[ 13 ]

JODIE WASN'T SURE what time Jim had returned from his investigation of the Hawkins Lab. She was sure of the stinging pain in her neck, and the cotton mouth that lingered from having passed out, mouth-open apparently, in Jim's bed.

    Jodie groaned and rubbed at the pain in her neck, popped a few joints in her back, and then stumbled towards the kitchen. If Jodie hadn't been so groggy, she may have noticed how off everything was.

     The curtains in the living room were drawn tight, casting the lakeside trailer in warm, dusty darkness as the rays of light fought to emerge through the flannel stitching of the curtains. Tuinal pills were scattered across the floor, the table, and somewhere even tucked against the side of Jim's face as he snored loudly from the couch, his feet propped up against the armrest. Whisky was poured in a flat, round glass, but was untouched in front of him. The empty, discarded bottle was tossed to the shag carpet as well. Empty beer cans were also littered across the table and floor.

     'Must have been some party...' Jodie gingerly stepped over them, scratching at the back of her head and glancing towards the clock.

Jodie was a little annoyed at the sight. She'd spent most of the night picking up Jim's trailer home. She'd even done the dishes and put them away when she found that she couldn't sleep.

Eventually, she'd crawled under his sheets and stuffed her face into Jim's pillow, breathing the dewy scent of him and, finally, sleep came.

          And, now, she had an hour to
get across town.

     Will Byers was being laid to rest today. And, yes, Jodie knew that it seemed like a farce, but she couldn't bring herself to skip it. She wanted to be there. She wanted to see Joyce.

     Sighing, Jodie grabbed the uncapped bottle of Tuinal and scooped the scattered pills back inside. She eyed the unconscious Jim, unsure of when he'd wake. She wondered what he'd found.

     She was a little upset that he hadn't woken her.

      'Mustn't have been important,' she told herself, capping the Tuinal and smiling softly at Jim as she set it back on the coffee table. 'He must've had trouble sleeping.'  There was a worn, brown and orange knit blanket tossed over the back of the couch. Jodie bent down and picked it up, carefully unfolded it, and tossed it over Jim's sleeping frame.

     Whatever the case, Jodie decided to let the man lie.

     She had... reasons for why she was sneaking around. She'd usually have woken Hopper up right away, in an eager rush to know more.

     Jodie tiptoed away and crept into the kitchen. Carefully, she set out an average-sized cup, searching the cupboards for Jim's tin of Folger's. It had been pushed to the very back of the middle shelf, and Jodie had to hop onto her toes to grab it, straining silently, until her fingers finally latched the lip, pulling the can of coffee grounds off the shelf.

    It was easy to find his measuring scoops. Jodie gave Jim's coffee pot a generous helping of the coffee grounds, quietly tried to run the tap as she filled the coffee pot, and finished off the preparations.

     Jim stirred and Jodie stopped, mid-movement, as she waited for his snoring to continue. A deft, large hand rose from the couch and Jim swatted at an invisible enemy, muttering something in his unconsciousness as his hand dropped to the couch.

     After a moment, the woman started again. She topped off the water filter and hit the programmable buttons on Jim's old Mr. Coffee machine.

'God, this thing is ancient,' Jodie thought with an eye roll. 'Just like Jim, never letting go of anything.'

     Jodie set the timer for an hour later. Then, she grabbed a slip of paper and a pen and scrawled in messy handwriting, leaving it under the mug for when he awoke:

❝Borrowed your car,
xx - J ❞

DESPITE THE AUTUMN BREEZE, the outdoor funeral for Will was nice. There wasn't a cloud in the sky as the mourners from all walks of the neighbourhood showed up to pay their respects. Jodie had made it just in time, despite stopping at the Whittier home to change into something black and conservative.

She'd had to raid her mother's forgotten closet. A fine layer of dust had lingered throughout the whole room, but Jodie managed to find an ugly, outdated, black pair of Mary Janes that her mother had left behind in the move.

Quiet and reserved, Jodie approached the open seating with her head bowed, but her eyes searching the crowds of people for Joyce. When she saw the distraught mother, Jodie's heart lifted.

The boys were not too far away either, looking so small compared to the throngs of adults surrounding them. Jodie half-smiled at them as they glanced up and took notice of her. Mike's eyes lit up, while Dustin grinned a large, open smile, and Lucas sheepishly offered her a curt wave.

The only thing that Jodie thought as she approached them was how... They didn't look sad. At all. In fact, there was almost an impatient bounce to Dustin's leg as they stood beside the surfaced coffin.

'Okay, they're definitely acting weird.' Jodie frowned but pushed the thought to the back of her mind. 'People all handle grief differently,' she repeated back some bullshit Pastor Charles, the town clergyman, had told her when her own brother had disappeared.

"Hey," Jodie whispered to the boys, taking a single, empty seat beside the trio, "how are you boys holding up?" Jodie watched as they pulled awkwardly on the ties around their necks. Dustin looked uncomfortable and itched at his collar, while Lucas's face remained stony and Mike, always the open book, grinned at her presence.

