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"What do you mean 'He was here'?"
Max sighs and turns the wheelchair to where Lucas' voice and blurred red jacket most likely are at the moment. "What I just said, Lucas. He was in my room two hours ago. We talked."
"You talked? You trusted a man - this man - that had just revealed who he actually was not to kill you? You were alone with the guy in an empty room for an hour." Aaand that condescending tone is definitely Dustin's. (Could be Mike but Mike can barely talk these days with the blood vomiting and all.)
Max turns her head to the right side of the room, where Dustin and Eleven are standing. She had recognized their footsteps from earlier.
Lucas is currently seated on one of three chairs that a doctor - Matthew something - had permitted them to take inside the girl's room.
Max isn't sure who she's looking at right now, but a glimpse of green, Dustin's shirt as he had explained, gives her a better lead to where he is. "I never said I trusted him. I just... I tried to deal with him in the best way I could. I tried to learn how he thinks. Besides, he didn't look like he had come here to kill me. Killing me would leave his curiosity unsatisfied."
"'Didn't try to kill you'?" Chimes in Lucas, making her snap her head to the other side in her try to keep up with the two boys. "He did that to your legs! He rendered you blind for life!"
"Yeah, I know that!" Her voice is raised by an octave. She knew this would happen, that they would treat her like a baby, exactly how they treated Will that first year after he was rescued from the Upside Down and again, just three months earlier, when he had gained these new powers completely out of nowhere. "I know that and I fucking said it to his face!"
Eleven has been silent up till now. She doesn't want to say anything out of rush or anger that she'll regret later. She's as concerned as the boys are. She cannot imagine how she'd react if, say, they discovered Max with her neck cracked just because Peter 'got bored' at any given second of his and Max's little talk. (Let's just say, that would either make her want to die too or she'd be fueled by so much grief that she'd set out to kill Peter on her own - no second thoughts, no backups).
Mike can be heard coughing out blood on the small sink inside Max's bathroom. He always did that before engaging in any form of conversation with the Party, that being writing down in a notebook what he wanted to say each time and having the others read it out loud.
Dustin goes to say something to disagree with Max's hot temper, but the girl cuts him off, her attention still on Lucas. "Literally, what else was I supposed to do? Scream my head off? He'd choke me or make me black out or something. Get real, guys. He wouldn't just kindly leave because I asked him to."
"People like him never leave when you tell them to, Max." says Dustin. "That's the point. They're villains."
Max doesn't make an effort to say something as a rebuttal to that. It's clear enough to her that Dustin and Lucas don't even bother to listen to how things are from her standpoint. It's not like she defends that bastard, she's simply trying to warn them. 'But this period is hard enough for everyone...' She can understand where they're coming from - and their anger.
So, instead, she turns the wheelchair a bit to the right, somewhere close to Dustin, where flashes of white sneakers - Eleven's - can barely be seen. She has the deep need to hear a more collected, not - so - accusatory response to what had happened to her this afternoon, which, primarily, wasn't her own. damn fault. "And you, El? What do you say?"
The girl whose hair is no longer shaved or short cut like a boy's and more of the curly, short bob sort takes her eyes off the bathroom where Mike tries to wipe off more blood from tainting his dark blue shirt and blinks, looking at the redhead with eyes that reveal nothing but sadness and despair. "Yes, err... I agree. With Max. I think she did her best, given the conditions she was in."
Max sucks a breath in. Her knuckles aren't as red as they were five seconds ago, she feels far more relaxed. 'Thank God.' She wouldn't want to end up as the 'crazy bitch' of the group. Not when Lucas and Dustin believed Mike and Will's stories and tried to help them overcome their nightmares of the man right away. It was unfair. "Right. Thanks."
Eleven again takes parole, her voice gaining a sudden sharpness that makes her sound way older than eighteen. "Tell me what he did while he was here."
