[ 6 ]

"HOLY FUCK; what the hell was that?!" 

     Jodie and Joyce scrambled out of the house, the lights inside flashing on and off, the creature clawing out from the walls. Jodie's heart was thumping in her ears, and she wielded her switchblade knife out in front of her like a little, useless sword. 

     Throwing open the door to her car, Joyce motioned for Jodie to follow her into the dismal safety, hunched over and hands quivering. "Get in! Get in!" She waved frantically, eyes wide and scouring the area as the house continued to flicker.  

       But, Jodie's mind was racing. They needed help, and they needed it fast. 

       They needed the police, as much as the thought sickened her. Jodie turned back to the ominous house. The only phone was inside, and it was probably fried from the coursing electricity that had rocked through Joyce. Jodie felt sick. The thing in that house wasn't natural, and she didn't want to get close enough to it to find out what the hell it was: a ghost, a daemon, or otherwise. 

     She tightened her grip on her little blade. 

      "Jodie?" Joyce whispered out the window of the car. 

      Frowning, Jodie quickly pat down the pockets of her jeans, looking for change, heart beating inside her like a caged beat as she tried to think, tried to think, tried to think. The thought that she had been trying to form finally popped into his mind. "Joyce!" Jodie lowered herself down to the window and peered at the desperate mother. "Where's the nearest call box?" 

       "Th-there's one down the highway a little—"

        "—Stay in your car!" Jodie yelled to Joyce, running down the road, knife swinging in her clenched fist. The adrenaline in her veins helped combat the alcohol, and while she hadn't drunk enough to be plastered, she was a little buzzed. And, buzzed Jodie didn't run. Buzzed, scared out of her mind Jodie, however, apparently did.

       Joyce called out in shock, trying to get Jodie to seek cover in her car, but Jodie was already at the end of the road, and she wasn't planning on stopping until the police came.

        Her lungs were burning by the time Jodie reached the call box on the highway, sweat pooling against the back of her thick sweater. Jodie's fingers trembled as she set her knife, still open, on top of the box, just in case something snuck up behind her. Yanking the phone from its hook, Jodie fished a couple coins from her pocket and pushed them into the machine. In the little drawer beneath the machine, Jodie eyed the phone book with a pause.

      A single, quivering, pale finger hovered over the '9' on the dial pad, but Jodie quickly changed her mind, tossing the phone book open and scanning down the list of names. She found the number almost immediately and punched it in, heart in her throat.

       The line rung only one time. 

       His voice was gruff like he'd been smoking, but he didn't seem to have been woken up. Jodie smacked herself on the forehead; she hadn't considered what time it was. "Hello?"

        "Jim? I—"

        "—Jodie?" Jim cut her off with a groan. "What time is it, how'd you get this number?"

       Jodie sighed into the phone, finding it odd that his voice helped her pulse calm down. Maybe it was because Jim Hopper made her feel safe. Maybe that was why she'd decided on calling him instead of Callahan or Powell, or whoever was manning the Police Station at this time of night. Jim would make it better. "You're in the phone book," she told him but steered the conversation back on track. "That's not important. You need to come to Joyce's, Jim. Th-There's something," Jodie's voice was getting away from her, the creature that seemed to crawl from the pits of her nightmares haunting her thoughts. "Not ... not right."

      "All right, Jodie, take a breath." There was a noise on the other side of the line, like Jim was shuffling in bed, or moving soft fabrics. Another voice called out in the background, quiet in the hum of Jim's receiver. 'Who is that, Jim?' 

      "Who's that," Jodie replied, deadpanned, her face pulled into a frown. A new pang trembled in her chest. Jodie pushed the jealousy down, knowing the feeling well, but thinking it was a little unnecessary, especially in the circumstance. There was no reason to be jealous over Jim Hopper.

       "No one," Jim replied to both women. There was a moment's pause as more shuffling sounded from his end, accompanied with a woman scoffing in anger. "I'll be there as soon as possible. Stay. With. Joyce."

      Jodie chuckled wryly and lied through her teeth. "I haven't left her side for a second."

                              The women waited on the front porch, a blanket tossed over Joyce's shoulder while Jodie stewed in the cold. In her frozen fist, her switchblade was still clenched tightly to her side. She wasn't going to put it away until she was sure that ... the thing wasn't lingering in the background. Jodie was also thinking over everything she had said to Jim, angry that he hadn't shown up yet. And, though it pissed her off, she was fixated on who it was on the line with Jim. Was he seeing someone new? Did Jodie know the woman? 

