FADE TO BLACK, ONE:

"RECOLLECTIONS"

Marissa Danlin was thirty-nine years old when she died in the comfort of her own home.

In a two-story house on Kerley, near Lake Jordan, lives the Danlin family. Two parents and a teenage daughter. A picture perfect family with a picture perfect life — the kind of family others wished to have. Ones that used the endearing terms you can always talk to me and you know I love you, right? There were no secrets between them. Not really.

Well, not until recently, at least.

On the last day of her short life, Marissa was basically absent. Benji Danlin had attempted to make his wife and daughter breakfast when he returned from work, but only one was present at the table – his beautiful, little daughter with a bright smile on her face. His wife – nowhere to be found. Heard? Yes. But seen? No. Olive had both left and returned from school — and her mother was still not seen. Marissa was holed up in her art studio for a majority of the day, dropping things on the ground so often that her daughter had to put headphones on to drown out the noise while doing her homework.

Not much is known about Marissa's movements besides that. She was behind on her work, so it's plausible to assume that she spent the day painting behind closed doors, clutzily dropping paint brushes here and there in an effort to complete a series of paintings for an exhibition. And it's plausible to assume she stayed there, painting, until Benji left for work at 8:18 PM, to which he wouldn't return until 6:23 AM – like clockwork.

The issue with this assumption is that Marissa Danlin hadn't had an exhibition in almost seven years. But that's all it is...an assumption. A theory. It can't be debunked; the only one in that room was her.

And later, Olive Danlin would be there, too.

Here are the events that are known so far. Thirty-three minutes after Benji Danlin left for work, a frantic phone call was made from the home with a panicked voice and crackling audio, only fractions of sentences were picked up through the line. Please – please – you need to send someone – anyone – please – 342 Kerley – please –

It was Olive. The teenage daughter.

A car was dispatched two minutes later, and it arrived in exactly seven minutes. All lights were on in the house. The front door was locked, deadbolted – and, later, kicked in once there was no response to knocking...no response to yelling or identifying.

Down the hall, the daughter was found in a dark room, huddled in a corner, legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her hands were shaking noticeably, despite not moving an inch. Officer Callahan noticed the red on her hands then – the blood covering the appendages in a dark, overbearing shade of crimson. He was sure he wouldn't forget the sight. With a turn of the head, he noticed the lifeless body of the mother – a pool of blood surrounding her, slowly spreading farther and farther and farther.

A left hand completely detached from the body.

A drawing on her face – her forehead. Unidentifiable.

And that's all the police know. The public knows even less.

Here's a little bit of what the daughter remembers. The good parts. The parts that she holds onto like they're her lifeline. The only things she wants to recall about that Wednesday night.

Because, really, Olive Danlin remembers the last night she felt normal, moments before everything was tossed down the rabbit hole – when she was elated and giddy and basically kicking her feet in the air over a stupid phone call with a stupid boy who she'd seen only the night before...When he'd climbed through her window from the little ladder outside, tackled her onto her bed, and started sucking on that sweet spot she loves so much – his favorite bookmarked page.

"I assume your show went well?" she'd asked him.

"Mhm," he'd mumbled, peppering light kisses down her neck.

They felt drunk, though completely sober. It was a different kind of feeling – a different kind of drunk.

Because they're drunk on how they kiss and how their bare limbs tangle under the sheets and how they become one with bated breaths for hours. Like two lost puzzle pieces that have finally found their way back to each other. Olive and Eddie. Eddie and Olive. An unlikely combination.

And though she'd seen him at school the next day, she still felt that drunk feeling when he called her later that night. Minutes before she was catapulted off the deep end – thrown into the dark water as if she couldn't swim back to the surface.

And she couldn't. Not really. It was like her limbs had become immobile, tugging her farther and farther down.

"My band is playing tonight," he'd told her, his voice crackling through the phone.

"Didn't you play last night?" she'd asked. And she was doing this dumb thing where she twists the cord of the phone around her finger because she had no other way to rid the nerves she felt when talking to him. He had this way about him – no, has this way about him. It makes her stomach swirl and hands shake and head spin dizzily. "I thought you only played on Tuesdays."

"I do," he'd said. "We booked a second day this week. You should come...and after, we can..."

He trailed off, but there was a lightness to his voice – a suggestion to his tone – that told her exactly what he wanted. It made her stomach flip, like there were butterflies slamming against each wall, begging for some sort of escape.

"We can...?" she'd asked teasingly.

And she could picture him rubbing his hand over his face as she said this because there's a slight pause before he said, "You know."

"Maybe you should...tell me?"

"You tease," he'd said with a low chuckle.

And they'd talked for another few minutes after that. Olive had been sprawled on her back, phone to her ear, and her hand twisting that damn cord between her fingers. She'd pictured him leaning against the wall of his trailer, his arm crossed over his chest as he talked to her in that dark, yet gentle voice of his. His uncle wasn't home – she knew that.

And neither was her dad. It was just her and her mom at home during most nights as he worked the night shift at some factory across town.