"Alright." Says Max, trying to gather her racing mind in one place. "He, umm... He put my hands on his face, and I... I felt it." Her voice has never sounded so vulnerable before. "'So I can have a better understanding of how he looked like' he said. And all this time..." She has never sounded so feverish, so passionate about anything either. "I thought my heart was going to burst through my ribcage from all the horror. It wasn't a monster, but a man, invading my space - not with violence, but with softness instead. I couldn't bear it. He didn't tease. He didn't pity me. He was there for a two way discussion and he did exactly that. He listened. It was the creepiest, most unsettling experience I've ever had - that includes the Upside-Down incident. He only asked me one personal question; it was about my mom. It had nothing to do with Billy - he even asked me not to mention anything about him, as I had already done the last time I saw him, back when he was still Vecna..."
Eleven knew that feeling. She knew it very well indeed. That feeling of deception, of comfort. She shivers at one point. She doesn't remember the word that triggers it. Merely hearing Max talking like this about him... She cannot even say his name, spell it silently in her mind. If she does, she'll humanize him even more - and that's the last thing she wants.
"This time," continues Max, "it isn't about mindless, bloodthirsty monsters. I mean, the man is clearly bloodthirsty, definitely has mood swings, there's no doubt about that... but that's the thing; That's the scary part. The overall calmness. The precision. The charm. The humanity, fake as it may be. That man has a personality that just draws you in, whether you like it or not; Hannibal Lecter style without the cannibalism."
Eleven wonders who that 'Hannibal' fellow is. Sounds horrifying anyway.
"He's winning and he knows it." The redhead cannon stop now. In fear as the rest of them might be, they need to hear this. And she needs to get it off her chest. "He plays with us like we're stuffed toys, picking the 'worthy' from the 'unworthy', like he did with Will - Will has powers now, Joyce probably has won his favor somehow, he obviously hasn't harmed her. Also, he clearly hates Mike - sorry for that..."
Mike, that has just returned from the bathroom and is standing besides Max, pats her shoulder lightly a few times - to show her that they're on the same page and that she has to go on with narrating her experience, make her fear smaller, like he had done over and over again by writing his own agonies down.
Max turns her head at him and even gives him a little smile of appreciation, a silent thank you, before she closes her eyes in order to only see darkness. The occasional flashes of light that her one eye detects makes her tired at times. "As for me," she says, "he's interested - for now, but I cannot be sure if that interest will remain until the 'final battle', so essentially... we're talking about an Englishman that is perfectly content on watching the world burn while he's drinking tea - probably Earl Gray. Sugar, no milk."
Dustin blinks. "Where did the comment about him being English come from?"
Max turns the wheelchair and her attention to her right. "Seriously, Dustin? That's your question out of everything else I said?"
"Yeah, why not?" Dustin shrugs. "Just answer alright. 'Everything else' is already complicated."
Max sighs. "Fine. I made a phone call, after he left, at the lady that used to own the Public Library. She found the information for me and simply passed it on. Henry Creel and his family moved from England to Hawkins in 1952. There. It wasn't that hard."
"Okay, so what you're saying is; 'No matter what we do, it's pointless and we're all going to die'."
Lucas doesn't sound as calm as he normally is. He and Dustin are the rational ones of the group and yet, Max can feel his uneasiness without needing to touch him.
She chimes in, - "What? No." - trying to make her boyfriend see reason.
"Well, that's how you sound like. Also, you sound like you're glorifying One - Henry."
"He prefers 'Peter'." Mutters the girl. The thought comes automatically out of her mouth. She cannot help it.
"What?" That's Dustin.
Max waves the question off. "Never mind." She doesn't have enough energy for the pointing-fingers-at-the-guilty-party game. (On the other hand, she knew they would fight as soon as she told the rest of the Party the truth. She brought it on herself.)
"I don't care what he 'prefers'!" Shouts Lucas. On his part, yes, he's extremely disturbed by what he's seeing. He had never seen Max so scared before - save for those first few days at the hospital. "Stop giving value to someone that doesn't deserve an ounce of it."
"I'm not giving him any v-" Max pauses her words for a bit. Blinks. Thinks it over. "Okay, fine, maybe it did sound like that, but honestly, I'm trying to warn you here. Mike and Will were too afraid of him to speak their true thoughts."