       Jodie shook her head, oblivious that Joyce was watching the different expressions pass over the young woman's face, annoyed at herself for caring. Jodie knew the signs of a crush, and it seemed that she was starting to get one on the Chief. That wasn't something Jodie wanted. 

     It was rare and far-between that Jodie Whittier ever found herself crushing on a man, and whenever she did, Jodie obsessed. She was an obsessive woman when it came to her vices, and men were no different. Cigarettes, alcohol, fried foods, and men were the biggest of her vices, and she had countless others.

      Jodie muttered curses under her breath while Joyce watched, shaken up and caught in her own fears. 

      Glowing high beams flashed through the driveway, signalling Jim Hopper's cruiser pulling up the drive. Jodie clambered onto her feet, stumbling and numb, wrapping her arms around her frame as she watched Jim slide out, gravel crunching under his feet. 

      His wary gaze met hers, and Jodie sighed, waiting beside Joyce as Jim grabbed a flashlight and his gun, sending the pair a crisp nod. Jodie noted that he was outside of his uniform, dressed in worn blue jeans and a crumpled grey shirt, a thick, wool flannel hanging loosely on his back. This was Jim Hopper, not the notorious Cheif Hopper. Jodie didn't mind, either way, she just was glad he was there.

      The flashlight panned over Joyce, who remained seated on her porch, then to Jodie and the knife in Jodie's fist. Jim strode over to Joyce and slid his gun into the holster clipped to his jeans. "Is the threat still in the house?"

      "I-I don't know."

       "All right, I'm gonna go inside," Jim told the women. He eyed Jodie sharply, locking his gaze with hers. "Stay here until I give the all clear."

       Glaring, Jodie flicked the trigger on her knife, snapping it shut, then hit the switch again, shooting the blade out in silent rebellion. Jim frowned at the blade, pressing his lips together without a word. But, once Jim climbed the porch steps, Jodie was hot on his tail. She had a problem listening to authority. 

        Jim kicked the front door open with the toe of his boot, swinging it open with his gun drawn and his flashlight in his other hand. "Anyone here?" Jim shouted. "This is Cheif Hopper. Call out or risk being shot." He expertly checked every room in the Byers's home, Jodie trailing behind him, but there was no one else in the house. 

       Jodie picked at her fingernail and leant against the couch, not wanting to sit. She watched impatiently as Jim brought Joyce Byers back into the home, calmingly asking her what she'd seen, and whether she could identify the person that had attacked them. 

       "No one attacked us," Jodie groaned, rubbing her head in frustration. "It wasn't... It wasn't a person. It..." 

       She looked to Joyce for help. Rubbing her hands together, Joyce nervously lead Jodie and Jim into her son Jonathan's room, pointing to the far wall. Jim tried to keep up as the pair tried to explain the situation. "I-I-It came out of the wall, Hopper. A-A thing." 

       "Thing?" Jim asked, his brow knitting together with obvious confusion and disbelief as he scratched at the back of his neck. Jim turned and cast Jodie an arched brow. "What? Like an animal trapped in the wall?"

       Jodie combed her blond hair back with her fingers, annoyed. She stalked to the wall and pressed her hand against it, feeling the sturdy structure. It was impossible for something to just stretch out from it. "It came out of the... It was right here..." She ran her hand down the flat surface, untarnished and smooth. "I swear it was here," she whispered, eyes trained on the wall. She couldn't face the worried, disbelieving face of Jim as he watched her feel the wall.

      "Look," Jim sighed. He strode back down the hallway, towering tall and bulky in the house. He led the women to the living room where their discarded tin of casserole sat, along with a suspicious half-finished bottle of spiced rum. "Have you been drinking tonight, Miss Whittier?"

        Jodie scoffed, tonguing her back molars as soon as the question was spat out of Jim's loud-ass mouth. "Are you kidding me? You think I'm drunk? What, you want me to walk in a straight line, recite some bogus alphabet?"

      "Look, I'm just asking questions. There's no sign of forced entry. There's a bottle of alcohol," he said, stalking up to the youngest in the room as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, burning holes into his forehead with her demon hot anger. "And, you've got a switchblade on you."

