[ 8 ]

THE CRUISER was silent as Jodie crawled back into the cab, gnawing silently on her bottom lip. Even though she could taste the metallic tang of blood on her tongue, she continued to chew. Jodie's heart was hurting, throbbing, as the water-logged body of Will Byers played on a loop through her shell-shocked mind. 

     Every fifth thought, Will's body was replaced instead by a cruel manipulation of her mind, envisioning Jamey's body instead of Will's. 

      Where was Jamey's body? It had been over a year since he went missing, so where was he? Will had been found, only in a matter of a few days. And, as awful as it was for the town to lose another young boy, Jodie just wanted it to be over. She wanted Jamey's body laid to rest, brought home and buried.

      Jodie wanted closure.

     The doe-eyed Will Byers haunted Jodie's thoughts. Perhaps it would have been better if Jodie hadn't decided to tag along with Jim Hopper. Maybe Jodie would have been able to sleep better, if she hadn't seen his small frame, so similar to her brother's, being pulled from the quarry. 

     Jodie's stomach churned inside of her, nervous and horrified. 

      She'd promised Joyce that she believed her. She'd given in to Joyce's delusions. Sure, Jodie was sure she had seen something come from Joyce Byer's wall, but the boy? That body had been there for some time. Was it possible, truly, for Joyce to have heard her son's voice on the phone when he was already dead?

       Jodie slouched down in the leather seat, peering out of the cruiser's window. The pane was slightly fogged from her breath in the icy cab, but she could still make out the defeated, hunched frame of Jim Hopper as he trudged to the cruiser.

      Yanking open the cruiser's driver's side door, Jim jerked his hat off of his head and smoothed down his askew hair with a deep exhale. His blue gaze was trained on his boots, but Jodie was sure he was trying to find something to say, something to ease the putrid sadness that clouded between the two of them.

      "Someone's gotta tell Joyce."

      Jodie nodded, stopping her incessant chewing on her raw lip. "Will you be the one... to do it?" She sat up straighter, watching the deep lines in Jim's forehead furrow further under pressure. She wondered what he was thinking, and if there was something she could say to wipe that defeated, hollow gaze from his expression.

       Jim scratched the stubble growth on his chin and slid into the cruiser beside Jodie. "I've got to send—"

      The small, black radio clicked to life between the two, Flo's soft voice on the other side, slightly stifled by the airwaves. "Hey, Chief, we've got a 10-16 at the Byers' home."

       Jodie arched a brow, eyes trained on the radio as if a miniature Flo was about to burst through the speakers at any moment. It was an odd thought, but it drove away the darker feelings she was having at the moment.

      Jim glanced at the small, but lively, woman in his cruiser. He'd been hoping to drop Jodie off before heading back to his place, but a 10-16 needed immediate attention. It appeared he'd have to entertain the Whittier girl a little while longer before getting her off his case. Literally and figuratively. 

      With a short sigh, Jim picked up the radio line and held down the receiver. "10-4, Flo." Turning to Jodie, who was watching him with a vacant expression, clearly in another place, Jim groaned and rubbed a thumb against his weathered brow. "Guess you're coming along."

      Jodie smirked as she grabbed the seatbelt and strapped herself in. "Would you have it any other way?"

      "You really want me to answer that?" Jim shot back, not bothering to look at her as he did, though there was a lightness in his tone.

       "Ha," Jodie bit out in reply.

       There was a forced air of normalcy in the cruiser. The pair could feel it against their skin. But, what more could they do? The kid was gone, and as painful as it was, no matter how much it pained both Jodie and Jim, there was nothing they could do.

      Jodie swallowed the rush of bile that plagued her throat, the sight of her first, and hopefully last, dead body was unsettling. She could feel the tears threatening to spill over in the back of her eyes, bubbling and boiling and ready to fall. But, she fought them. Jodie didn't want to break down in the seat beside Jim Hopper. That was the last thing she needed.

       Life just wasn't fucking fair. 

       Jodie couldn't make sense of life's cruelties. 

        Why did she, a troublemaker, a ruffian, an all-around selfish woman, get to live as long as she had compared to the sweet, kind-hearted boys like Jamey and Will? 

       It wasn't logical. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

      Dark trees, hit with red and blue lights, flashed past as Jodie stared out her window, not really seeing anything that passed her. Jim silently guided them to the Byers' home, leaving his high beams on as he slammed the cruiser to a halt.

      Before doing anything, Jim radioed back into the Hawkins Police Station. "10-23," he spoke into the radio, "assessing the situation now."

       Barely ten seconds passed before Flo responded, hovering over every word. "10-4 Chief, please check in when you're done . . ." Flo's voice trailed off on the other side of the line. She'd heard the news about the Byers' boy, it was obvious to Jodie in the way Flo's usually sweet and flowery tone took a cautious edge. "Over." 

