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Five ignored phone calls and two long voicemails later, Billy has decided that enough is enough. Fuck Harrington if he thinks he can ignore him. He’s just going to go over there and give Steve a piece of his mind. No more of this cold shoulder bullshit, he isn’t Nancy, he’s Billy fucking Hargrove and he’s not standing for this shit.
“Knew you were home, fucker,” Billy mutters when he pulls up to the Harrington house lit up like a Christmas tree and Steve’s BMW parked out front.
Billy shoves his door open and storms up the driveway.
“Harrington!” he shouts, pounding his fist against the door. “Open up!”
He knocks again after a minute when there’s no answer and tries the doorknob. He’s never been so thankful that all these dumbass hicks are so trusting when he finds it unlocked. The door swings open with a dull creak and he steps inside.
“Hello?” He steps into the hall and looks around.
Everything looks the same as it usually does— untouched, empty, soulless. Only the blanket crumpled up over the arm of the couch and the textbook left out on the coffee table shows that somebody actually lives here.
“I know you’re home, Harrington!” Billy’s voice echoes off the walls as he climbs up the staircase.
Sure that he’ll find him in his room, Billy bursts in without pause but there’s no sign of Steve in there either. Even his bed is made, all the corners tucked in and tidy.
Where the fuck is he?
Billy peers around the room, searches the closet, even checks under the bed just in case but no luck. Defeated, he slumps against the window and presses his forehead against the cool glass.
Fuck, maybe he really did fuck up this time. This is what they do though. Steve gets pissed when Billy is an asshole and he goes off and sulks until Billy crawls back like the whipped little bitch that he is, they have mind blowing makeup sex, and then they start the cycle all over again.
But Steve’s car is here so where the fuck is he?
He groans and stares down at the pool down below where steam hovers invitingly over the blue water.
Maybe he walked to the Quarry, Billy thinks and takes one step towards the door to leave when something catches his eye. He squints.
Seriously? He’s swimming?
Billy stomps back downstairs and crosses the living room, flinging the sliding door open with a huff.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He growls, glaring down at the body bobbing in the pool but the closer he gets, the more details appear through the steam.
Dark hair spilling out in a halo, pink sweater gone red with water-log, limbs hanging limp and body floating face down in the water.
Billy freezes.
They’re not moving.
“...Steve?” He tries to take a step closer but his legs feel like lead. “Baby?”
The pool lights buzz in the silence, mixing in with the thundering beat of his pulse in his ears.
No, no, no.
“This isn’t funny.” He swallows. “Steve, if you’re fucking with me—”
“Dead.”
“Jesus fuck!” Billy nearly jumps out of his skin at the quiet voice. He whirls around, every muscle electrified.
Someone is curled up on the ground behind him. Billy nearly doubles over with relief when he recognizes Steve’s face in the dark. “Fuckin’ hell, you scared me. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
Steve doesn’t respond. His arms are wrapped around his knees protectively, huddled in a ball against the house. He’s staring vacantly at the pool. His lips are blue. “How long have you been out here?”
Nothing.
“Steve. Hey!” Billy snaps his fingers to get a reaction. Nothing, just silence and that same empty gaze. Billy’s not sure if Steve is even aware that he’s here.
“Steve, baby,” his voice breaks, lowers, grows desperate, “what the fuck is going on?”
Billy’s change in tone seems to do the trick and he gets a slow blink.
“Barb,” he croaks.
“What?”
Billy turns back to look at the body in the pool.
He knows the story, has heard it in snippets passed around the halls of Hawkin’s High, shared around the lunch table like hot gossip. Barbara Holland, victim of a chemical spill from Hawkins Lab and some crazy government conspiracy.
But that had been over a year ago.
Billy picks up the net resting against the wall and walks to the edge of the water. He nudges a shoulder with the end of the pole, the metal sinking into soft muscle. The body dips under the surface at his prodding and he has to use both hands to flip her over.
Her jaw hangs open in a silent gasp. Her flesh is plump, bloated, and her eyes stare lifelessly up at the sky, pearlescent like a dead fish.
He doesn’t have much experience with decomposition but he’s sure about this.
This isn’t year old decay.
This is fresh.