Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 16
What's going on?

As he hurried down the emergency stairs, Vazquez took out his phone and tried to contact the hospital security to close all the doors. However, nobody answered him. He hoped it was because the security people were already moving after the first shot, and not because they had run from their places to pretend nothing happened.

He felt some fatigued by the quick descent. But with his adrenaline at a thousand per minute, the detective arrived on the ground floor. He pushed the stairs' doors and returned to be in the halls again. Upon arriving, the first thing he saw was people moving scared in the same direction, so he chose to go right in the opposite one. What was in the direction where he was going? He tried to make a quick memory of the distribution of the building, and the first thing that came to his mind was the emergency area. Then he took the radio in his belt again and spoke for it.

"Here, Vazquez! The suspect goes to the entrance of the emergency area. If there are units available, intercept her out there."

He thought heard a distant "roger!" an instant before putting the radio back on his belt, but he wasn't sure of it. He hoped that someone had really heard him, and if he couldn't reach that girl, at least someone else could block her way.

Suddenly, just around a corner, the first thing he caught was the roar of another shot. His body reacted only wanting to back off, but in no way could he move fast enough. The bullet hit him directly on the left shoulder. He fell back, and then crawled quickly, protecting himself behind the wall. He checked himself, placing his hand against the wound that was bleeding heavily. There was no exit hole. With his right hand, he took his weapon firmly and stuck his back against the wall, not even showing a hair around the corner.

"Reinforcements are coming!" He shouted at his lungs from his position. "You have nowhere to go, kid!"

"Didn't they teach you not to tell lies?" He heard her exclaim in a playful tone that in fact, sounded like the voice of a kid.

"Who you are? What is your name?"

"I'm just an innocent girl who wants to play, obviously."

This statement was followed by a mocking giggle.

"If someone is forcing you to do this, I can help you. Tell me what you want; trust me."

There was no response to his offer.

He tried to peek even if it was a little to see. Immediately another shot was heard, and the bullet now brushed his forehead at the height of his right eyebrow, opening his flesh. The policeman fell backward, but extended his weapon to the front and began firing in her direction. He could not see her clearly, for the blood that had drained into his eye; he only noticed how her small figure was hiding behind a column, and his three shots hit it and the ceiling. He crawled again to protect himself, and with his right forearm, he tried to wipe his eyebrow and his eye. Whoever she was, had an extraordinary aim.

Was it really a kid? And even if it were, was it helpful to question him at that time? Wasn't he the one who had just put another girl, maybe her age, practically under arrest in that room? It was as if the whole world had lost its mind, and everything had turned on its head. What the hell was going on in that place?

The seconds of silence that followed used them to try to calm down a bit, and he supposed she was doing the same. He risked looking out again. He did not see it clearly, but a few meters behind the column, he could see a part of the wheelchair, the same one in which Lily Sullivan was.

He thought for a moment that perhaps there was no need to go out and take a risk. The reinforcements were on their way, and they would surely stop her as soon as she tried to leave. He was also hurt and confused, and that was an awful combination. He could just stay there and waited... but he didn't. Two policemen, two exceptional policemen, had just died in less than twenty-four hours, practically under their noses. And both, apparently, in the hands of those two girls. He didn't know what was happening; he didn't know who those two brats were. But his whole body demanded that he must stop them, and he won't let them put even half a foot out of that place.

Inspired by that idea, he managed to stand up despite the pain he felt in his shoulder and left his hiding place running straight to where the stranger was hiding. He shot three times in the kid's direction, not intending to hit, but instead of frightening or alerting her, forcing her to stay behind that column while he approaches. But apparently, he underestimated her, because the stranger didn't stay hidden there. Instead, as he approached the right side of the column, the little figure of the killer came out on the left side, doing a twirl on the floor. Halfway through its turn, the girl shooting him directly in his right leg, a few centimeters above his ankle.

