Chapter Text
Chrissy Cunningham died in 1986 and woke up in 1983.
In the fall of the second 1984, she learned why. Everything she had known about her small town had shifted over the course of a single week. Chrissy Cunningham was no longer the friendly cheerleader or girl next door. That girl had died several times over, some deaths more literal than others. And rising from her ashes, someone else had taken her place. Now, Chrissy was a girl who listened to heavy metal. She spent hours with children. She listened to their arguments and helped them through their struggles. She slid into the role of Nancy Wheeler’s best friend, picking up the mantle from a murdered girl. She ate and laughed and worried about the next time monsters would attack.
The second 1985 was born on a single night, at a New Year's Eve party that Chrissy had been forced to go to with her parents. Her mom bought her a red dress with a giant bow on the back. It had fit the first time, a size that had been snug enough that Chrissy had rushed to the bathroom and purged the contents of her stomach. It didn’t fit this time around. The zipper failed halfway. Her mom clicked her tongue. “I don’t have time to alter this,” she said. “You’ll just have to find something else in your closet.” Chrissy dressed herself in a thick sweater and dress pants she had purchased a few weeks ago. Her mother’s eyes dragged over her outfit, and though she smiled, disappointment shone in her eyes. “It will have to do, we can’t be late,” she laughed. “Maybe we should talk to Caroline Anderson about Jenny Craig. She swore by it at last year’s fundraiser.”
Chrissy bit her lip, forcing back the argument that she didn’t need or want a diet. Her attempts to get healthy, to quit the binging and purging and starving, hadn’t been easy. Her mother didn’t help, with her comments and looks. Her father’s willful ignorance offered no support either. Chrissy wished she could call up Nancy or Patrick and invite them to come along. Hell, even Eddie would be a welcome presence by her side. The thought of Eddie in his leather and ripped clothes among her parent’s country club scene was amusing. But Chrissy wasn't quite desperate to subject Eddie to that. And Nancy was busy, her own plans involving Jonathan. Patrick was working, making extra from the holiday hours. So Chrissy was on her own when fireworks lit up the sky and the new year rolled around.
New Year’s was on a Tuesday, so Chrissy had to wait six more days until the break was over. She divided her time between the Wheeler house and Eddie Munson’s place. On Patrick’s singular day off they spent the whole day together. The more time she spent with people, the less time she spent perseverating on… well, everything. Her friends were a welcome distraction from both the horrifying reality of monsters and her mother’s ever-present judgment.
Over the holidays, her interactions with them had been one on one. So it was a tiny shock to walk into the cafeteria, five minutes after lunch had started. Chrissy looked for Patrick or Nancy. She found the strangest motley of students Hawkins High had ever created, all sitting at the same table.
Nancy and Jonathan sitting together was nothing new. Since the two had become an official couple, they were essentially inseparable. Chrissy felt like a third wheel sometimes, when Nancy insisted on eating with her to help her in her recovery. In the first timeline, everyone noticed when Steve and Nancy broke up. The two were like magnets turned on opposite poles. Nancy and Jonathan always were at one side of the room, Steve at the other. So it seemed bizarre to see Steve at their table, even if they were on opposite sides. The environment at the study sessions was different. There were middle schoolers to balance out the awkward air between the trio. Instead, the role of mediator was taken up by Eddie and Patrick. Patrick leaned on the table, an empty spot next to him for Chrissy. He looked like he was joking with Steve. The two had formed a fast teammate/monster slayer bond. Eddie seemed to be distracting Nancy and Jonathan, arms raised mid-story. Nancy looked somewhat horrified, but Jonathan’s mouth twitched in an amused smile. The table was split between 'jock' and 'nerd:' high school stereotypes at their finest.
Chrissy took her spot beside Patrick. It seemed that being a cheerleader placed her on the 'jock' side. But despite the clear line on the table, Eddie turned to her with a wicked grin and greeted her. “The queen has finally decided to grace us with her presence!” Patrick glanced up and jerked his chin as a way of greeting.
“I was worried you were going to skip,” Nancy’s lunch was untouched. She always waited for Chrissy. They ate together. She passed Chrissy her half of a sandwich. Chrissy bit into it after she murmured a quick thanks. It was easier to eat Nancy’s home lunch than the school's questionable food.
