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As you start to drive away from Hawkins, you realize you have no idea where to go. You hadn’t been completely honest in your letter to your parents, but you know they wouldn’t care enough to follow-up, and would instead just wait for you to reach out, if you ever did. You pass a sign that says SESSLER - 70 and something in your memory alights at the city’s name; unable to recall why you know it, you decide that’s where you’re going to go.
You arrive in Sessler a little after nightfall, and decide you’re going to spend the night in a motel; you stop at the first one you pass, and book the cheapest room you can get. Since it’s a town you’ve never been to before, you bring all of your bags in with you, and triple-check that you’ve locked the car before going into your room and locking all of the locks on the door. You fall asleep quickly, your body practically screaming in relief at being able to stretch out after hours of driving.
When you wake, you decide the first place to stop is the local high school; transcripts in tow, you enter the administration office, and wait for someone to be able to help you. After looking over your transcripts, a secretary tells you you’d be better off trying to get your GED than trying to graduate from there, as your grades indicate you’ll be able to pass the GED exam no problem, whereas their district requires someone be a student there for a full year before being able to graduate through the high school. Not wanting to repeat an entire year of school, you leave with a study booklet and the date of the next GED exam.
After the high school, your next stop is the local realty office to meet with a realtor and discuss the options available to you. She looks over your finances and informs you that while you do have more than enough for first and last month’s rent on a one bedroom apartment, you would need to have proof of full or nearly full time employment for her to rent it out to a first-time renter. You strike a deal, and she offers you one week’s time to get your affairs in order before she can no longer hold the apartment.
Exactly twenty-four hours later, you’re back in her office, with proof of hire as the opener at the local Radio Shack, and closer at Ma’s Diner, a local eating establishment. The realtor smiles as you sign the papers, and she hands you the keys; you smile back at her, and realize there is no hint of malice or trickery in her face - she is genuinely happy you succeeded. Maybe, you think, Sessler was the right choice.
After you move into your new place and start both of your jobs, you quickly fall into an easy rhythm; you make friends at both of your places of employment, but you’re careful to make certain they are work friends only, avoiding deeper personal connections. You fill every possible hour you can with work, and before you know it, you’ve been in Sessler for seven weeks.
You miss Hawkins every day, and there are some days where the ache in your soul cuts so deeply that all you can do is lie in bed, clinging to a pillow and wishing it were Steve, Hopper, Eleven, Nancy, Jonathan, Robin….
Every time you think you might go back, you remember why you left; if you were to stay, Carol and her group would only dig in deeper. The rumors would get worse, the stories they would make up would become more and more heinous; you could be the reason that Eleven is found out, the reason her chance at a normal life gets ripped away. You being in Hawkins painted a target on the backs of everyone you loved.
Sometimes, you miss them so much it feels like dying - the first time you think that is the last time you question your decision. You would sooner die than be the thing that costs any of them their freedom, and, as the ache in your heart grows and grows, you think maybe you already did.
You punch out for your fifteen minute break and head to the back parking lot, unsure of what is going to be waiting for you when you get there. Murray is pacing by the dumpsters, and you head over to him slowly, quietly calling out, “Mr. Bauman?”
He looks up at you and gestures for you to come closer. When you’re close enough for him to whisper, he asks, “You speak any Russian?”
Startled and confused by the question, you nod slowly. “A little,” you say. “I took a classics course at community college last summer but most of the Russian works were untranslated, so we had to do it ourselves. Why?”
“Might come in handy soon - you should brush up,” he says, turning abruptly and walking away. Just when you’re about to head back inside, he turns around and says something else, quiet enough that you have to strain to hear it - as the words register, they're unmistakable, as is the chill that runs up your spine.
“Hopper’s a mess without you, you know.” Before you can even think about responding, he’s gone.