Vazquez groaned in pain, staggered, and fell to the ground. He tried to straighten himself, but as soon as he began to rise, he was greeted by a direct kick in the face by the sole of his attacker's foot, which made him fall back to the ground. His gun escaped from his fingers, and she quickly pushed it away from him with one foot. Then she stepped away from him a few steps, backing away. How it was possible, Vazquez turned around and moved as far as he could on the floor. She aimed it by holding her gun with both hands, and only until then could the cop saw her more clearly.

She was a thin girl of medium height, no more than ten years old. She had a white face, decorated with several freckles, and green-gray eyes with a look too cold and absent. Of all his being, those eyes were perhaps the only ones that didn't fit in with the rest. Vazquez could not conceive of the idea that a child of that age could have those eyes, even with blissful psychopathy. Those were the eyes of someone who had seen and done so many things. Someone who not care anymore about life or death, hers, or others.

There was also the issue about her way of shooting and her movements, especially that last one she had done when shooting him in the leg. These would only involve some kind of training, maybe even military... But how was that possible?

Vazquez was breathing agitatedly, while he carefully admired the weapon in front of him, and the gentle face of the person holding it.

"The other officers are already on their way," he tried to tell her, resisting the waves of pain that ran through his body from his recent injuries. "I know you must be scared and confused, but don't commit a madness. You already killed a policeman, if you kill another, there will be no way you can get out of this. They will open fire as soon as they see you, and it doesn't have to end like this. I don't know why you are doing this, or who is forcing you. But I can help you, let me help you..."

The girl was silent for a long time, without lowering the weapon and without moving her penetrating eyes from him. She tilted her head slightly to the left, in an almost innocent gesture. And then, her lips suddenly drew a long grimace that perhaps tried to resemble some kind of smile, but it wasn't even close to anything Vazquez had seen before.

As he had said to Nancy before, he had previously seen two serial killers up close. But none of them cased him so fear, or transmitted such threat and inhumanity as that girl-shaped thing that stood before him at that time...

"I don't need more daddies who want to help me," she muttered suddenly as if she were reciting some kind of joke that only she was able to understand. "Hüvasti... isa..."

Her fingers tensed around the trigger, and Vazquez knew immediately that she was about to shoot.

"No! Wait...!" He shouted loudly, raising his hand to the front, in an unconscious act of supplication. The noise of the shot, however, deafened him at that moment.

His breathing was cut, and he sensed that even his heartbeat had done so at the same time. Everything around him turned gray, and he stood still and immovable. But everything went pretty fast so that his mind could hardly process that time even existed. By the time he was able to react from shock and be aware of what was real and what was only a reflection of his own mind wandering in memories and regrets, the first thing he could see with total clarity, almost as if it shined with light own, was the bullet. Copper color and oval shape, floating right in the space that separated them both, maybe half a meter from his face.

It did not move, did not advance, and did not emit any sound. It was only there, floating as if it were a living being. Vazquez was amazed for a few moments by such a curious scene before he could understand that, in fact... it made no sense. That couldn't be the bullet that was going towards him.

He touched his face and turned his gaze to his torso, looking for any sign of injury, blood, pain, but out of the wounds he already had, there was no new one. He was totally unharmed. The idea that this was some kind of strange pre-death experience was one of the many things that crossed his mind. But then, he looked up beyond the floating bullet, and saw the face of his attacker: she was totally full of confusion, even perhaps more than his; much more.

The presence of a third person became notable for both at that time, and practically at the same time, they turned in the direction in which they came. That brown-haired woman was approaching at a careful pace, with her gaze fixed on that floating-point of leads. Her right hand was extended towards her with its fingers tensed. Vazquez recognized her. Even in all his confusion and jumble of ideas that made him scratch in madness, he had the lucidity of identifying that woman, the same who was a few minutes ago with Wayne and the other guy. The supposed psychiatrist with the last name Honey.

The woman suddenly took a deep breath and relaxed her hand and her gaze a little. The bullet, which had remained so peaceful in its place, descended on its own to the ground, like a harmless hail. It clinked in the linoleum, rolled a few inches, and then remained calm in front of Vazquez's feet.