She swallowed before saying, “I got held up at the advisor’s office. I finalized my schedule change that we talked about.” Nancy’s face lit up with recognition. Chrissy leaned over Patrick and met Steve’s eyes. “I’m in your World History class now.” Hawkins High offered two world history classes for upperclassmen, but only the first was a requirement to graduate. That meant the class was notorious for being the one athletes put off until their last semester. Nancy had finished taking it in the fall, one of the juniors who planned on taking the full sequence. Over break, she mentioned that Eddie passed because they had been partnered together. Steve was taking the class this spring, so it would be a good idea if Chrissy joined the class to help.
Steve made a noise of relief. “Thank God. I’ve heard Click’s group projects are the worst.”
“Lucky for you, I’ve already done half of world history before I… Well. You know,” the entire table winced in sympathy. Talking about the timeline in which she died never stopped feeling surreal. “So unless Click changes her class every year, we should be good to go.”
“She doesn’t,” Eddie nodded sagely. “Trust me. God, if it wasn’t for you Wheeler I’m sure I would have failed that class a second time.”
“That’s probably true, from what I’ve heard,” Nancy didn’t even look bashful at the compliment. “Now, on less thrilling news, Joyce brought something home from the store yesterday.” Jonathan sighed and procured a piece of paper. Chrissy had seen it before, but not in this lifetime yet. Bright, colorful, professional.
Opening Soon. Star Court Mall.
There was a collective noise of disgust from around the table, paired with an eclectic choice of swears. Most teens were looking forward to the mall. It would offer summer jobs, a place to hang out, and an actual movie theater. But they all knew what the mall meant from Max’s experience. Mind Flayers, flesh monsters, Russian invasions, the deaths of a dozen Hawkins residences. Chrissy scanned the lunchroom. Her eyes found Billy Hargrove across the room, smug and sneering. He has less than a year left, she thought with a jolt.
Nancy’s eyes flashed with her particular brand of determination. “I think we should try to get ahead of the events at Star Court.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Eddie questioned, leaning over and stealing one of Steve’s fries. Steve batted his hand away, a second too late.
“We have almost six months to prepare. We can do more than sit around and wait for an attack.”
Chrissy nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.” Nancy was smart. Chrissy trusted her with her plans
“Hang on,” Steve objected as he slid his lunch tray three inches away from Eddie’s reaching hand. “All this preparation would mean getting more info from Max. Which means we need to involve the kids.”
The tray was closer to Jonathan now, who deftly nabbed another one of Steve’s fries despite his shout of protest. He chewed it with a smirk before saying. “Steve’s right. We might be ready to take this on, but the kids deserve time to just be kids.”
Eddie barked out a laugh. “Are you kidding? Have you met them? Those children are always one second away from causing chaos of some kind.”
Patrick shrugged as he took a fry from Steve, who shot him a look of betrayal. “Munson’s got a point.”
Nancy and Chrissy locked eyes, understanding passing through the connection. Simultaneously, they each snatched the last two fries from Steve’s tray. He hung his head in defeat. The fry was cold and kind of unappetizing, but Chrissy enjoyed every bite. Nancy glanced at the clock. “Look, we should talk about this more at the library tonight. We should take advantage of the new semester, before anyone,” she shot Eddie a pointed look. “Gets too far behind in their classes.” The metalhead threw up his hands in mock surrender. The bell sounded, signaling the end of lunch.
Chrissy hurried to catch Eddie as he stacked his plastic tray. “So, how did that happen?” she asked.
“What?”
“You, sitting at a table with all of us.” Eddie was her friend, and Patrick’s as well, but they didn’t tend to hang out at school. They might have all bonded by saving possessed kids and Eddie’s grades, but that hadn’t changed how they interacted at school. He didn’t typically go out of his way to spend time with the others.
“Oh, uh,” Eddie fidgeted with his vest. “The guys got stuck with the other lunch period. Honestly, I was gonna take my food and eat in the drama room, but Wheeler saw me.” He shrugged and pulled a lock of his hair over a grin. “Turns out no one wants to fuck with you when you’ve got two jocks at the table. Or, y’know, Byers, who could probably hold his own in a fight.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s Nancy that is the real threat,” Chrissy joked as they walked down the hall. She smiled, pouring every ounce of gratitude into her voice. “I’m glad you stuck around. You’re a good guy, Eddie Munson.”
“Shit, don’t go spreading that around,” Eddie knocked into her. She giggled. “I’ve got a reputation to preserve.” He saluted her with two fingers before ducking into his classroom. Chrissy returned the wave before she found her own class. As she sat down, she felt a small burst of pride. She had gone straight to class. She hadn’t even been tempted to stop by the girl’s bathroom. With the semester starting again, Chrissy had worried she would snap back into old habits. Without feeling conceited, Chrissy realized she was stronger than she thought.