"Hey, Jodie!" Mike said, completely ignoring Pastor Charles's speech about a time to grieve and a time for joy, and a time for blah blah blah. "We're doing good, good, yeah..." He repeated it under his breath again, as if to reassure himself. "So good."

"Dude," Lucas reached over and pushed Mike's shoulder.

Jodie fought the smirk that threatened to break across her face. Mike recovered and bowed his head, fidgeting his feet in shame. "Well, you know, except for Will. Being dead."

Lucas turned to Jodie and bowed his head, his dark eyes wide and his lips pulled into a frown. "We're in mourning."

Jodie slowly nodded, an eyebrow arching higher and higher the more the boys squirmed under her watchful gaze. For a moment, she wondered if this was how Hopper felt when interrogating people. "Uh-huh."

The four of them were quiet for a bit, watching the pastor give his long-winded sermon about the fleeting nature of life, and how Will Byers was gone, but never forgotten. The autumn wind kicked up, blowing crispy orange and brown tendrils of leaves across the graveyard. Jodie watched the multicoloured leaves and wondered where Will was now. Not in this box before them, that was certain now.

The boys started to whisper amongst themselves again, in bored, anxious tones. Jodie heard Dustin mention: 'wait until we tell Will that Jennifer Hayes was crying at his funeral.'

Jodie lowered her voice and peered into Mike's eyes, curious, and frankly bored of the preaching. "So, where's the blonde?"

"The... the blonde?" Mike stuttered quietly.

"Yeah," Jodie whispered her reply. "The one you were sporting around like a trophy on the back of your bike, Wheeler." She slowly looked at all the young faces there but didn't see the one from earlier. "She couldn't make it or something?" Mike's face flushed scarlet and he floundered for words while Dustin 'mhmm'ed beside his friend.

"Something like that," Lucas scoffed.

'Still sarcastic, even in mourning,' Jodie smiled at the boys and shook her head with a chuckle. For a moment, she wished Jamey had more time with his friends. The Boys would have given him tons of laughs and adventures. For a moment, the thought didn't hurt.

Mrs. Wheeler, seated directly behind the boys, grabbed Mike with her sharp talons and leaned towards them, shushing their rude talking.

Jodie hadn't planned to attend the wake for long. Just get in, talk to Joyce, and get out. The funeral home foyer smelt of Irish cooking, sage and lavender buds. The nervous young woman tidied her slicked-back, low ponytail, making sure every hair was still in place, and slowly made her way towards Joyce Byers. Joyce was dressed in a high-collar black dress, with her soft brown waves pulled away from her downturned eyes.

"Joyce," Jodie said, stepping forward and wrapping her into a tight hug. Joyce squeezed the Whittier tightly, sniffling, but still dry-eyed. There was an element of shock to Joyce's expression, and Jodie wondered what must be going through her mind, if Joyce was even thinking at all.

"Oh, Jodie," Joyce sighed and released her, pushing out a forced smile. "Thank you, for coming."

"Do you have a moment," Jodie asked, gesturing over her shoulder with the blunt of her thumb. "To talk in private?"

"Of course," Joyce said. "Yes."

Once they were out of earshot, Joyce turned to Jodie, a tear streaking down the side of her cheek. The pressure drop of everything that was held up on her shoulders was finally breaking. "Jodie," she cried, "I'm sorry, but... you're the only one, who.. who has seen it too."

The old, cream-coloured walls of the funeral home hall surrounded them as the pair confided in each other, tones hushed and hearts heavy.

Joyce continued, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "This whole time, it's like... it's like he was right there. Like our hands were almost touching," Joyce explained in a low tone. She kept looking behind Jodie, to make sure no one else was approaching. "But now... now's like I-I can't feel him anymore," her voice broke; her hands shook.

She sniffled and rolled her head back to catch her breath. "It's like, everybody, everybody is looking at me like I've lost my damned mind. Y-You've done it too," she added and Jodie bowed her head in shame. "And, I-I don't blame you."

Jodie let Joyce finish trying to find the words. She didn't want to speak over her or make her doubt herself.

"Lonnie says I should, should get my head checked or talk to Pastor Charles."

"I'm sorry, Joyce. I'm sorry I ever doubted you, for even a moment." Jodie lifted her head, wanting to see if Joyce forgave her.

"Jodie, don't be sorry," Joyce said. Her eyes were puffy, but a manic glow flickered in their depths. "Will isn't dead. I know it." Joyce said she knew it, but the pained look in her eye told Jodie that her belief was wavering.

"I know it too," Jodie whispered, peeking around to make sure that no one was creeping up on their conversation to speak with Joyce. "I've seen it."

"You've seen him?" Joyce gasped, tugging Jodie by her sleeve behind the church pillar, further from the dispursing crowd of mourners.