      From her passenger seat, Jodie could see a horrified Joyce being cradled by her son, Jonathan. She hadn't seen Jonathan in a little while, and though she'd never really cared to get to know the boy more than a few exchanges of 'hello' she could tell that he was very nervous for his mother, which made Jodie nervous. Jodie ripped the seatbelt device off of herself and ran out to the front of the house, a thousand words on the tip of her tongue but unable to say nine hundred and ninety-seven of them.

        "What's going on?" Jodie asked the three words on which she settled. 

      Joyce broke away from her eldest son, who shot her a concerned glance, only for a moment to address the young woman's arrival. "J-Jodie, what are you doing here?"

      "I'm with Hopper," Jodie replied, breathless as Jim tipped his police cap to her and rushed to the front door of the Byers' residence where the other deputies were already waiting, ready to detain whomever, or whatever was the cause of the disturbance call. "Joyce," Jodie's eyes wandered from the nerve-wrecked mother to her son, almost as equally emotional, "what's going on."

       Joyce Byers glanced around suspiciously, her pale hands shaking with fear, making sure that no one other than Jodie and Jonathan could overhear her as she gasped out her story. "It's—It's back, Jodie. I-I-It tore through the wallpaper, through the w-wall!"

      "Jesus Christ, Joyce," Jodie gasped, a cold hand pressed against her sore lips. Her heart hammered in her chest at the thought of that thing. "Do . . . do you feel safe in the house? Do you have somewhere you can go?"

      Jonathan stepped forward, face a stone slab or disbelief as he slung an arm back around his mother and pulled her closer to himself. "We're okay, we don't need to go anywhere."

       Frowning, Jodie tried to think of something to say in response. But, before she could, Powell appeared back on the porch steps after only a few minutes inside the house. "Ms Byers, could you come inside? We have a few questions to ask you."

      The lights in the house had been flicked on, but nothing seemed out of place since the last time Jodie had been inside. 

       There was a new phone already plugged into the landline, but that wasn't the only difference Jodie noticed. The dishes had been washed and put away. Jodie wondered if Jonathan had done them, or if Joyce had managed to pull herself away from her all-encompassing worry to clean up. Jodie was sure it was the former though.   

       "Is this the wall you're talking about?" Jim asked, shining his high-powered flashlight over a perfectly smooth wall in the living room. Jodie arched a brow as she stepped into the living area, something on the opposite wall catching her eye.

       Black paint, all across the other wall of the house, had been used to create the alphabet. Christmas lights had been strung up throughout the home, hung on every bit of ceiling and also lining the walls in some odd attempt of... well, Jodie wasn't sure what Joyce was going for with her combination of Christmas lights and black letters. 

       "N-No, no, it was right here. It was this wall." Joyce assured the confused officers as Jodie took in the home and the perfectly plastered wall. No monster had ripped through, unlike Joyce had claimed.

      Jodie carefully traced her fingers down the length of the wall, finding no divots or cracks. It was just like the last time, a monster came and went without a trace. 

      "Joyce," Hopper carefully started, removing his hat as he tried to muster up the right words to say. "I'm sorry, but . . . We found Will's body at the quarry. Our current theory in the works is that Will was out late at night when he crashed his bike beside the quar . . ." 

       Jodie backed away from the pair, not feeling welcomed or comfortable being beside them as Jim gave her the terrible news. It felt like an invasion of privacy, and she bowed her head, retreating to the kitchen to lean against the counter beside Callahan.

       "No," Joyce shook her head, voice raised. "Whoever you found is not my boy. It's not Will."

     "Joyce," Jim began, being cut off by Joyce once more.

       "N-no, you don't understand. I, I talked to him . . . a half hour ago! He was here," Joyce said, stalking to the cabinet as pulled the doors open, crouching inside as if it was completely sane. "He was talking with these," she demanded, showing Hopper an armful of Christmas lights.

       Jodie's stomach churned at the sight. The more desperate Joyce's tone became, the crazier she sounded. It was even hard for Jodie to believe, no matter how much she really, really wanted to believe her. 

      Jim's voice deadpanned as she brought out the Christmas decor. "Talking?" 

       "Uh-huh, one blink for yes and two for no."

        Jodie rubbed her arms as Joyce grew more frantic, playing with her fingers and trying not to make eye contact with Joyce. Jodie was afraid if she made eye contact, Joyce would be able to see the small shards of doubt in her gaze. Joyce needed someone to believe in her, but Jodie wasn't sure she could be that someone.

      "A-And, then I made this," Joyce stammered as she rushed to the black alphabet painted, messy and with a heavy hand, on her wall. The more disbelief Joyce saw in Jim's expression, the more adamant she became. And, the more adamant Joyce became, the crazier she came off. "So he could talk to me. Because... he was hiding from that... that thing."