       Jodie snapped the blade shut, trying to slide it into her pocket, but Jim reached out and snatched it from her fingers before she could hide it. "These are illegal. Much like those firecrackers you were giving out to children." 

       "I was defending myself."

      "With an illegal weapon." Jim waved the switchblade in Jodie's face then dropped it into his jean pockets. Jodie watched, knowing that was the last time she would see that again. "Switchblades were banned from personal possession in '57."

        "You know what, Hop —"

      Jim turned away from Jodie's boiling rant, cutting her off and instead focusing on Joyce as she paced back and forth, tone softer and more careful. "Joyce, whatever it was, it's gone now. I'll do a perimeter sweep, if you'd like, before I leave. Just to be sure there're no tracks."

      "You don't believe us," Jodie accused him.

      "I didn't say that."

      Joyce pressed her hand to her lips. "It was Will on the phone," she repeated. "Will on the phone."

       "Look, I've got a lead on Will." Jodie stood a little straighter, pushing herself away from the couch and watching Jim treat Joyce like a broken glass plate, interested in what he had to say. "In the morning, I'm taking Callahan and Powell to check it out."

      After sweeping the perimeter around Joyce Byers' home, Jim offered Jodie a ride home and promptly left with the tilt of his head as she told him exactly where he could shove his 'ride home'. She had brought her old bike from high school, and she'd be perfectly fine riding it back.

        Joyce and Jodie were alone once again, though the atmosphere was quite different than it had been before. Jodie, though angry, tried to reassure Joyce. They weren't crazy. "I believe you, Joyce." Jodie picked up the fried phone from the ground, eyeing it. "Will was on the phone. I saw that... that fucking thing and I believe you."

"LISTEN, OFFICER Dip-shit, say hello to your new wart: Jodie Whittier. One of a kind, and infectious as hell. There's some weird shit happening in Hawkins, and I'm not going to sit back and,..." Jodie lowered her voice, hiding the phone behind her back as her head manager walked past, juggling a box of condiments in her arms. Jodie wasn't supposed to be using the landline for personal business.

       Once Betty, the manager, was gone, Jodie pressed the black phone back to her lips, whispering. "... I'm not going to sit back and let this stuff slide. I saw something the other night. So, here's a fair warning to you: every afternoon until seven in the morning, I'll be on your ass. You think Callahan complains too much now, just fucking wait." Jodie scanned the hall, double checking that the manager wasn't coming around the corner. She quickly wrapped up her voice message on Jim's machine in the Police Station. "This is Jodie, by the way. I want my knife. Call me back. Bye."

      Since eight in the morning, Jodie had been manning the ghost town that was The Hawk. It was a school day and many people in Hawkins didn't see movies in the morning unless they were part of the elderly community. But, since the last employee had been fired for smoking marijuana behind the dumpster in the alley, Jodie had been lucky enough to get paid for popping popcorn, managing a few acne riddled ticket sellers, and checking that the theatres were more than questionably clean. The barely minimum work left her mind free to stew and churn, only cycling one thought over and over in her head: Jim Hopper, without any specific context. It was driving her up the wall. One moment, Jodie would be mixing blue cotton candy, the next she would be thinking about the colour of Jim Hopper's eyes. Then, she would be pissed off, thinking about the way he'd dismissed her the other night. "Asshole."

                        Asshole was the word of the day, it seemed.

      Once noon rolled around, Jodie was out of the door faster than Betty could say 'goodbye'. The cold air was fresh and cooling on Jodie's hot skin; she inhaled deeply and stalked to her chained bike, leaning over to unlock it and do ... well, something. She wasn't entirely sure what that something was, but she was going to do it. 

       A horn blared in the street across from Jodie and her head snapped up. Jodie pushed back her long bangs and watched as two cop cars turned the corner, the one in front coming to a screeching halt as an older woman crossed the street. Unsurprisingly, Jodie saw it was Phil Callahan behind the wheel, the dumbass not looking where he was going. Behind that car, Jim Hopper's cruiser came to a much more anticipated stop.

      Jodie hardly thought about what she was doing as she dropped the locked chain around her bike and rushed into the street, standing in front of the already stopped police cruisers. Callahan groaned at the wheel while Jodie crossed her arms over her chest. The older woman finished crossing the street, but Jodie wasn't about to move. 