"No," Jodie shook her head in dismay. "But, I've seen the body. Joyce," Jodie searched her friend's eyes. "Will isn't dead. That wasn't his body, and I need you to know. You're not crazy."

"I-I'm not crazy," Joyce whispered, batting her lashes as tears budded up in the corners of her eyes. She quickly dispelled them with a shake of her head. "I'm not crazy, GOD!" Jodie jumped back from the sudden yell and Joyce apologised. "Sorry, Jodie. It's just... it's good to hear. Lonnie's been making me think I'm nuts, ...and I'm not nuts."

"We're gonna figure this thing out," Jodie said. She squeezed Joyce's shoulder and couldn't help but feel like they were a team. "For Will."

"For Jamey," Joyce added. Jodie paused. She was surprised, moved, by her words.

"For Jamey," Jodie repeated, in a soft sort of voice that carried away on the autumn wind.

JIM SAT IN his torn-up house, on the floor beneath the telephone that was stuck back together by a few strips of duct tape. It continued to ring on the hook. Diane.

He shouldn't have called her. Jim cursed himself and cradled his head in his hands, thinking of Sarah.

Jim reached out and played with the blue, thin hair tie around his wrist and wondered. How different would life be, had Sarah gotten better? If she'd never even been sick in the first place? Would Diane and him have worked it out?

Sure, they were hot and cold, left and right, but Sarah was their marshmallow -- the glue between the chocolatey sweet Diane and the stern, ridged graham cracker Jim.

RING RING. RING RING.

The line finally went dead.

Jim picked himself off the ground and hovered over the phone. He didn't know what to do. Hell, he didn't even have a damned car. But, he knew he needed to warn Joyce. She wasn't safe in that house, not until he was sure that she knew the true danger.

Jim needed a smoke.

Shielding his eyes as he stepped out his front door, Jim struck a match and lit his Camel cigarette, taking a deep draw and releasing it through his tight lips. The calming sensation barely scratched the itch, however.

Jim felt like a caged rat. His home was wrecked, he'd found a bug planted by who-ever-the-fuck down at the Hawkins Lab, and he was stuck here.

Almost like clockwork, Jim watched the dust clouds pick up down the road as his tan police cruiser rolled into view, with a pretty blonde thing smirking from the driver's side. Jim's aviator shades were pulled over the bridge of her nose and the windows were rolled down, carrying whisps of short, blonde strands on the breeze.

Jim said nothing as the cruiser parked and Jodie hoped out with a grease-stained diner bag in one hand and his ring of keys in the other.

Finishing off his last drag, Jim tossed the butt to the gravel and blew out a pillar of smoke, turning away from Jodie and walking into the home to grab a pre-written note that he'd made for this very moment.

Jodie frowned at Jim's silent treatment but followed closely behind him as she walked into the trailer, hand outstretched with his deep-fried breakfast -- a peace offering for the shit storm she was sure he was about to give her.

"Hey J-- ho-ly shit," she dragged out, stepping back inside the trailer and looking around. Couch cushions had been torn open, and glass was broken and strewn across the floor. Jim's telephone had been broken to pieces, bits of plastic littered the ground, then re-taped back together and torn out of the wall. It was now turned over on his countertop.

"Did a fucking tornado run through this place?" She laughed, but the look of distress on Jim's face was enough to make her stop in her tracks. "Jim, what's --"

"-- Jodie, you brought breakfast. Thanks, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart," she repeated back, the taste of bile on her tongue.

Jim lifted a piece of paper to her eye level and she read it silently. 'DON'T SAY ANYTHING' he had written on the paper, 'THERE'S A BUG'.

Jim grabbed the paper bag from her and pushed her against the small of her back, prodding her towards the door. She did as he instructed, though very confused. He moved her until they were about twenty feet away from the property.

Jodie could tell, by the stiff upper lip and clenched jaw, that Jim was about to rail her over the car. Before he could say anything, Jodie bit her bottom lip and placed a hand over her heart, feeling the cool skin of her chest concealing her rapid pulse. "I left a note," she began.

"You stole my car." He hissed.

"You were passed out."

"You stole my car."

"I made you coffee."

"I don't think you're hearing me," he repeated, but ripped open the bag of breakfast. A breakfast sandwich and tater tots were inside, still warm from the long drive.

"Look," Jodie sighed, tossing her hands on top of her hips. "I wanted to see Joyce. I knew you weren't using it -- you'd taken enough sleeping pills to put out a fucking rhino, Jim. So, yeah, I stole your car."

"That's a federal crime," he said, as if she would really care. "I'm the Chief of Police, remember."

"Yeah, and I'm a criminal, remember?" she rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Look, just eat the damn breakfast and tell me what the hell happened while I was gone."

⌱ ⌱ ⌱

okay, so I'm so happy we finally get more Jodie and the Boys. I love the dynamic they have in my head, so I hope you all are excited for more!

please leave a comment & vote to help support my fragile ego as a writer with imposter syndrome

This one is dedicated to @Rozerah