The guard watched her more than any other. Peter turned, running his fingers through his long blond hair, and stared at the guard. She sat cross-legged at a table.
"Mr. Austin," said Peter, "you seem interested in Eleven."
The guard turned to him. He glowered with his intense dark eyes.
"I don't trust her," he said. His right cheek had a tick, and twitched.
"Why?" Peter asked and revealed an odd smile—both positive and quarrelsome at the same time. He winked at 006, as they were playing checkers.
"She's dangerous."
Peter picked up a very slight accent, perhaps Eastern European.
"And if she is…I like her all more. She has a good heart, for better or worse."
The guard huffed walked away.
Peter watched him go, squinting. He covered his wrist self-consciously, the jumped a checker. Six jumped him back.
"Peter," said Six. "Have you ever see a bison in a storm? Eleven is like that."
"What do you mean?"
"I read that they turn toward the rain and face it. They're not whinging babies. They face the danger."
"That's interesting, Six. I never would have drawn that analogy."
Eleven placed the white chess pieces at pawn to e4, Knight to f3, and Bishop to c4.
The Rainbow Room, quiet as usual, had a half-dozen children in white hospital gowns today. Papa was not seen this morning—perhaps he had a cold. 012 said he was sniffling yesterday.
Six did the usual pawn to e5, Knight to c6. He smiled slightly and looked up at Eleven.
"The standard Italian opening," Six commented.
"It-al-ian?" She asked.
"You're getting better," he said. "But I'm not interested in the game. Did you know Dr. Ellis made you forget something? I heard them talking."
Eleven shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak and then paused to think.
"Sometimes…" she said, "you can not understand things right."
"That was before," he said.
"Your abilities are better now?"
He nodded.
"They were worried, my friend."
Eleven glanced up at the camera.
"You should keep your ability secret," she said. "They don't like their thoughts spied on."
Six nodded. He placed his other Knight at f6. "A battle for the middle," he said. "Take the high ground. Keep this to yourself, but I can unlock that ability for you."
Eleven's eyes grew larger as she looked at Six's eyes. She reached for a piece but her hand started to shake, so she took it back. Then she moved her Knight to c3.
"Timid, Eleven," he replied. "Don't be so scared to use your skills. You may need them one day."
———
El slept fitfully, rolling back and forth. Then quietly the door opened. There was a tube sticking through the door. A dart hit her thigh, and she yelped but the door had closed already. Moments later she had no problem sleeping. The door opened again and a gloved hand disconnected the camera and threw pillows and a wig into the room.
A figure moved Eleven to the floor by the door, set up the pillows and wig to approximate a sleeping child covered by blankets, and reconnected the camera. Quietly, the figure placed Eleven in a laundry cart and draped a sheet over her. The door closed.
The figure walked with the laundry cart down a long hallway, finally arriving at the loading dock's double doors, badged through, and took the sleeping girl out of view of everyone.
Mr. Austin pulled the blanket off and gave her a huge grin that made him squint, flexed his fingers, and stretched his neck.
"Ah," he said. "Look…at…her." He smiled and brushed her cheek with his fingers. "You remind me of one of the girls I killed by the river…"
He gazed around the large loading area to what he wanted. It was purchased from a crematorium and still had the rolling table for the coffins, but they used it for papers. *A waste.* He tied knots with special rope and made sure the girl couldn't move.
"Excellent for destroying evidence," he said to himself. "I need to use this in the future," he chuckled. *Better than the river.*
He went back and laid out a small black bag next to the cart. Carefully he placed the sleeping, tied girl in the bag and carried her to the tray and placed her on it. She moved slightly.
——— _———-
"Where am I?"
I blink at the fluorescent tube lights brightly shining in my eyes. I recall something poking me with a needle in my bed. Now I hear a low roar nearby and smell rotten eggs. I feel druggy and dazed. I taste cloth in my mouth. Ugh…I'm gagged and my hands are tied at the wrists. And then around my waist. My legs are tied too!