"But how...?" It was the only thing he managed to pronounce, while his eyes turned consecutively between the bullet and the hard, firm face of that woman. She, however, did not pay primary attention to him and instead turned her gaze fully to the girl with the gun, who noticed it and took an unconscious step back.

"Give me the gun," Matilda said in a tone of command and extended her hand toward her. Still, instead of obeying, the girl began shooting to her consecutively, without waiting as soon as the recoil allowed.

The attacker shot four times in total. Matilda reacted in amazement and stepped back a few steps while raising her hands quickly to the front. Each of those bullets stopped in the air, each a little further than the previous one. The first one was millimeters across the palm of her hand. Vazquez and Esther alike watched this act almost speechless. However, the last one did not stay longer. After giving the final shot, she ran to where she had left Lily's chair and began to push it down the hall to where she was going at the beginning.

Matilda saw her sidelong, but she needed too much concentration to stop those four bullets, a concentration that was equally difficult to break. She inhaled sharply and exhaled just after. She lowered her hands suddenly, dropping them to her sides, and the four bullets collapsed to the ground along with the first. Matilda took a deep breath through his nose and then began to walk fast behind the strange girl.

"Stop! Wait!" Vazquez yelled, making her stop abruptly and turn to him. Matilda then noticed the wounds he had on his shoulder, leg, and forehead.

"Stay here," she said in a rather calm tone. "Someone will come to help you in a second."

Without saying more, she turned again and ran in pursuit, before Vazquez could say anything else. And even if he could... what would he have said? If before he felt that his whole world had turned on his head... now he had no idea how to describe that.

— — — —

Matilda hurried down the hall, trying to reach the girl. Her heels stopped her, and in a couple of times, her ankles bent. In the end, she chose to take them off entirely, no matter if she had to leave them lying on the ground and continued only with her tights covering her feet. She felt much freer at that moment, and much faster.

Since she saw that kid shooting as if it were a normal thing, Matilda kept wondering who she was and what she was doing there. Was it Lily Sullivan? It was unlikely; it was safer to assume that Lily was the one she was carrying in the chair, unconscious and dressed in a hospital gown. Who was she then? And why was she looking for Lily? The only theory that came to mind was that group that Eleven had been tracking for a long time, and had never even found a solid track of them. She didn't even know if it was a group as such, although it was most likely. But whatever they were, it was someone who was looking for children with the Shining, kidnap them and disappear them. And according to the little ones that were able to find their bodies, they also torture them in horrible ways. Why? Eleven had no idea, but she was sure of something: to find others with the Shining, the only way was also to possess it.

But how could someone who shone do something so horrendous? Despite some things she had seen, including what she felt when touched Lily's photograph last night, Matilda could not conceive that there was a group of resplendent people committing such atrocious acts together. But Eleven seemed quite sure of its existence.

However, a couple of years ago, Eleven herself told her that she had lost all possible traces of those people. Almost as if they had disappeared from the face of the earth. And although, of course, there were still cases of missing children in the country, practically every day. And of course, many of them should be children like them. But none of those cases gave her the feeling of being directly related to that group. Eleven even considered that they had separated, or also moved to another country.

But what if it was that? What if that girl was somehow part of that group and came to take Lily Sullivan as they realized the high power she possesses? It was a possibility, but it was somewhat unusual. That group must be smart and careful enough to move around and do that kind of thing without even Eleven noticing them. But that act of escape seemed all but smart and careful; it appeared in fact, entirely improvised and desperate.

It didn't matter who she was, and it didn't matter if Lily Sullivan had been behind all those deaths, including Doug's. Matilda couldn't let anybody take her that way. She was there to help any child who needed her, whoever she was.

— — — —

For Esther, there was no room for subtleties; that had been left behind since the second shot. Now, all she wanted was to get out of there, doing whatever was necessary. She went through the folding doors that led to the waiting room of the emergency area, and without the slightest modesty, began firing at the ceiling insistently.

