Chapter Text
Montauk, Book 1, Chapter 1
Hawkins, Indiana
9/23/2014 – 4:45 P.M
All Mike could do was look on in horror when he saw the bodies of his sisters, Holly and Nancy, his mother, and his father. Their cold, unmoving corpses lay on the ground in his living room, each of them having bullets imbedded deep into their chest, as if they were meticulously aimed towards that area. Blood pooled the floor surrounding them.
The 16-year-old stood there frozen, unable to move, the only noise in the living room being the peripheral sound of the contents playing on the flat screen TV across from him.
His family. Gone. Seemingly taken away from him. For a second, Mike thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He thought this whole ordeal was a frightening dream he would wake up from within seconds, but it wasn’t. He couldn’t feel his body lying over top of his bed; he didn’t have that familiar sensation of being in a lucid dream. This was all real.
His parents and siblings were shot dead and there was absolutely nothing that would change that.
Unable to take the horrid sight in front of him, he ran towards the bathroom.
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Montauk, Book 1, Chapter 1
Hawkins, Indiana
9/23/2014 – 5:13 P.M
“Indiana Senator, Ted Wheeler, was shot dead at his home one hour ago today. His wife and two daughters were also killed in the same location. His 16 year old son is his only surviving child. Police are unaware of the perpetrator’s identity but efforts are being made to find out who it is. We urge all people within and near the Hawkins area to stay inside their homes unless it’s an absolute emergency…”
Mike tried his hardest to drown out the sound of the reporter’s voice from the TV across from him. His eyes were fixated on the mug of water he was given. He felt cold all over, absently pulling down the towel wrapped around him so it would cover his entire upper body. The boy kept to himself in the police station he resided in, not saying a single word to anyone since he was escorted there. That harrowing call he made to the police would haunt him forever, the piercing sounds of the sirens as the cars came barreling down his affluent and normally peaceful neighborhood would play in his head for months…maybe even years.
“We’re going to need to get some answers from you, Michael. Can you do that for us?”
One of the police officers assigned to Mike took a seat from him – his name was Officer Callahan.
“It’s Mike,” The boy corrected him, his tone blank, his first words spoken since he was driven to the station.
“Of course,” He nodded, his voice as friendly as he could muster.
Mike was visibly uncomfortable and clearly shaken. He wanted to be anywhere but here, but he knew if he wanted the mystery to his parents’ and siblings’ deaths to be solved, he had to cooperate with them. That meant answering any question, no matter how intrusive.
“So, you weren’t home when this occurred?” Callahan asked. It was a bit awkward starting the whole conversation on that note, but he had to get to the important particulars in a quick fashion instead of beating around the bush.
“No.”
His voice was weaker, little emotion encapsulating it.
“I found them lying on the ground…in the living room,” He continued, his irises shifting from place to place, anywhere from the cop’s strong stare. Under the table, Mike clamped his clammy palms together, to keep them from shaking any longer.
“Do you have any clues on anyone who could plot something as horrible as this?” Callahan asked.
Mike briefly parted his lips. Ted Wheeler being an affluent and prominent senator obviously made him prone to targeted attacks, but he was utterly clueless on who exactly would do such a thing. Large scale crimes, let alone incidents like these, never happened in Hawkins. Hawkins was a town reveled for being uneventful and serene as could be.
“No,” Mike repeated, the frail cadence to his voice unchanging.
“Okay,” The officer concluded, observing how uncomfortable Mike looked, “We’ll do everything within our power to make sure we catch this guy. You can count on us.”
He stood up from his seat, giving the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
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The flashes of light from cameras were nearly blinding as Mike was ushered out of the station. His face was partially shielded to protect his identity in case any photograph or video taken by the paparazzi would be publicized on a news website or air on national TV. Bodyguards walked beside and in front of the teen to keep the boy from being physically pushed by the photographers that bombarded them.
“Do you know who did this your father? Was it someone close to him? You must have some idea!” One of them shouted over the noise the others were making.
All of the invasive questions and statements they made almost made Mike want to hurl or even physically attack them for being so damn inconsiderate.
“Did you see the man who did this?”
“Why would they attack your sisters?”
“Was this because of political differences?”
“You were the only one found alive in your home! Were you responsible? Was this because of a quarrel between you and your father?”
The fact that a 16 year old lost his entire family within a span of one hour and was most likely still in shock from it all evaded them. Mike kept his lips glued shut, even at that last question. He kept his eyes low while the guards continued to guide him towards the vehicle he was to leave in.