“Alright, that’s our time. As a little welcome back treat, I’m not assigning homework today. But expect to hit the ground running tomorrow. Have a good day, see you all tomorrow.”
Max was up and out the door before their teacher could change her mind about the homework. Some days she wished she had been sent back in time a few years later so she wouldn’t have to repeat so much of middle school. Every school day dragged on. She was tired of overhearing immature drama. Max already knew all the content, and she spent most class periods bored. The only highlight was her friends. It was a cheesy thought, but she hadn’t appreciated what good guys they were the first time around, even Mike. After dying and losing everything, she valued the Party’s friendship even more.
She could hear them now, their voices clear even in the noisy hallway. Over the sounds of kids rushing out of the building, Lucas's complaints were audible. “Did anyone actually understand any of that?”
In synchronization, Max and Dustin chimed, “I did.” Max spun around, walking backward with a smug grin on her face. Lucas looked a tiny bit in awe, but Dustin scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Well, you cheat with your future powers.”
“It’s not a superpower, it's called having a good memory.” Max didn’t even need that good a memory to remember how to solve linear equations. It wasn’t that hard.
Dustin pushed past her as he jabbed, “Uh-huh, it’s still cheating,” He held the door open for her and the rest of the Party. “So, is everyone still up for the arcade?”
They all gave enthusiastic responses. Will nodded, but elaborated, “Yeah, I’m going to go see if Jonathan can still drive me.” After Max and Eleven had recounted what was supposed to happen, Joyce had relaxed a little from her over-protective nature. Not that Max judged or blamed her. Sometimes she wished her own mom would be a little more protective of her. Regardless, Joyce still preferred it when her older son drove Will places.
Mike shivered, “Can he drop all of us off? It’s too cold to bike.” The roads were clear of snow, but Max had to agree. It would be way easier to catch a ride than try to balance on Lucas’ bike in the middle of winter. Will promised he would ask, and took off towards the High School.
Lucas snickered as he unlocked his bike. “Don’t be a wimp, Mike. It’s not that cold.” His jacket was unzipped as if to prove his point.
Max folded her arms. “I’m freezing,” she chided him.
“Yeah well, you’re from California. You’re not used to real weather.” Max swatted his arm, but she grinned at him. He chuckled and motioned to his bike. “Hop on, my Zoomer.” Max hoped she could pass her blush off as a reaction to the cold.
“Can we hurry up?” Mike snapped. “El’s supposed to meet us there.” Max rolled her eyes. It hadn’t been easy to convince Hopper to let El leave the cabin for their study groups, let alone go to the arcade. But Eleven was used to a little more freedom and knew how to blend in better after her time in California. It also helped that Hopper physically couldn’t do much to keep Eleven at the cabin.
Before they could leave, Jonathan’s car pulled up to the middle school, and two other cars parked in empty spots. Max frowned. She doubted Patrick and Steve would be willing to drive them to the arcade out of the goodness of their hearts, though she wouldn’t put it past Steve. Dustin was all too willing to bum a ride off the teen and dragged his bike over. Mike seemed to share Max’s suspicions and stalked over to his sister in the passenger seat. “What’s going on, Nancy?”
“It’s Monday,” she said by way of explanation. This elicited a groan from the three young teens in earshot. Inside the car, Will slumped further down into the backseat.
“Come on, it’s the first day back! Can’t we take one day off from your lame study group?” Mike’s complaint was valid, though Max would’ve argued that it wasn’t like Nancy was forcing any of them to go. Max had only started going after El had confessed that high school had been hard for her. Her grades were awful, and not one teacher had taken the time to help her catch up. Max was no good at explaining things, so she took advantage of Nancy’s generosity.
Nancy lowered her voice, forcing them to inch closer. “I think we should try to make a plan before the mall gets built.” Max shivered. Nancy’s implication was clear.
Mike scowled. “Do we have to do that right now? Eleven wanted to see the arcade.”
Jonathan leaned over, “I told you, Nance. They need a break from all of this,” he wasn’t passing judgment. Jonathan was a considerate guy, a little protective, and a good balance to Nancy’s intensity.
Nancy’s gaze switched from her brother to Max. She seemed to be assessing her with a single look. What do you think? Max didn’t know. They had always, always been on the defense, reacting rather than acting first. If they prepared months in advance, what would it change? She glanced up at Dustin, who seemed to be nodding with enthusiasm at whatever Steve was saying. His bike was already loaded in the trunk.