What is happening?*
My pulse shoots sky high and pounds in my ears as my muscles pull and tense and I wriggle and start to panic and I see…
A man's face. I blink my eyes twice to make sure this is really happening.
He smiles and it looks like a plastic mannequin smile: not quite human. He has hooded eyes and thin lips, a very short haircut, and a burn scar on his left ear. His dark vacuous eyes glisten with excitement. Those eyes give the impression of a wild animal.
I scream, but it barely makes a noise.
"I injected you with Sotera…you can't use your abilities on me for a while. So now you are mine, you little abomination," he says.
His right cheek twitches.
"You would not believe how easy it was for me to steal you away, little miss. With 16 of you running around."
My body trembles. He is insane. I *push* hard. Nothing happens. I start to cry—*push* again. Nothing happens and wetness runs out of the corners of my eyes as I squeeze them shut against reality.
His laughs, or rather uncannily giggles, causing a vague sense of horror to creep up my spine and into my brain. Soon I feel full-blown panic. I try to sit up but a rope around my neck runs down my back and is tied to my waist, so I choke. I lay back and my bladder loosens.
"Oh…you peed yourself. A lot of my chicks pee themselves."
I start crying. *This can not be happening to me. I'm eight years old.*
"Don't worry, it will be soon ended. Stay still. It's easier." He looks me over with his cold eyes.
I feel round bumps under my back, and see black rubber sheeting and a silver zipper. I am laying in or on some kind of bag. The many pipes overhead—several go to the roaring giant big box at my feet—clue me in. I try to sit up and look, and see a door with a window with flames licking the glass.
He's going to burn me to death. Now I don't care my bladder emptied.
"Come on, freak number eleven," he says. "The Russians aren't paying me by the hour." His loathsome hands grab my shoulders and he pushes me along the feeding track to the door. My feet are getting warm.
"I hear that after all your nerve endings burn off, it doesn't hurt so much…"
My eyes bulge as I look at his plastic grin and twitching eye.
"I love this part," he says. "It's all I dream about. He lifts the Polaroid camera in front of his face.
"Look scared for me!" He says and laughs. His face is sweaty and that hideous grin on his face grows. He snaps the picture and the flash goes off. He giggles again, turns his head to look behind me, and I see his brown shirt better. The tag reads Hawkins National Laboratory, Security Officer.
I'm at the lab in a different room! I wheel my eyes around but don't recognize it. I'm about to be killed by a psycho security guard!
"Why?" I ask through the gag with a rag, as loudly as I can.
"Huh?"
"Why?! Why?!" I scream.
"Oh, 'why'…yeah. Hmm." He cracked his knuckles. "I don't know. I wish I knew, but I don't. Maybe one day a psychologist will figure it out. I just have to, uh…kill. Women. Girls. Animals."
Then he turns and looks back where I can't see. His face gets flushed.
"What are you doing here?" He says, then angrily "…get back in your cage, lab…krysa!"
I crane my head to see, almost strangling myself. It's 006, and he's angry too. He puts his arm forward. The psycho guard flies backward—the camera spinning in the air with a developing picture spinning free—and he falls with a thump. The camera lands at my feet.
My mind lights up with hope and my chest feels lighter. *Please save me. Please save me. Please...* My breath quivers in and out. Where's Papa?
Plastic face man is up against the wall now threatening Six with his sparking stun baton. What can I do? I try to kick but he's tied my feet to some kind of heavy object. I'm only able to roll over on my side so I can see.
Six has the psycho pinned to the wall using his powers. But he was never all that strong, and the psycho is moving. Six glances back at me, his eyes wider, brow furrowed, and walks toward the man. He grabs the handle of the baton as it sparks. But the man lunges forward and zaps him in the arm. Six topples sideways and yelps, but the sudden shock pulls the baton from the psycho's grip, and it falls to the floor close to the big box that reads "INCINERATOR" on the top. It's roaring.
I try again to *push* and the man gets slightly nudged and stops struggling with Six for a second to glance at me. Yes! I'm getting some PK power back. The drug is wearing off.
Six slugs him across the jaw, but he's small—just a teen—and the psycho shakes his head, smiling.