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Two and a half weeks later…
“…I just want them all to go away,” Mike said, “Can’t you do that for me, Steve?”
“We’re trying our best, but they’re persistent,” The older male, Steve, said. He was one of the Wheeler family’s most trusted bodyguards and was often treated as a family friend rather than someone employed under them, “They can’t get in here, you know that, right?”
“I know,” Mike said. He stood up, slightly peeking through the window of the grandiose lodge he was currently staying in. He saw the dozens of cameramen and paparazzi many feet below as they edged the entrance of the building. Not too far, their vehicles were parked, crowding the neighborhood’s main street. Where Mike was staying was a rather remote place in Hawkins, but some of the paps must have tipped someone off so they could disclose Mike’s location.
“Eventually they’ll move onto other things when the next interesting event or scandal hits. It’s how these guys work.”
Mike let out a prolonged puff of air out of his nose, unconvinced at Steve’s reassuring words. He slumped back in his seat and looked ahead, not focusing on particularly anything. As difficult as it was, he wanted to forget about this whole predicament. He didn’t want the reporters and detectives to announce themselves, just to bombard him with more questions. The boy leaned forwards on his desk, raking his raven black hair between his fingers. He froze in that position for a moment before bringing his head back up.
“Steve…”
“What’s up?”
Steve noticed Mike’s parted lips and lengthy silence after his response. The boy was rather hesitant to say what he was about to say next.
“I almost did it yesterday.”
“Did what?” Steve’s relaxed mood was instantly gone as he looked on at Mike with concern. The 16 year old’s voice was laced with emotion, a newfound sadness to it. It was a stark contrast to his frustrated attitude he had seconds ago.
“I was…” His voice was weak.
“I-I was going to take the entire bottle of those headache pills.”
“Mike–”
“I couldn’t take it anymore…and I still can’t,” He continued, his voice shaky, “E-Everywhere I look, I-I’m reminded of this. Walking into my house and finding my entire family…my dad, my mom, and my sisters…dead in my own home–”
Mike’s sentence came to an abrupt stop. He suddenly shook his head once he saw the immense amount of worry etched on Steve’s face; the 20 year old was clearly taken aback and surprised at Mike’s sudden confession.
“I don’t want you to worry, Steve. I don’t– I don’t ever plan on doing that again,” Mike said, regaining his composure. He didn’t want to drain his close friend too much, considering he was almost as shaken as he was the moment he found out about the deaths of Mike’s parents and sisters. Mike assumed it wouldn’t be fair of him to spill all of that to Steve, even if he couldn’t control his sudden out-pour of emotions.
“The thing is, is that you don’t plan that type of stuff,” Steve spoke up, he cleared his throat, “You can talk to me about anything, you know that, right?”
The other nodded, although tentatively, “There’s also the therapist so I don’t burden you with all of this–”
“–who will be coming in two days before you’re done packing up for Maine,” Steve interrupted, “You need a proper outlet for now. Don’t be afraid to talk.”
“Okay,” Mike simply said.
Derry, Maine.
His aunt and uncle, who lived there, kindly offered to take him in. It would be a fresh change of scenery, far, far away from the town of Hawkins.
“I’m going to rest for a bit,” Mike said, getting up from his desk chair, “‘Probably wake up in a better mood.”
“Call me if you need anything,” Steve said.
“I will,” Mike replied. Although he had a caretaker to assist and watch over him for the meantime, Steve was someone he could confide in the most.
After a few last words, Steve left the bedroom and eventually the property with much trouble, because of the overcrowding paparazzi.
Mike climbed into his bed. He pulled the thick quilt over him and closed his eyes, hoping tomorrow would be a bit more bearable than today.
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Hawkins, Indiana
10/10/2016 - 8:51 A.M
“Will! Are you awake yet?!”
Will stubbornly fished for his bed covers and flipped them over his body. The boy firmly kept his eyes closed and curled up in a sideways fetal position. He surely did not want to go to school today, not on this cold and rainy Monday. He’d much rather stay wrapped up in this comfortable position for the next 12 hours or maybe until Friday.
“It’s nearly 9:00! You should be up by now!” His mom’s voice repeated.
Don’t want to go to school. Don’t want to go to school. Don’t want to go to school.