       Jodie had become fixated on her shoes.

       "The thing that came out of the wall?" Chief Hopper asked, patient and concerned, "the thing that chased you?"

      Her lungs became tight as Joyce frantically tried to explain. Jodie couldn't breathe. The longer she stayed in this home, the more Jodie was sure she would break down into a fit of tears. This hysteria was all too familiar to her. Jodie's own mother had rejected the idea of Jamey being gone, she was depressed for months following his absence from their lives.

       But, this was new too. Jodie had never had this conversation with the police. The conversation of death, of closure. The conversation of the end of a chapter.  

        Sucking in a deep, careful breath, Jodie carefully made her way outside, the cool night calming her trembling nerves. Jodie didn't know she was shaking until the fresh air caused her tremoring to stop.

        Jodie gathered a few more deep breaths and sat down on the porch steps, holding her head in her hands. She could still hear Joyce's hysterics from outside as she started to describe what the monster looked like. 

       Jodie buried her hands deeper in her hair. 

       It wasn't too much longer when Jim stormed out from the house. Jodie watched his heavy steps, very aware of the way he carried himself and the ability the man had to be outwardly calm while trying to conceal the raging storm wrecking havoc on his insides. 

      Hopper fell inline beside Jodie's spot, eyes trained on the cruiser in the driveway but speaking softly to Jodie as she kept her head in her hands, fingers entangled in the roots of her hair. "Powell and Callahan have it covered from here."

       Gritting her teeth, Jodie forced down the mound of tears that had gathered in her oesophagus, clearing her throat tightly before she glanced up to meet Jim's weary gaze. It was almost too easy for her to forget Jim had lost a kid too. He related to Joyce's feeling just as much as Jodie, probably ten times better than she did.

      Jodie thumbed the tip of her nose and nodded, brushing off some nonexistent dirt from her knees as Jim extended a hand for her to latch onto. Smirking, Jodie slipped her hand into his and allowed Jim to pull her up from the porch steps. The gesture seemed to help leave a bit of hurt on the porch step and off of Jodie's heart. 

       "I think I'll take that beer now, Jim."

"DAMN IT," Jodie whispered, her eyes watering. "Damn it. God damn it."

       Jodie nursed her whisky. She'd never been a fan of the harsh taste of whiskey, but she didn't mind the strong liquor right in that moment. Jodie needed to relax, to take an emotional vacation, but it seemed that she was only sinking deeper and deeper. Old wounds festering and sore, Jodie had dug herself too deep.

       Only now could she see it. Now that she was in the thick of it, now that it was too late.

       The Hideaway, the only real bar in Hawkins, had closed by the time Jodie had decided she would take Jim's offer of a beer. So, Jim offered the 'inviting atmosphere' of his house. 

      It wasn't what Jodie had imagined, but it wasn't a bad place to live. The living room was a little cluttered and beer bottles littered the living room table, while clothes were tossed over the backs of chairs. But, it wasn't unexpected. A bachelor pad, through and through. 

      The night was wearing thin as Jodie sighed into her drink, sitting at the wooden counter in the middle of Jim Hopper's kitchen. He poured himself a glass and leaned on the counter from the other side, watching the woman in front of him with a guarded and calculating expression.

     "You were right, you know," Jodie admitted, swirling the amber liquid around in her glass before taking another reluctant sip. The low yellow light of Hopper's overhead bulbs reflected in the glass, casting a golden arch against her cheek.

      A dark brow crept its way up his forehead. Jodie watched it, envisioning the thing had a life of its own, the thought humoured her a little. "What do you mean?"

     Groaning, Jodie slumped onto the counter, resting her chin on her hands. Her eyes rounded from her drink to Jim and back again, not knowing where to settle, just as anxious as her insides. "About Joyce and Will and just . . . everything," she whispered, scratching the side of her cheek.

      As much as Jodie hated the fact, tears began bubbling up in her chocolate eyes. She swallowed hard and took another swig from her glass, making a face. Jim huffed a small chuckle at her disgusted expression but didn't say anything.

            'Surprisingly good listener,' she thought.

      "I'm not Joyce, and Jamey isn't Will. I'd", Jodie sniffled. She paused, biting down on her bottom lip as it began to quiver like the traitor it was. "I'd just t-thought it would be different this time." 

       Burying her head in her hands, Jodie resolved to staring at the glossy countertop. She hadn't been sure of Jim taking her to his home when she suggested a drink, but now she knew he was right. Jodie would have been embarrassed to cry in a bar. She heaved a deep breath. "I don't know what I was thinking. I just... I just thought that if I tried harder... better than last time, I don't... "

        Jim's reached our and touched her, taking Jodie by surprise. Removing her head from her hands, she met his gaze as his warm, large hand rested on her shoulder. He stared deeply, as if he could see what she was trying to say, his blue eyes boring into hers. "Don't blame yourself for this. You can't carry the weight of every dead child in Hawkins."