"Nice try, little boy," he says. He punches him in the stomach and Six falls to the ground bent over. He coughs and coughs, wretching
Oh no. Oh no no no no!* He's coming to me now. I scream but it's a whisper. I try to roll the other ways to get away from him. I roll so far I teeter on the edge about to fall to the floor three feet below, but he pulls me back. He lays me out flat again, pulling a syringe from his pocket and a vial from another. He's drawing up some fluid.
I get quiet and focus. Once chance, I've got one chance.
"This is an anesthetic, it will knock you out," he says. "I mixed it with the psi drug, fifty-fifty. Just for you."
He smiled again, his time showing his poor dentition: crooked teeth and spots of decay.
"Brenner's pet chickie-dee," he says as he aims the needle at my arm. I watch as his other hand is holding my arm still—and *push* as hard as I can.
The syringe and needle jerk and he jabs himself, another *push* and it injects into the back of his hand. My nose bleeds and my head aches, I pushed so hard I feel like blacking out.
"Bitch!" He shouts. "You'll pay for that!"
I'm dizzy and helpless to stop him as the room fades in and out. I can only just open my eyes.
He opens the incinerator door and grabs my feet. He pulls me in the rollers. I'm sliding toward it! Then he teeters, wobbles, and falls to the floor.
There is a zapping sound. I feel the electricity in the air. Six stands over him, and I hear grunts and thrashing. My feet are growing hot.
Then I can't see what is happening. Six is missing for a few seconds. I start to wake up, feeling the blood pulse down my face from my nose. I feel like my feet are going to burn.
Six stands up again, walks over, and closes the door. My feet begin to cool as he unties the ropes methodically, hands first, then feet. I untie the gag and neck leash.
"Thank you, Six," I say.
"It's cool Eleven," he says. "That honky thought I was weak. I ain't no pussy. I faked him out, acted all hurt so I could get the jump on him."
I am finally untied and stand up, but my legs nearly buckle. I smell bad and look over my gown.
"It's okay," he says. "Don't mean a damn thing. You did well."
"What do we do with him?"
"Well, I kinda shocked his brain for a while, so…"
We both look down. The man isn't moving or breathing and his face has burn marks from the prod. He looks dead.
"We gotta put him in," Six said.
"What?"
"No evidence. No crime."
I look at the bastard. Slowly I come to a thought, he's right. This man is dead, and he needs to go in there. I want him in there. Forever.
"Let's pick him up together, using psychokinesis," I say.
"Okay," he smiles with his big lips. He opens the door again.
We put our arms out and lift him to the bench, then roll him in. Easy. Six throws the camera inside. I close the door.
"The facility is still locked down," he says. "This loading bay has alarms on the doors and cameras outside. We better get back."
"Okay," I say. I hold onto his arm because my legs are like spaghetti noodles. We slip through the door, no need to badge on this side. *Oh no!*
"The badge!" I say.
"Oh crap," he says. "Guess we messed that up. It's okay."
We walk back through empty hallways in the late night hours.
"How did you know?" I ask him.
"Told you I can see through your eyes," he said. "Plus, someone knocked on my door and unlocked it. I followed him and slipped some cloth in the door jamb. When I figured it out, that's when I came at him."
"You're good," I say. "I have make you a present. I know how to craft with popsicle sticks."
"How about tomorrow, Thursday," he says. "September 6th is my birthday—I think, and it's 1979 so I'm 16."
"Wow, you're old."
"Sure I'm old but not decrepit, and a better chess player. Next week, maybe I'll know a way out of here. Checkmate."
"Do you always play black?"
"Of course. I don't want to be white."
"Can you see my dreams?"
"Yeah, they're cool. You dream about chess. And a woman, sometimes. We don't ever talk about this, okay? This is my cage, good night."
"Good night Six."
…
Eleven looked back down the hall the way they had come. For just a moment she thought she saw someone in white clothing peering around a corner, but it might have been her imagination. She still felt groggy.
…
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Millie talks about women being judged on their appearance.
https//r/StrangerThings/s/7wmz7ETlP8
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