Seconds later he heard the sound of his bedroom door being pushed open, rather abruptly. The sudden noise of the old door startled the boy. A frustrated Will pushed off his bedsheet, before he saw his mother, Joyce, stand at the doorway, an impatient expression marking her features.
“Mom, I told you I don’t like when you do that!” Will said his voice on the verge of anger. He was a little grouchy this morning, his unbridled anger towards his mother a little much but he literally did not want to get up today.
“School starts in 20 minutes. You should have been awake long ago,” Mrs. Byers ignored his frustrations, “What happens when you're late and you get a tardy slip? This will be your third time this year. You know what happens when it's your third time right?”
Will pressed his brows together, his frustration making him tune out his mother’s rambling.
“Can’t I just call in sick? I’m not feeling very well today,” The boy said, inattentively pulling his bedsheet back over his lap.
Joyce reached over towards her son and touched his forehead. It was lukewarm to the touch, not unusually warm or anything. She shook her head in disbelief. He got away with it before; he certainly was not getting away with it this time.
“You don't look sick to me,” Joyce said, removing her hand from Will.
She’s catching on.
“But I am!” Will retorted, his voice an octave higher.
“Okay I'll get the thermometer then.”
Fuck, not the thermometer.
Will resisted the urge to let out an exasperated groan as he watched his mom leave his bedroom on her way to the bathroom to find said thermometer. He could fake being sick, but he surely could not fake his body temperature.
He flopped back on his bed, cursing to himself when he hit the back of his head against the bed frame.
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Unfortunately, the thermometer never lied. Will had a perfectly normal temperature of 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit.
With his backpack haphazardly strapped to his shoulder, he turned the lock combination to his locker before opening the lock. His eyelids felt heavy as he tried pushing away the last bit of dreariness he felt. Unfortunately, Will wasn’t going to get over his sleepiness and incessant yawns until the evening.
Before he could pull out his books, he felt a firm grip on his shoulder.
“Ah!” Will yelped.
His shoulders lowered when he realized it was just his best friend, Lucas Sinclair.
“Relax, it’s just me,” His friend said, “Why so jumpy this morning?”
“You know me, Lucas. I’m always jumpy,” Will replied, only earning a shrug from the other.
“So what are you going to do about the trig test?”
“Wait until my mom finds out. She’s going to kill me once she realizes I’m failing that class,” Will sighed, “Then it’s after-school tutoring for the rest of my time in high school.”
He shut his locker after grabbing his books.
“There’s no harm in that if it helps,” Lucas replied, “You don’t want to fail, do you?”
His friend always had to be the voice of reason.
“Well–” Will stopped, “No…I don’t. I just– what do I need algebra II for, anyways? It’s not like I’m going to do anything related to math once I graduate. What’s the point?”
“Maybe you might change your mind halfway into college and end up dropping out of art school. Before you know it, you’ll end up being a math or a physics major. You’ll need all the high school level algebra you can get.”
“I take that back, you don’t know me at all,” Will teased, the two walking side-by-side, “I don’t see myself doing anything else, ever.”
“So are you going to take after your brother or something?”
“No way,” Will shook his head, “The work he does is so demanding. Dustin always tells me how stressed he gets when a deadline for a new chapter is coming.”
Jonathan Byers was infamous around Hawkins.
Creator and illustrator of the 2014 webtoon and graphic novel, Montauk, earned him a newfound recognition. Mostly taking place in Hawkins, Indiana, the story behind the comics and the main character, Mike Wheeler, quickly intrigued people around the country. People would anxiously and excitedly wait for a new chapter each time the previous one was released. Their expectation couldn’t be helped. After all, each chapter ended with a cliff hanger. They wanted to know what would happen next.
Unfortunately, Will was often bombarded with questions from his classmates because of this.
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“Byers! Just the boy we needed to see!”
His shoulders stiffened when he could see Troy and James take the seats opposite him in the lunch table he usually sat in. He desperately glossed the lunchroom once more to see if his friends were anywhere in sight. Much to his chagrin, they weren’t. They were most likely stuck in the traffic jam they called the lunch line.
“What do you want, Troy?”
Will’s voice came out harsher than expected, a mistake he made. He didn’t want to get on the bad side of those two. Their intimidating presences often unsettled a normally timid Will.
“Hey, we’re not going to do anything bad to you,” James added, “This time, at least.”
Troy shoved James on the shoulder.
“He’s not going to tell us shit if you mess this up for me,” Troy hissed to his friend, out of earshot of Will.