"I said all of you get out of here! Now!" She shouted, furiously accompanying the strident shots with her voice.

Quickly everyone who was there: sick, family, and medical team alike began to hurry without much thought. A security guard approached her by the side with the apparent attempt to ram her. She, however, quickly turned to him and gave him the last shot of that load, directly in the chest. The guard fell to the ground spitting blood from his mouth and twisting. This paralyzed the remaining ones for a few moments, and that made her even more enraged.

"I said all of you get out of here! Now!" She shouted at them with all her might, sounding much more like an angry adult woman than a girl.

Two nurses stealthily approached the fallen guard and dragged him as they could out of there, to an office. Esther did not stop them since she also did not want to make it clear that at that time, the bullets had run out, and someone tried to become a hero. Once the area was seemingly clear, she placed Lily's wheelchair in the center of the room. She took a second to remove the empty magazine from the weapon and take out a new one from her blue star-shaped waist bag.

"What damn circus have you put me in?" She murmured, pretending she was talking to the unconscious Lily, although she was actually talking to herself. "I hope you are worth it."

Lily's head hung to the side without any resistance. Her body looked totally appeased and scattered across the chair. On the side of her face, where Esther had hit her, a bruise had formed. The makeshift bandage she had put on had almost entirely dyed red. Still, it was considerably less than the blood she would have lost if her captor had not applied it.

Esther pushed the magazine into place with a single push, and then pulled the top of the weapon back to load the first bullet into the chamber. She felt safe again. She looked toward the entrance door and noticed an ambulance parked right in front with the doors open. Paramedics may have been among those who fled after their shots. And best of all, there was still no trace of the police, despite what that guy had said. Or he had lied to her, or maybe it was her lucky day after all.

She retook the chair and began to move swiftly towards the door. However, she was halfway when she stopped suddenly. But not because she wanted it or given that order to her legs. She simply stopped, unable to move in the slightest, with her arms tight at her sides as if some type of invisible rope imprisoned her. Before she could process all this, her feet began to slide back, as if they were moving on ice. Her entire body receded without her being able to resist. And once she traveled perhaps three meters in that way, she was turned entirely on its own axis by the same invisible force. And then she was straight ahead directly the cause of it all.

That brunette woman from a few moments ago was now standing in front of the same door through which she had entered; the only difference was that now she didn't bring her shoes. Her right hand was raised towards Esther, and she was staring at her. Esther tried to move, at least raising the hand that held her weapon, but couldn't. She was totally imprisoned.

"Impressive," Esther murmured between angry and sarcastic. "Now pull a rabbit out of your hat to me, will you?"

Matilda approached her cautiously without taking her eyes off her or lowering her hand. That girl looked pretty calm, considering her situation. Matilda looked at her more closely, especially her face and eyes. Everything about her caused an extremely uncomfortable sensation, which she had never felt with a child, not even with the most damaged she had dealt with.

"Who are you...?" Matilda asked hard, though somewhat doubtfully. The freckles girl smiled.

"I'm just a messenger," she replied in a mocking tone.

"Whose messenger?" Matilda asked next, but the girl just stared at her without saying a word. "Speak!"

"And if I don't do that, what? What will you do?"

Was she challenging her? Anyway, she couldn't let her guard down. Up to that point, she had only used her gun and nothing else. However, that did not completely eliminate the possibility that she would also shine. An ace could be kept under her sleeve as soon as she had the chance to use it.

"Why did you come here? What do you want with Lily Sullivan?"

Esther remained unanswered.

Matilda took a deep breath and tried to take a calmer posture.

"Listen, you don't have to be afraid. The least I want is to hurt you. But you have done too many bad things for which you will have to answer. And as soon as the police arrive, I won't be able to help you. Tell me what you do here and who sent you, and I'll see how to support you, I promise. But you have to trust me and tell me everything."

"Are all average adults equally as stupid?" Esther snapped wryly in her voice. "Why do you all still believe that I need your help in some way? Fuck yourself, whore... Shove your help up your ass."