      Her mouth contorted into a tearful grimace, but she fought against it. Jodie thought of Sarah and all the pain that Jim was carrying too. "Do you carry the weight of every dead child in Hawkins?"

        Removing his grip, Jim rubbed at his upper lip with his forefinger, leaning an elbow on the counter across from Jodie so that they were only a few inches away, but neither felt uncomfortable. "More than you know."

       They were silent for a little bit, entangled in their own pasts.

        "When Sarah passed, I thought I saw her everywhere. I heard her calling my name sometimes," Jim admitted staring down into his whiskey, "so, when Joyce says that she was talking to her boy... it's not hard for me to understand."

       Jodie remained quiet, watching him with wide eyes.

        "But, this whole monster business." He sighed and took a drink, brow furrowed. "I don't know what to make of it."

        There were a few things Jodie wanted to say, like how she knew the monster was real. She'd seen it. Well, she'd seen something at least. Something that was trying to claw out from Joyce Byers' wall. 

      But, Jodie swallowed the statement. Now wasn't the time. Hopper had been there when she'd confessed to seeing it. Jodie didn't even know if she believed what she saw anymore. "I'm worried about her, and her kid," Jodie admitted, shifting in her seat.

       "Me too, Jodie."

        Jim reached out for his bottle of whiskey and uncorked it, re-filling both his and Jodie's glasses. His expression was dark, his lips pressed tightly together as he twisted the cork back into the bottle. There was something on his mind, but Jodie wasn't about to prod him. Jim was his own man; he'd talk when he wanted.

       A couple quiet minutes passed, filled only by the occasional howl of a creature in the far distance and the slow tick-tick-ticking of a clock hanging on the wall behind Jim. Jodie was especially interested in the clock and she watched the second hand turn away the silence. 

        Finally, Jim let out a heavy breath and tapped his fingers on the counter. "You know when I called you about Benny, and you said you were cursed?"

       "Yes."

       "I'm the cursed one." Jim straightened out his back, holding up his drink to the light and examining it so that he wouldn't have to see the expressions on Jodie Whittier's face as he spilt his emotions. "First Sarah, then this whole slue of disappearances and murders and potential suicides in years, decades, just up and flooding to Hawkins? It ain't right."

      "Maybe we're both cursed then," Jodie mused, throwing back the rest of her whiskey. She sputtered and coughed.

      "I gotta tell you somethin', Hop, if we're opening up tonight." Jodie paused, toying with her empty glass. Circling the glass rim with her pinky finger, Jodie chewed at her sore lip, feeling a little light headed. "I kinda like you."

           Jim responded right away, placing both of his hands flat against the counter, eyeing her with a stifled grin. "I know."

            "You know?"

        With a chuckle and half of his face pulled up with a mischievious smirk, Jim shrugged and set his glass down on the counter. "I'm the Chief of Police; I've got enough deduction skills to spot a crush."

      "You really know how to make a gal feel warm and fuzzy, don't you?" Jodie joked, quickly changing the subject. Jodie had never had a problem expressing how she felt to men, but this time it was oddly different. The fact that Jim had brushed off her admission as if it was nothing more than a trivial, schoolgirl crush was embarrassing. Maybe Jim Hopper didn't see Jodie as anything more than a troublesome girl after all. Compared to him, Jodie was significantly younger and that was bound to be a big factor.

      Jodie glanced over at his dusty clock as it ticked away on the wall, craning her neck to get a better view. "Midnight yet?"

       "Two more minutes."

       "Well, pour me another," Jodie demanded with a thick sigh, swallowing the mouthful of whiskey and groaning as she pushed the glass back to him. "God, have I mentioned I hate whiskey?"

         "Multiple times," Jim reminded her but took her glass anyway. "Special occasion?"

        Jodie nodded, tapping a finger against her cheek. The alcohol was getting to her now, fogging her movements. She kicked her legs back and forth, watching the minutes tick another year away, trying not to think of that poor, little boy. "If you count my birthday as a special occasion."

       "Oh?"

        The sound of liquor hitting glass filled the room. "Well," Hopper swallowed the rest of his drink and poured himself another as well, eyes trained on the clock sitting idly on the wall, "Cheers. Here's to another fifty more, at least."

      "Fifty?" Jodie caught the glass as Jim slid it back to her, her face taken over with a half smile.

       "If you think you've got that much in you," he wryly said.

       Jodie weighed the options in her mind, as if she had a choice in the matter. "Only if you've got fifty left in you."

       Raising a glass, Jim nodded briskly. "Death pact?" Though they were both teasing, neither Jodie nor Jim's smiles reached their sombre gazes. 

        "If we'd be so lucky." She smirked, clinking her glass against his.

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sorry for the super long absence ! we're back!