Then she looked at Lucas, who shrugged. “It’s your call, Max.” When had she become the de facto leader? She wasn’t sure if she liked the pressure.
“We already had plans,” Max finally said. Jonathan nodded at her decision, but Nancy held her gaze for a second longer. Max had a feeling Nancy was waiting to see if she would go back on the decision. “You’re probably right. We’ll just do it on a different day, alright?”
Mike flopped his head towards Nancy, his expression petulant. “See, Nancy?” Then he walked his bike back to the trunk. “Can you give us rides now that you’ve made us late?”
“C’mon,” Lucas grabbed Max’s hand. “Let’s see if Patrick can give us a ride.” With great reluctance, Max let herself be tugged towards the third car. She had nothing against Patrick, but where he went, Chrissy was sure to follow. And as they got closer, sure enough, the bright hair and smiling face of the cheerleader greeted them from the front seat.
Chrissy waved through the window. “Max! Lucas! How was your break?” Max flung open the door and slumped into the backseat. Some days she half wished Vecna was still a threat so she had a socially acceptable reason to throw on her headphones and ignore the world. Instead, she offered a barely audible response and tried to pretend Chrissy didn’t exist.
Lucas entered the car with more enthusiasm. He rolled down his window so he could shout to Dustin, “Hey! If you guys stop gossiping like a bunch of old ladies, you might actually get there this year!”
Dustin gasped dramatically. “Steve! Are you going to let him talk to you like that?”
Steve rolled down his window, his face pulled into an expression of mock irritation. Max could see the faintest indication of a smirk on his lips as he leaned out the driver’s window. “Sounds like we’re being roped into a friendly race, McKinney.”
Patrick didn’t respond verbally. He locked eyes with Lucas in the backseat and revved his engine. Lucas and Dustin screeched with excitement. “You can beat him,” Max said, feeling bold. “Steve always gets stuck at the stop sign on Pine.”
Eddie actually leaned over Steve to holler into Patrick’s car. “If we’re doing this, we need to make it official. What’s in it for the winner?” Steve waved him off, pushing him back into the passenger seat with a scowl.
“Eternal bragging rights?” Lucas suggested.
“Think bigger, Lucas,” Dustin corrected. “I’m thinking…” he tapped his chin, building artificial suspense for the sake of a dramatic reveal. Max rolled her eyes and leaned forward in the car.
“Pst, Patrick, floor it while he’s rambling.”
Dustin’s offended screech could be heard over the squeal of tires and the roar of the engine. Max and Lucas cackled, and if Max turned around to flip off the other car as they drove away, no one in the car would snitch on her. In the end, it didn’t matter who won because the Byers-Wheeler-mobile made it to the arcade first. Lucas and Dustin maintained that this called for a rematch, invalidating the entire contest. Max ignored their bickering and headed into the arcade.
Will and Mike had already found El, who had been set up at the Galaga cabinet. Keith was watching them with a lazy eye, interested in the fresh blood but apathetic enough not to hover. Eleven was terrible at video games, as it had turned out. Her tongue was stuck out in concentration. The two boys cheered her on with more intensity than required.
Max walked up as the death audio cue resounded, resulting in a collection of groans. Dustin and Lucas ran past their friends, getting out a “Hi El!” before they slammed into the Dig Dug cabinet, jostling each other for the first turn. Max smirked. They still hadn’t beat her high score, something she was immensely proud of. Will looked up as they passed and joined them.
Mike bit his lip, then pulled at Eleven’s arm. “C’mon, let’s try a different game.” Max watched them go with amusement before starting her own game of Galaga. Mike was trying, sometimes too much. El had been clear when they started their tentative relationship that she wanted to go slow. Max had stared daggers at Mike until it seemed like he understood. If it were up to her, their relationship would move at a glacial pace. But Eleven was a little more mature than the first timeline and more confident. they might stand a chance if El could actually stand up to Mike and call him when he started acting like an idiot.
“Hey,” Lucas said as he came up, sliding a quarter neatly into the corner. “My go next, right?”
He was really close. His arm brushed hers, and he was warm even through their shirt sleeves. On the screen, the enemies moved into a new, faster wave. Max felt her palm start to sweat. "Do you want to come over for dinner? Not tonight, but... sometime?” she blurted out.
“What, like as a date?”
“Yeah.” Her fingers slipped off the button, and her ship died in an explosion of pixels. “Shit,” she swore without any real heat. Galaga had never been her best game. She relinquished the game to Lucas. His face was frozen in an adorable look of panic. “You alright there?” she teased.