He had become their sole provider because her mom hadn't come out with any new paintings in years. She hadn't had a single exhibition in almost seven whole years. Olive knew paintings were getting done, though, because when she'd see her mom around the house, she'd have paint all over her as if she was painting all hours of the day.

And Olive never saw a single one of those paintings. She doesn't think her dad did either.

She also never really saw her mom most of the time; she was always locked in her art studio. Olive would bring her meals a few times a day when her dad wasn't home, but other than that...It kind of felt like Olive was just home alone.

She didn't always mind. She usually had homework. If she didn't have homework, she had a stupid boy over, and they'd talk and toss and turn in hushed whispers.

But that night, there was a knock on Olive's bedroom door while she was on the phone, and her mom peeked in. Eddie had been laughing at a story he was telling her about the band, and she pulled the phone away from her ear to hear her mom better, mumbling a quick hold on into the phone before she did so.

"Hi, mom," she'd said. "What's up?"

"Can you come downstairs with me? I have something I want to show you," her mom said.

And her mom seemed totally normal. Well, as normal as she had been these past few years. Nothing really seemed off in this moment.

Olive nodded, saying into the phone, "Hey, Eddie, I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"

"OK, sweetheart. See you then."

And she hung up.

Sweetheart.

She almost stayed on the phone just to hear him call her that again.

And she should have.

Because when she hung up and followed her mom out of her bedroom, it was the last normal moment she'd have for awhile.

And the police would be at her door in less than an hour.

Despite the circumstances in which Olive Danlin was found and what she experienced that fateful night, she'd snapped back within days and is now walking down the stairs of her home to head to school.

It's been less than a week since it all happened, but she'd rather go back to school than be in the place where she watched her mom die. When she watched blood spread and spread and spread around her mom's lifeless body –

Anyway. She steps off the stairs – walks quickly by her mom's art studio with a door that's locked tightly at the very bottom of the staircase. For a moment – while she passes the door – she feels her heart pull. Tug in the direction of the room. Urging her to enter.

And she ignores it. She keeps walking until she can't feel its presence looming over her shoulder anymore. Until her heart doesn't feel like it's being pulled from her chest.

At the dining room table, her dad sits with his head in his hands and paperwork sprawled out in front of him. She leans over, crossing her arms on his shoulder and resting her chin on them. She scans the papers laying in front of him, a cup of coffee resting on a yellow colored sheet. "Hi, dad."

"Hi, sweetie," he says softly. His voice is scratchy, and she doesn't think he got much sleep.

She didn't either, though.

To be fair, he hasn't worked since that night, and he usually works the night shift, so trying to flip his schedule around for a little while is difficult for him. Olive suspects he'll take a nap while she's gone. She hopes he does. He needs it.

When he lifts his mug to take a sip, there's a wet ring of coffee beneath it, telling Olive this isn't his first cup today, and he probably clumsily spilled some while pouring a serving. It's probably not going to be his last cup either, she doesn't think.

"What's this?" she asks, looking at the crinkled sheets of paper.

"Funeral stuff for your — uh — your mom," he says, using a hand to sort through it. Olive sees the ring on his hand as he does so, and her heart squeezes for a moment. "Trying to figure out how to pay for it. Don't worry about it, hon."

But she is worried. They don't make that much money — maybe just enough to keep them afloat. They can't afford everything that comes with a funeral – with an entire burial. A service.

They could barely afford the cleaning service they'd hired to completely erase her mom's death from her art studio. Olive had told her dad – urged him – to let her clean it. She could handle it. They didn't need to spend hundreds for someone else to do it.

Her dad refused.

And now they're scraping money from savings, barely being able to afford a damn funeral for her mom.

"I am worried," she decides to say. "We can't afford that."

"It's my job to worry, Olive," he says. "I'm your dad. Let me figure this out."

"We're a team, dad," she says softly, and she feels him place a hand over the arm she's resting on his shoulder. It shakes on her skin. "You worry, I worry."

And he shifts in his seat, turning to look at her. She stands straight, but he continues to hold her hand gently. "You sure you want to go to school today? It hasn't been that long since —"

Olive nods. "I'm positive. I need something...normal."

She needs to feel something besides what she's been feeling for days. Like something's eating away at her, digging itself into her skin and burying itself there. Making a little nest inside, never to leave. Using her skin as some sort of blanket to keep itself warm.

She wants out. Just for a little while. Her house feels suffocating right now.

"OK," her dad says. "Well, if you want me to pick you up at all, you just call and let me know. I'll be there right away."

"I know, dad. Thank you."

And when she walks through the front doors of Hawkins High twenty minutes after the first bell, she starts to feel a little nervous.

School's usually her safe place – where she's loved and appreciated and, when she's with her friends, it's full of adoration and kinship. She feels like she belongs. She never had to worry about her mom or her dad or her potential boyfriend or anything while she was with them.

She doesn't know if it'll be like that today. She thinks, today, she'll see something else in people's eyes. Pity. Sorrow. Sympathy.

But it's still better than being at home.

And as she goes about her day, shuffling through the halls and giving a half-nod to those apologizing for her loss, she still feels a little empty. But...It's less empty than she felt at home. It's better.

