Chapter Text
Jim Hopper
“Her name is Leah.”
“And why do I need to know this?”
“She’s coming to stay with me.”
“When?”
“Next week.”
“I’m busy next week.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting a full explanation of whatever the hell’s going on in that lab.”
“Hopper,” Owens objected, “we don’t have clearance to tell you...”
“The disclosure forms I signed covered the outbreak from your lab that killed 12 people in 1983 and one person in 1984, not the 30 people who died last night, or the fact that apparently half the Russian Army was able to sneak into Hawkins without anyone in the U.S. government noticing, or that after I almost got myself killed by their gate-opening-laser-thing and had to fight off a troop of them who were trying to drag me back to some gulag in Siberia, your own guys almost shot me because I was wearing a Russian uniform.”
“So you’re saying that you won’t sign another NDA?”
“I’m saying that unless I’m confident that you’ve told me everything I need to know to keep anyone else in my jurisdiction from getting killed, I’m going to give Murray and every camera crew that’s descended on this town in the past 24 hours a live tour of the tunnels under that mall. And I don’t need to say a damn thing about ’83 or ’84 to make that the lead story on every newscast in America tonight.”
“Point taken. I’ll get you a copy of the files.”
“And you’re paying Joyce Byers enough that she can put her boys through college and she never has to worry about the rent or car payment from here on out.”
Owens walked out, leaving me alone in my office with Murray.
“So, you’ve got a new job and a new daughter in the same week.”
“Apparently, Leah’s been getting into trouble at school, and now that I’ve stopped chasing silly conspiracy theories and settled down to a nice normal job as the editor of a local newspaper, her mother thinks that Leah would do better in, and I quote ‘a sleepy small town where teenagers don’t have the opportunity to get into trouble.’”
“You want advice on raising a daughter?”
“I’m completely out of my element here, Jim. This kid hates my guts.”
“The first thing to remember is that you may think you have the upper hand because you’re the adult, but they can always run away, and they know exactly what to say to hurt you.”
“You’re really not doing much for my confidence there, Jim.”
“Trust me, you’ll love it. Before El, I’d been stuck in one place for so long…it felt like I was in a cave, and then I left some Eggos out in the woods and El came into my life and for the first time in a long time, I started to feel things again. I dunno, lately it feels like she’s been pulling away…”
“Well, I haven’t seen Leah in four years and the last thing she said to me was ‘fuck you,’ so I’m not sure how much farther away she can pull.”
“Sounds like she and Mike will get along.”
“How’s that going?”
“Well, I almost got them to break up, but apparently there’s nothing like a flesh-dissolving monster from another dimension to rekindle the spark…don’t look at me like that.”
“What time is your date?”
“Seven.”
I made the mistake of bringing up Murray’s problem during the date, which meant that Joyce had to rush home to give him “advice that’s actually, you know, good.” It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because Owens had the files waiting for me in my mailbox by the time I got home.
As I read, I discovered that everything I knew about the Creel murders back in ’59 was wrong. Victor Creel, currently languishing in Pennhurst Asylum, was completely innocent, and it was his son Henry who had committed the murders – using his psychic powers. The CIA was able to get wind of it, and Brenner made Henry ‘001.’ Since he was a psychopath, they devised some sort of device to restrain his powers, but he was able to convince El to remove it, at which point he went on a rampage and killed all of the other experiments. Based on the surveillance tapes, they thought El confronted him and sent him to the Upside Down the same way she had with the Demogorgon back in ’83, which meant that there was a chance he was still in there, waiting to break out. The file went on to describe El’s last four years in the lab. Apparently the reason she had trouble with words wasn’t from a lack of exposure as we had assumed, but because she was so traumatized.
I called Owens again the next day. He seemed artificially chipper, given the circumstances. “So, what did you think of the file?”
“I think if you want me to go along with the cover up, you’re going to need to arrange some legitimate therapy for El, and for Will and any of the other kids who want it.”
“I’ll set them up with Sandra Kelley. We can tell people she’s a guidance counselor at the high school. She can be out there by Monday.”
“The Hargrove kid’s funeral is on Monday. You should come out. I’m sure there will be an excellent crowd.”
Since Owens was holding up his end of the bargain, I figured the funeral would be a good opportunity to start holding up mine by presenting an official version of the story. It went like this: the mall caught fire due to a gas explosion which caused the building to collapse in stages. Hargrove was in the center court when it happened and helped others get out, heroically sacrificing his own life when the floor gave way under him. I was a little hesitant to be so specific, fearing that a lack of corroborating witnesses would lead to suspicion, but by the end of the week four people who must have wanted to be part of the action had come forward with vivid tales of him rescuing them. It turned out to be just what Owens needed to keep the coverup going.
There was a reception, sponsored by the Junior League in light of the fact that the Hargroves were new in town and hadn’t joined a church yet. I used it as an opportunity to introduce Max to Sandra.
“Max, this is Ms. Kelley. She’s going to be working as a counselor at Hawkins High School next year, but in the mean time, if you feel like you need to talk to anybody, she’s going to be around. Sam and I have filled her in on everything that’s happened.”
“Hi Max,” Sandra extended her hand, which Max took. I turned my attention to Neil Hargrove. He looked lost, and I wasn’t really sure he was paying attention to what was going on around him. But I thought I should reach out, since I was probably the only person in the room who knew what he was going through.
“Mr. Hargrove, I’m so sorry about Billy.”
Hargrove kept staring straight ahead. “He was a good boy.”
“I’m sorry that I never really got the chance to know him.”
“He was such an athlete…” Hargrove kept talking about his son until the reception wound down. At some point during the conversation Max must have gotten tired of being polite to adults and disappeared somewhere. I told Mrs. Hargrove that I would find her and bring her out to meet them at the car, and rounded up Jonathan and Nancy to help me look.
My suspicions were aroused by the four boys standing in a phalanx around one of the restrooms.
“Is Max in there?”
“She’s in there with El,” Mike answered with just a hint of defiance in his voice. “She needed a break.”
“I understand, but things are wrapping up here. Her parents are waiting by the car.”
The bathroom door opened and Max emerged. She had clearly been crying, but when she looked up at me, she was more angry than sad.
“You guys are both fucking liars.” Why the hell did every junior high school student in this town see me as their personal punching bag?
“What are you talking about?”
“You made all that shit about the mall up.”
Nancy came to my defense. “Max, no one would have believed him if he’d told the full truth. The eulogy he gave was an acceptable version of the truth, so that people would understand how Billy died, even if they didn’t necessarily get along with him.”
Max softened a little, but choked back a sob. “Neil went through Billy’s room and threw out his porno mags and his cassette tapes and all the posters he had on his wall, and then he pulled out some old little league trophies that Billy never gave a damn about and he put them up there with some Lakers posters he got at Sears. It’s like he’s trying to build a shrine to what he wanted Billy to be, not the real person.”
The way she described it did sound a little odd, but I was in no position to judge someone else’s grieving process.
“I don’t know. Sara was only seven. I guess it’s different when you lose a kid when they were already starting to pull away from you. You want to make things like they were before.”
“Wait, who’s Sara?”
“My other daughter.”
“You have another daughter?”
“Had, she died of leukemia.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. Just…I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, but so are your mom and dad.”
“Stepdad.”
“Right, stepdad. You all need to be patient with each other. It’s going to be hard, but I know you can get through it.”