT OF ENERGY." And below, a yellow sign adds: "RESTRICTED AREA: NO TRESPASSING. U. S. GOVERNMENT PROPERTY."

"M'sorry, kid, but this whole story sounds like a load of crap to me," Hopper declares as he steps out of the car.

"Don't say t—!"

"Do you believe her, Joyce?"

Eleven pays little attention to Joyce's expression; she's focused on examining the fence in front of them.

"You two stay in the car," Hopper orders as he starts rummaging in the trunk, because apparently, not believing her story won't stop him from helping her.

"I'm not staying in the car, and I'm not leaving Jane alone," Joyce replies sharply.

"Ugh, woman, you don't even have a weapon," Hopper points out as he approaches the fence with a pair of bolt cutters. Quietly, Eleven decides it's best to let him use them—the more energy she can conserve, the better. "It would be better for you to—"

"I have this," Joyce retorts, holding up an axe she just pulled from the trunk.

Hopper looks ready to argue, but urgency must show on her face, as he finally turns away and brings the bolt cutters to the fence.

If she had any doubts that Papa and his team had returned to their old workplace, they vanish the moment she spots the red light flashing high on the rooftop of the building.

They've brought him here.

Once inside the perimeter, Eleven takes off running. Hopper and Joyce follow closely behind, whispering frantically, begging her to stop or something like that.

She ignores them.

She only stops when a set of glass doors blocks her way.

"It opens with a special key," Hopper mutters, nodding toward the dark mechanism that seals it.

"My time to shine," Joyce replies, smashing the mechanism with one, two precise blows from the axe.

Eleven ignores Hopper's astonished look: she just slips behind the door and strides confidently down the long hallway filled with wooden panels. She's not entirely sure of her bearings, but enough to keep moving: during her training with Henry, she's walked these halls countless times, albeit in fragmented memories.

Hopper and Joyce seem to have noticed her complete lack of hesitation, which is why they simply follow her in silence.

At the end of the hallway, she turns right.

White tiles.

A double wooden door awaits her. On the adjacent wall, a black device with a red light indicates that another special key is needed to pass through.

"Excuse me…!"

Even after Joyce's—and her axe's—intervention, Hopper fails to force the door open. The two adults exchange tense looks.

Eleven has no time to consider what might have gone wrong.

She simply raises her hand, and the door flies back, slamming into an unsuspecting guard.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the stunned expressions of the adults with her.

But there's no time, no, she doesn't have time, every second that passes is an eternity, and…

Don't. It's a trap.

A prisoner in one of the cells he has guarded for years, Henry, lying on the bed after a 'corrective session' with Brenner, repeats the words over and over in his head, as if they were a pre-recorded transmission. He's not sure if he's projecting them far enough—though more developed than before, his telekinetic abilities have been completely nullified by the Soteria; who can guarantee that his telepathic abilities won't meet the same fate?—but they should be able to alert Eleven if she's nearby.

He hopes, from the deepest part of his being, that this is not the case: that she's not close.

That his message will never reach her.

Brenner has been honest with him: he is nothing but a means to an end, the bait for the real prey.

"Eleven is more powerful than you, and easier to control. This is, in part, thanks to you: indeed, only a psychic can enhance the abilities of another psychic in this way. Truly commendable, Henry: unknowingly, you've created the best possible conditions for the success of this experiment of mine."

Yes, he's been watching them for months, especially her.

Even so, amid the torture, amid the beatings and the humiliations, Henry had spat at Brenner's feet and had assured him: "You're nothing but a mediocre man, Brenner. A mediocre, forgettable little man."

"And yet, here you are, at my feet," he had replied. "By the way, would you like to participate in an experiment? Or perhaps, in less rigid terms, a wager."

A wager. If Brenner is right, Eleven will walk through the laboratory doors before the day is over. This even though the man has sworn he left no trace pointing to him.

"If Eleven is truly the 'useless girl' you insist on claiming she is, and doesn't come looking for you in that time, I'll be content to have retrieved only one of my test subjects. The first one, yes, and full of flaws, but still useful."

His intuition tells him Brenner doesn't know about the other Henry: he doesn't know that Eleven's logic will lead her to attribute the crime of his disappearance to another version of himself rather than their former captor.

And I managed to close the portal…

He's not unaware that Eleven is more than capable of reopening the portal given enough time, but at least she won't rush into the other dimension. In short, there's no need for her to come after him. And Henry is sure he can find a way to escape a second time—or so he repeats to himself tirelessly.

But if she does come…

Eleven is the only person like him. Equal to him. And although years ago he would have laughed at this possibility, now he's certain that he cannot abandon her.

That he cannot let her fall into a trap that could mean her death or, worse, the loss of her freedom.

...

However, an hour before the agreed-upon day is up, perhaps because this has been the dynamic between them from the very first day, the doors to his cell swing open with a loud bang.

Before him stand three people, and Henry barely registers the two adults staring at him with bewildered expressions.

No: what stays with him from the scene before him is the girl with the disheveled hair, her nose red from the copious tears, and the deep circles under her eyes from a night of ruined dreams.

"Henry." Her relieved smile is like a balm that heals all his wounds, that forgives all the insults. Her firm, assured steps remind him of the flexible, unstoppable drop of water that carves through rock. "I found you."

…

Never has defeat tasted so sweet.