"And this is what they'd say otherwise?" Asks Dustin, his tone gaining the quality of irony once again.
'Yes!'
She has it at the tip of her tongue, but before she even utters her response, she feels that same hand, the one that is still on her shoulder, Mike's hand, gripping it even more tightly until her it aches. The curly haired boy spits another drop of blood on his shirt and says with a raspy, barely used voice, "Yes. This-" Another coughing fit. "-is it. All... of it... is true."
Lucas laughs. It's a strained, bitter sort of laugh, like he doesn't really mean it. "And why didn't you think to mention that to the rest of us, huh?"
"Because they knew you'd react like that."
Dustin and Lucas, that prior to that moment had their attention on Max, turn to look at Eleven, whose cheeks are flushed. They haven't seen her so angry. Not recently. She has been pensive and quiet, but not angry.
"Max is right. We have to be prepared-" Her eyes get glassy. Her voice wavers just for a bit. You'd almost miss it if you didn't pay close attention. "-for the definite fact that maybe not all of us will survive - to even talk to him. He has already said that to Will and Joyce. He's killing people because he has all the time in the world to do it."
"Then try again." Says Lucas. "Find him first."
Eleven shakes her head. Her shoulders are hunched, her fingers are tapping the fabric of her dark blue jeans. "I told you, I can't. I've tried. I tried again this morning. All I see is water on my feet and darkness all around me - sometimes the earth crumbling. But that is all. He doesn't want to be found. He will appear in front of us, like each time, only when he chooses to. There's nothing I can do."
"So that's it then? We call it quits? We're giving up?" Dustin is looking at them one by one, their sombre faces, their eyes that don't dare to meet his (except Max who does her best to focus one eye at the bright green of his shirt again as an attempt to show him that she'd look him in the eye gladly if she could).
"Well, we have to be realistic." mutters Eleven, "There's a chance he'll give some of us the chance to fight, there's a chance he'll not. And if he doesn't-"
"Then you'll have to defeat him on your own."
It's Max who has spoken. Her own tone is shaking, along with her right leg that taps on the legs of the wheelchair. "You and Will - or just you, if he gets bored with Will, you never know."
Eleven has just become aware of the lump in her throat. There's not a lot to say when one is hearing a much plausible scenario of their fate - the worst fate imaginable - from a familiar face. From a friend. It reads as a joke - and it's all played on her.
"Even if you're the last person on earth..."
(Max is honestly getting a little bit scary, talking like that.)
"You have to try, Eleven. You must do your best to kill him - if it does come down to you."
Then the redhead reaches out a hand.
Eleven walks towards her to take it, hold her like she used to.
Max appears as if she wants to cry, but no tears fall. Her blue irises are glassy though. "Promise."
The Subject 011, the superhero, The eighteen year old girl with the short dark hair, the worried eyes of chestnut brown, the yellow shirt and jeans tries to force her mouth to take the shape of a smile. "I swear I'll do my best - for all of you, guys. Really."
It works. Mike and Dustin and Lucas appear to be more eased as well. She's getting good at telling lies people what they want to hear.
****
On the four children's way back to their homes to see how's Will doing (his newfound powers turned out to cause him more problems in his daily life rather than solutions) Eleven sheds a tear, just one, and then immediately wills the rest of them back inside, so the other three boys don't see her like this. (Well, judging from Dustin's curious glance and arched brow, he probably saw her).
For the third. fucking. time in a row, she doesn't know what to do, how to handle him and his moods and-
Clear head. She must have a clear head. What does she see? What does she feel?
She hears children's screams, lots of them. She sees cracked bones and fractured necks and mouths that are dripping with blood. She doesn't what to relive that. But she will. She knows she will - and she cannot promise that it will fuel her fury, her thirst for revenge, (-All those killings, the ones that are yet to come-) just her need to kneel down and grieve.
She didn't grieve for the slaughtered kids, that first time. Her blocked memories didn't allow her to. She should have. Besides three to four children, the rest of the subjects in the Lab were harmless.
Maybe that's her sin.
Maybe that's her punishment. (Grieve all of them).