Matilda's face filled with colors when she heard her speak that way. She could not bear to listen to adults talk like that, much fewer children, although she had had to listen to several say even worse things in their therapies. But there was something really wrong with this girl, something she didn't know what it was, but it didn't seem natural. Who was she really?

Suddenly over her prisoner's shoulders and head, Matilda spotted three dark figures making their way through the open doors of the entrance. She had to focus her attention to be able to clearly identify what they were: three huge dogs, with black fur, red eyes, and sharp fangs that showed between growls and grunts. The three looked in her direction with their front legs tense and firm on the ground, as if they were ready to jump at any moment. And, indeed, they did, long before the psychiatrist could ask herself even what they were doing there.

The three began to run at once, turning Lily and Esther around and going straight against Matilda. She did not know how to react to such a strange scene. She backed away, forgetting Esther for a moment, enough to free her, and then the girl fell on the floor when she no longer held her with her telekinesis. She hesitated at the beginning of using it now with her new attackers, as they were only harmless dogs... although rather harmless, they seemed to have nothing.

One jumped on her side, and quickly pushed it with her mind before it could touch her, blowing up in the air against the waiting chairs. Another managed to close its jaws around her right ankle, starting to pull it. Matilda let out a groan of pain but immediately pushed the animal like the other, making it roll across the floor several meters away from her. A third jumped in front, but she reacted by doing the same, but by that time, the first one had already stood up and was heading towards again.

Esther looked all totally confused from the ground. Where had those dogs come from? She had no idea, but she wouldn't miss the opportunity they were giving her, she rose quickly, took Lily's chair, and ran to the door. Matilda looked sideways at her.

"No!"

She did not want to overreach with those innocent animals, but they did not leave her another way. Matilda inhaled sharply, focused her concentration on the three animals at the same time, and the three were paralyzed in their places. Then their bodies hit the ground, and the three let out a little shriek of pain. They then crawled on the ground, as if pushed by the wind, to end up thrown with intensity against the entrance door of the room, passing it and falling away in the hallway outside.

Once freer, Matilda looked for the girl and saw her already at the exit. She was willing to do the same as she did to the dogs if necessary. But before she could even focus, something stopped her. At first, it was like a cold that grew suddenly in her chest and then went up to accumulate in her throat. Afterward, she felt her throat close, and it made it impossible for her to breathe, even to do the smallest inhalation of air. She began to choke. She instinctively brought her hands to her neck, trying to snatch the invisible fingers that imprisoned her but only ended up scratching her own skin.

The desperation for lack of air did not let her think clearly. She had never felt anything so horrible run through her body. It was like what she had felt when she touched Lily's photograph on the computer, but ten times more intense, or more. What was it? What was causing it? Was it done by that girl? She noticed then that all the lights in the room began to clink irregularly, like Christmas lights...

Her body suddenly rose through the air as if she had been hit by a car, and crashed the wall on the side of the door. She descended with her back against it, sitting on the floor. She felt like her whole body was pressed against the wall, causing her bone pain as if something weighty was crushing her little by little. Her gaze was wild and blurry, and she felt more and more suffocated. Every weak and pitiful scream she gave was totally useless.

Between all her despair and confusion, between a jingle of lights and another, she seemed to see something. It was there when the light shone, and disappeared the next instant. It had first one form, then another, and then it returned to the first. It was something, or rather someone, standing right in front, with its arm extended toward her. Its hand was the one that imprisoned her neck. That hand that was unable to get rid of as much as she tried. And then, the lights went out completely, but only then did she see it with complete clarity.

Among the shadows, Matilda distinguished his white and young face, his sky blue eyes, and his straight black hair, perfectly combed to the side. It was a boy, who she did not recognize, but was there before her, imprisoning her while staring with his eyes lacking any trace of humanity in them, and a crooked smile that only conveyed a sickly pleasure.

She heard suddenly how that strange figure was muttering in a graceful and strangely polite and soft tone. But they were not as such words, but rather thoughts that entered like needles in her head.