                   HOOONNKKKKK HONK HONNNNKK

      Callahan hit his horn a couple more times. Cars began to trickle in behind, watching the scene unfold and a traffic jam to start. The officer rolled down his window and waved at Jodie, telling her to get out of the street. "The heck are you doing, Whittier? Get out of the street!"

       Her fire-coated gaze zeroed in on the car behind the one she was blocking. He was trained on her, a lopsided smirk on his face as a cigarette hung out the side of his lips. 

      "It's against the law to impede traffic," Powell chimed in, grinning at the turn of events. 

                    HONK HONK HONK HONK

     The door to Jim Hopper's cruiser slammed open and shut, the Man strutting out, tossing his half-finished cigarette to the pavement and stomping it out as he stormed over to the events unfolding. 

     Jim leant down and eyed Callahan. "Get moving, I'll handle this."

      Callahan tipped his hat back and shook his head. "Man, Cheif, how you got yourself caught up in Jodie Whittier, I'll never —"

       "—I can hear you!" Jodie yelled, waving her arm in the air, grabbing the policemen's attention. 

       Jim motioned for Jodie to come to his side, not bothering to check that the woman was following him as he strode to his car and popped the passenger side open. "Are you coming, wart?"

      Jodie sized him up, squinting against the sun, but complied, hoping through the open door. It wasn't too long before the car was started back up and they were rolling down the street. God knew where, Jodie had no idea. 

     She was silently stewing to herself, knowing she was being illogical, but not caring. Her anger masked the desire coursing through her bones. Being this close to Jim, it did something to her. It was new, this lust. Her nerves were alive, every fibre of her body was singing, aware of every fibre of his being. And, she hated it.

      Jodie wasn't sure what had changed. It snuck up on her, in the dead of the night. It slunk into her brain and laid eggs, seeding roots much stronger than flirtation while she was fast asleep. Maybe it was in the way Jim's eyes seemed to seek her out. Her gaze and his were magnets, pulled to each other, locked with one another. There was something more in his eyes, and Jodie knew that stare. There was something stronger boiling under her lips, and it was only a matter of time.

      "Why did you go over there last night?" Jim asked. His voice was hard, cop mode activated. 

      Jodie watched Downtown Hawkins roll past. "I thought she needed someone to talk to."

      Jim switched on his blinker and made a sharp turn. Jodie reached out and steadied herself with the ceiling. "So, you thought bringing booze and cigarettes to Joyce Byers was going to make her feel better."

      "That's all I wanted when Jamey went missing." Jodie arched a brow, studying his placid features. She wasn't sure she liked his tone. It wasn't like he was Saint Hopper. 

       Jim shook his head shaking another Camel from his pack on the dash of the car, guiding the car with one hand. "You're not Joyce. Jamey isn't Will. And, you need to distance yourself from this." 

      "A man of experience talking," Jodie muttered, "ladies and gentlemen."

     Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Jim shook his head with a heavy sigh. Jodie regretted the words almost as soon as they left her mouth. But, she couldn't bring herself to take them back. Maybe this argument would put the distance she needed between them. Jodie knew he was right. He wasn't emotionless, and he wasn't a stranger to their pain. 

      Jim flipped on his police siren, flashing his lights, warning the vehicles around him to stop. 

     "W-What are you,—"

      The cruiser twisted down a road and Jim yanked the steering wheel to the left, flipping the car into a U-Turn and parking the police cruiser in the shade of the back of a building. Jim slammed on the brakes and put the car in park, turning his whole torso and leaning into Jodie, breathing hotly. "Jodie, you need to let me do my job. Can you do that?" Jodie could hardly process what he was saying, inhaling his breath, her own stripped from her lungs. She could taste the exhilaration in the air, the sweet sensation of his heavy breath on her clouded her mind like a man-made fog. "Will you let me do my job, and you can do yours?"

       Jodie forced herself to focus, the raging crush crashing against her teeth. It took too large a portion of her strength to keep herself from pushing herself onto him. This was Jim Hopper, not some boy she used to ride around with, taking trips to their backseats. She swallowed her restraint, feeling flushed. "I think you and I both know the answer to that."

      "You need to let go," Jim told her.

       "Hypocrite."

⌱ ⌱ ⌱

[not edited]

There's a lot of 'J' names in this story. Wow.

((thank you to everyone who has nominated me for a Stranger Things award, that's totally awesome and you guys are amazing!!!))