Lucas shook his head as if he was shaking off water. “Yes,” he said in a rush. “I would love to go on- go to dinner.”
“Lucas, we’re dating,” she reminded him. “We’ve kissed, we’re allowed to go on dates.”
Lucas ducked and shoved his quarter in the slot. “I know that,” he insisted. “I just… wanted to make sure.” Max leaned against the game cabinet, watching him play the game. He was better at Galaga than her. His focus was intense, and Max found herself watching his face more than the actual game. His face lit up. “Yes! Max, look, new high score.” His grin was infectious. Max wished they could stay in the arcade forever.
First period World History was a quiet place. The class was split fifty/fifty. Half the class was seniors who looked like they would literally rather be anywhere else. They were already seduced by the promise of post-graduation thrills. They were ready to ditch high school and their tiny town. The remainder of the class were juniors. They were kids with good grades. Their extracurriculars looked good on college applications. They looked like if anyone with good skin talked to them they would explode from nervousness. Chrissy shifted in the doorway, an unlikely middle ground and last-minute add-in. She recognized two senior cheerleaders in the back, gossiping. There were some boys on sports teams that looked up as she entered, eyebrows jumping as they looked her up and down. The other students kept their heads down, eyes drooping with fatigue and boredom.
At her entrance, Ms. Click looked up with a shrewd expression. “Ah, Miss Cunningham,” she checked her attendance sheet. “Welcome, always nice to have a fresh face.” Her tone implied anything but. Chrissy wondered why someone would keep teaching if they hated kids. “There’s an empty seat back by Mr. Lewis or by Miss Buckley, take your pick.” Chrissy avoided looking at Jacob Lewis. She was pretty sure had passed out half the front lawns in Hawkins. Instead, she sat down beside a moody junior girl. Luckily, this put Chrissy next to Steve on the diagonal. He turned around and held out his hand for a high five. She giggled and tapped his hand. The girl snorted, unamused by their silly greeting. Chrissy shrugged in apology at her and smiled, sizing up her new desk neighbor.
In the end, it was the trumpet in its case on the floor that clued her in. Chrissy was familiar with most of the band kids from proximity at games. “Hi, Robin, right?” Chrissy couldn’t remember ever introducing herself to Robin Buckley before. There was no time like the present.
Robin raised an eyebrow at her. “Sure,” she said.
“I’m–”
“I know who you are,” Robin muttered and pulled a textbook out of her backpack. It was only the second day of class, so there was no way she had homework. Chrissy could tell when she was being ignored on purpose and looked at Steve in confusion. He shrugged, grimaced, and mouthed I don’t know.
Chrissy bit her lip. At least the class wouldn’t be completely awful. Steve was nice enough. One grumpy kid amongst a school of irritable teens wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Patrick loved the simple things in life. A cold lake on a hot day, a quiet moment before a thunderstorm, blasting the radio and screaming at the top of your lungs. Gym class before lunch was one of those simple pleasures. Working up a sweat and hunger, getting all his built-up energy out before the rest of the school day kicked his ass. There was nothing better.
Most days, not even Billy Hargrove could ruin Patrick’s love of PE.
Today was not most days.
Every time he turned around, Billy was there. He locked eyes with Patrick, and he knew that he remembered their fight from November. Billy had laid off doing anything awful. Patrick had almost gone into a panic spiral. For weeks, he dreaded the moment Hargrove would lash out in revenge. But the semester ended without an incident. It seemed, however, that a new year meant that Billy was turning over a new leaf, setting it on fire, and using that fire to fuel his gym-class rampage.
Patrick grunted as Billy body-checked him for the fifth time. The whistle sounded (too little, too late) and the teacher barked out a “Hargrove, watch yourself, or you’re on the bench.”
Billy had his back to the teacher, so his smirk was only directed at Patrick. “Sorry, coach,” he drawled, face looking remorseless. Then he spun around, stalking away towards Tommy H.
Patrick rolled his shoulder back and massaged it with the other hand. The first time around, Patrick had clocked Billy as bad news right away. He kept his head down and stuck close to Jason, and managed to avoid catching Hargrove’s attention. At least in any physical way. Billy’s comments had always stung, but the old adage about sticks and stones was Patrick’s motto. Stay out of trouble and stay alive.
Steve jogged up to Patrick, concern clear on his face. “Hey man, you okay?”