“Right,” James said, slightly annoyed at his friend’s action.
Once they had Will’s undivided attention, Troy spoke up first.
“It’s about Montauk,” He began, almost causing Will to roll his eyes. He knew this was going to happen. But he stopped himself before he could. He really didn’t want to get on their bad side.
“When’s he uploading the 11th chapter?” James asked.
“Yeah, the fans deserve know,” Troy said, “By my calculations of Jonathan’s regular release dates, it should have been posted two days ago. Two days ago!”
Will almost instinctively leaned back as Troy’s voice got louder. He really wasn’t pleased that Jonathan was extending the deadline this time.
“He’s never late, ever…which makes this all the more strange. He should at least make an announcement that he’s going to post the chapter a little late instead of keeping us all waiting and spamming his blog like idiots–”
“I don’t know!” Will exclaimed, interrupting Troy. Their overly ardent and confrontational demeanors were already overwhelming him, “…He’s probably having some technical issues.”
Troy shifted in his seat.
“Okay, then,” He said, not satisfied with Will’s brief answer, “Can you at least give us a sneak peak of what’s coming next chapter?”
James eagerly nodded, also wanting what could be an impromptu spoiler from Will.
“We want to know why Mike suddenly had to make a stop at that hotel of all places. There was no foreshadowing or building at all to that point. What’s the significance of that? Was he meeting someone he hadn’t seen in a while, someone important? Was it Jane, the girl who was interested in him? It didn’t make sense to me…or to anyone else who finished!”
Will shook his head, ignoring the fervor in James’ voice as he spoke. They really wanted to know as they were both huge fanboys of Montauk.
“I-I can’t do that.”
“Why the hell not?” Troy asked, a sudden bout of annoyance arising through him.
“Jonathan never tells me anything and for a good reason too.”
“You’re his brother, that doesn’t make sense.”
Will simply shrugged.
He almost let out a sigh of relief when he saw Lucas and Dustin, lunch trays in hand. They weren’t even confused at Troy’s and James’ presence cause they, too, knew why they so suddenly sat in Will’s table.
“Whatever,” Troy finally said, “Next time tell your brother to not be so secretive anymore.”
With that, he and James quickly gathered their items and left Will’s table.
“You can tell them to stop bothering you, you know,” Dustin said, “You have to stand up to them someday.”
“You know he can’t do that. They’ll make his and our lives a living hell here,” Lucas replied.
The two of them finally sat down.
“It’s not too bad…” Will said, with a slight upward movement of his shoulders, “Like Lucas said, they won’t do anything awful to us if we don’t piss them off too much.”
“What’d they ask you this time?”
“Most likely something about the 11th chapter,” Dustin said, “Catch on, Lucas. You should know the routine by now.”
“That’s coming from someone who works closely with Jonathan,” Lucas retorted, “He doesn’t even let me or Will into his workspace.”
Since last year, Dustin worked part time as an assistant editor to Jonathan. He would often do tasks such as designing landscapes, helping Jonathan visualize scenes throughout chapters, or organize the rough edits of storyboards. Though, he wasn’t allowed to see the final put-together draft until Jonathan actually released it…so he had next to no idea of what came in store. It was a tasking job for a high school senior, but he could handle the demands of it.
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Hawkins, Indiana
10/15/2016 - 1:30 P.M
Will was comfortably cooped up in his bed, finishing a do-over of one of his math assignments he previously failed on. The boy wrapped thick quilts of bedsheets around his shoulders to keep warm.
He dropped his pencil on his notebook the minute he saw his cell phone vibrate beside him. He couldn’t keep away from his distractions.
He immediately answered it.
“Dustin, I told you not to call me now–”
“Will, it’s kind of an emergency,” His friend interrupted.
Will quickly sat up, no longer leaning against his bedframe.
“What happened?”
“It’s about Jonathan,” Dustin said, his voice to the brim of worry, “…He hasn’t been back since Thursday.”
“Has he called you?”
Will hadn’t recalled Jonathan’s absence. He was so busy during the week that the thought had escaped him. There was also the fact his college-aged brother lived in a completely different home in another part of town and he would seldom call Will and the others since he had such a heavy workload.
“No,” The other responded, after a short pause, “Max said he hasn’t called her either. He’d usually tell us by now if he was leaving somewhere for a while, I guess.”
The brown-haired boy absently bit his bottom lip.
“Okay, I’ll go to his house to see if anything is up,” He said, before hanging up.