She sits with her friends Macy and Chrissy at lunch, and neither of them bring up her mom. She's glad they don't. They must know this, because if they didn't, they'd be talking about her mom right now. But they aren't. They're talking about the new cheer routine in the works, and Olive kind of appreciates it. She knows they're closer to each other than they are with Olive, but it's just because they're on the cheer team together and Olive isn't. She's fine with it. She's just happy to be involved in something normal.

Despite this, she can feel everyone else's eyes on her the whole time. She doesn't think she'll sit in the cafeteria again tomorrow. It's whatever. She knows they're curious. She would be, too. She just...doesn't want the eyes on her at this moment.

And she tries to make the best of her day until last period – when she'll see him. She hasn't talked to him since she ended things the night before...obviously.

So, when she sits in her chair by the array of windows, she decides to flip through her notebook instead of paying attention to her surroundings. And he sits right next to her – because it's his damn assigned seat – but she pretends not to see him arrive early for the first time, like, ever.

But she can feel his big, brown eyes looking at her every once in awhile.

Those big, brown eyes that always bring her a sense of peace. A wave of warmth that flows through her entire body.

And she looks at him, giving him a small smile. The big, brown eyes settle something unspoken in her chest, wrapping her heartstrings around each other.

Eddie pulls his brows together. It's like he doesn't know what to say — like he didn't expect her to come to school so soon. His hand is fiddling with the pencil between his fingers, flipping it in little circles repeatedly. His eyes flicker momentarily to the necklace sitting on her chest — the guitar pick resting across her beating heart.

The necklace he gave her — made for her.

Metallica's Fade to Black starts to echo in the back of her head.

Things not what they used to be, missing one inside of me.

Her body feels heavy, wanting to be near him — to feel his touch; his comfort; his warmth. Like there's a piece of her that's missing, a section of her heart that's been there for almost seven months but is now...gone. Returned to him. Glued messily back inside his chest despite the delicacy in which she returned the pieces.

It's messy. And it aches. It aches for both parties involved.

"Um, I didn't think I'd see you today," he decides to say.

Students funnel into the classroom, taking their assigned seats all around her. Eddie almost frowns. She can see his lips twitch downward before they return to a neutral position. He's hiding his feelings — trying to, at least.

But she doesn't. She does frown when she hears this. "Yeah...I — uh — wanted something normal."

Deathly loss, this can't be real. I cannot stand this hell I feel.

"Normal," he echoes with a curt nod. She can see the wheels spinning in his head — the way he plans what to say next like he doesn't want it to go wrong; doesn't want to offend her or hurt her more. "Got it."

Hearing his voice brings her back to that night, when she felt elated — when she felt happy to talk to him on the phone. Happy to see him the next day, to wrap herself in his comforting arms and become absorbed in his scent. His aura.

Emptiness is filling me to the point of agony.

"Yeah," she replies softly. She thinks she should occupy herself, pretend to flip through her notebook or scribble random words on a paper or catch up on the readings she's missed.

But she can't take her eyes off of him. Eddie. Fucking Eddie Munson.

It makes her neck itch. In that spot. Property of Eddie Munson, it still reads. It lingers on her skin, a constant memory of everything she had and could still have if everything didn't go to shit.

If her mom didn't die then maybe —

That's when the bell rings, and Mrs. Rolland clicks into the classroom, her heels echoing around the room. She briefly connects her eyes with Olive, but only gives her a welcoming (but apologetic) nod before she begins to speak.

And Olive does her best to pay attention — to take notes like she usually would. But her mind is kind of fluttering elsewhere, her thoughts escaping rapidly, dragging little bits of her attention span with them.

A crinkled note lands in front of her, then.

When she looks at Eddie, he's tapping his pencil, his chin resting in the palm of his other hand as he pretends to listen to the lesson. His eyes watch the chalkboard, but she can tell they're thinking about something else entirely. His big, brown eyes are glossed over, imagining anything but the context of the book they're supposed to be reading.

Olive unfolds the piece of paper, wincing when it crinkles loudly between her fingers. Written on the wrinkly sheet is Eddie's chicken scratch, so familiar and so heartwarming.

Shot in the Dark - Ozzy Osbourne

You'll love this song, sweetheart.

Her heart aches.

Sweetheart.

It's Eddie trying to keep things normal between them, but she doesn't think it'll ever be the same despite how her heart tugs at the familiar nickname. The name she longs to hear fall from his lips.

When she looks back at him, he's not looking at her. His watching the teacher as she scribbles character names on the board, analyzing their personality traits and actions, calling in different students with raised hands.

Olive doesn't raise her hand.

She watches Eddie — the last sliver of normalcy she'd had before she ruined it. Before her grasped it between her fingers and crushed it.

Growing darkness, taking dawn. I was me, but now he's gone.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm SCREAMINGGGG HI

☠️ HOW ARE WE FEELING

☠️ you'll learn about olive's mom as we go along with the story, I'm so beyond excited to share the plans with you

☠️ eddie and olive are my little children that deserve all the happiness in the world I just love them so much

☠️ what did you think???? there's a lot of unpack in this story and this is jus the beginning 😈 mwahahahahah