“About as good as you.” Billy had only touched Steve once, knocked him to the ground with far too much force to be accidental. It was a miracle Steve had managed to catch himself before he cracked his head open on the gym floor. He rubbed at his lower back and winced. Patrick could only imagine the bruise that would spread after a few days.
The whistle sounded again, this time to signal that they were clear to head to the locker room and change. Patrick hustled as fast as he could. He could stand to be a little sweaty at lunch if it meant escaping Billy in the showers. Steve had the same idea. They walked out of the changing room together. “We might actually be able to make it to lunch before they run out of pudding,” Steve commented.
Patrick scoffed. “I don’t understand why you like that crap,” he countered. “It’s just pure sugar.”
“I’ve got a sweet tooth. Can I have your pudding then?”
“Sure, if Munson doesn’t steal it first.”
Patrick had never been so busy in his life. Juggling high school and basketball already kept him busy. Then he had gone and added his part-time job on top of that. Throw in a side gig of fighting monsters, and it was almost too much.
Patrick hadn’t realized how much was on his plate until school had started up again. Now he was tired. Almost as tired as he had been in 1986 when sleep was impossible due to Vecna’s cursed nightmares. Almost as tired as he had been when he woke up in 1983 and thought he was losing his mind. Almost as tired as the summer of 1984, when guilt over Fred Benson’s death kept him up until sunrise for a week.
Almost.
Patrick was dead on his feet after his shift Tuesday night. He had gotten a job at the fill station on the other side of town. The hours were shit, but flexible, and the pay wasn’t anything Patrick could afford to turn down. When he told his parents he wanted to work, his dad congratulated him and sounded proud. But it didn’t have the intended effect. Patrick feared what would happen when his father figured out the actual reason he got the job. He would say Patrick was turning his back on the family. He might go so far as to call around, saying that Patrick shouldn’t be allowed to rent a place. He would shout, raise his voice, and raise other things.
I’ve gotta get out of here. That singular thought echoed in Patrick’s head. It drove his motions as he dragged his weary body back into his house. It was a careful process. It wasn’t so late that the house was asleep. Were they in the bedrooms, the kitchen, the back office? He couldn’t be sure, the house was as still as the grave. It was a lake, waiting for a single drop of water to return and cause ripples like waves. He would have to be quiet when he entered, to avoid alerting anyone that he was there.
Patrick knew how to blend in practically anywhere. At school, on the team; and most importantly, at home. He knew exactly which floorboards creaked and which ones didn’t. He knew how to check for shadows before rounding corners. He walked on the edges of the stairs to avoid the tell-tale groaning as he walked up or down. He knew to hold his breath and pray before passing his parent’s bedroom. If he lifted up on the handle of his room as he turned it, it wouldn't squeal.
Patrick stripped and threw his clothes into a dirty pile in the corner, swearing he would wash them later. He collapsed on his bed, praying for a solid five hours of dreamless sleep.
Immediately, he was waist deep in Lover’s Lake. It was always the lake. The water was eerily still, reflecting the night air like a perfect mirror. It would’ve been peaceful if the dissonant chime of a clock hadn’t pierced the air. The surface of the water broke; three figures walked up from the depths. Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. He was muttering incoherently.
“No, no, no, no, please not again.”
He didn’t even need to look. He knew he would see Fred Benson, scarred face and jaw snapped. He would see Chrissy, eye sockets bleeding and limping. He would see Max, but not the Max that had died in 1986, the tiny Max from 1984. She was small, head barely rising above the water. They hobbled towards him, dark water trailing behind them as they bled from invisible wounds. Join us.
“Yes, Patrick. Join them,” that raspy, deep voice called as hands grabbed at Patrick. They tugged at his arms, his shoulders, his legs, his neck. He kept his eyes closed, and instead of rising up, up, as he did once, he sunk down, down, down-
And then he woke up.
His boxers were soaked with sweat. Patrick shoved his head in his hands as he attempted to steady his breath. From somewhere in his house, he heard a shout. His father’s booming voice was angry, and his mother’s shriek was rage-filled. There was a crash. He sighed. Nightmares when he was asleep, nightmares when he was awake. With a shaking hand, he reached under his bed. Shoved up into the boxspring was a glass bottle with the cheapest liquor he had been able to find last summer. The bottle was ¾ empty, clear, and foul smelling.
Patrick drank deeply. Soon the familiar buzz would come and the screaming would become a distant sound. Whatever nightmares his brain would dredge up would be forgotten come the morning. And tomorrow, he would do it all over again.