(I don't know who you are, miss. But what you did a few moments ago was impressive. It's a shame to have to do this, but there is not another way, is it?)

Matilda felt how those invisible fingers tightened even more, making it impossible even to moan or scream in pain. The forces began to leave her body, and her eyes began to close, being that cruel face that rejoiced in her agony the last thing she would see...

"NO!!"

That scream reverberated in her head with an intense echo, which then spread in all directions. The lights went on to the maximum, and then several of the fluorescent bulbs burst into pieces. Matilda's eyes opened again, enough to see how the image of that stranger was suddenly pulling away from her as if someone had pushed him, then disappeared into the shadows.

Matilda immediately filled her lungs with a deep inhalation, and shortly after that collapsed on her right side, beginning to cough hard, and even spitting some blood on the floor.

The room doors opened shortly after. Matilda looked up as she could from the floor. Although in the beginning, she expected to find herself face to face with one of the dogs, instead she distinguished Cody, looking everywhere, and then getting more than alarmed when he saw her lying there.

"Matilda! What happened?!" He exclaimed by mere reflex, crouching beside her. He helped her to sit while still coughing a little. Her breathing was slowly calming down, but she still lacked.

She weak pointed at the exit door.

"The girl... stop her..." Matilda groaned in a raspy voice.

Cody looked where She pointed and understood immediately. He ran to the exit, and when he was at the door, he watched as the ambulance drove off the access ramp with its sirens on. He advanced a little further along the slope, but it would be impossible to reach it on foot; it was speeding, reeling on itself until joining the avenue. He thought quickly of something to stop it, something he could create with his thoughts, but he was not fast enough. For in a blink, the vehicle escaped his range of vision.

When he was going to keep moving behind it, he heard the police patrols behind him. When he turned around, he could see at least five patrols parking in front of the emergency entrance. An officer immediately got out of his vehicle and pointed his gun at him, telling him not to move. Frustrated and upset, Cody could only raise his hands in cooperation.

Inside, Matilda heard the sirens and all the hustle and bustle that had begun to form. Without the need for someone to tell her, she already knew: that girl had escaped. But that was not her main thought at the time. What had been so horrible that it had just happened to her? Who was that person she had seen? And... What had saved her...?

And suddenly, a fleeting thought crossed her mind, inspired mostly by a sensation that had remained in the air since that happened, but which she was not fully aware of until then. She looked around slowly. Outside there were steps, voices, sirens, but in there, everything was silent. It was at that moment that it became quite clear to her what had happened.

"Eleven?" She exclaimed slowly, waiting for some kind of response, but it wasn't.

— — — —

Damien had been suddenly pulled into a completely dark space, although before that time, he had not correctly conceived what "total darkness" really meant. Everything around him was absolute blackness as far as he could see. Also, there was silence, a deep, gloomy silence, which even made the ears scream as they were not accustomed to that level of absence of sound. But of course, all those supposedly physical manifestations were more of a trick than the brain did to itself because he wasn't really there. He was not standing in that dark space, just as he had not been a second in that hospital. However, that did not mean that his situation deserved less care.

Who had been able to push his projection in such a strong and sudden way, and make him fall into that space? The answer to that question was much more intriguing than how to get out of that site. And he knew very well whoever they were, had to be there with him. In fact, he could feel them, or feel her, standing behind his back, turning in the opposite direction, so that no one was able to see the other, not even a hair. Only darkness in front of them.

The young man remained calm in his position, and an intentionally clear thought was formulated and materialized.

(Is that you, Abra?)

He questioned solemnly, but the voice that answered him was far from being what he expected.

(I don't know any Abra)

Who answered him, had a serious woman's voice, with enough authority and threat in her tone, and sound in an echo that was appeasing in the distance. So his captor was a woman, and her voice didn't sound like she was young; that totally ruled out that it was who he believed.

(Who are you?), the woman questioned.

(I could ask you the same question. How can you do it?)

(How can you do it?)

(Don't play with me, ma'am... You don't know who you're messing with)

(No, boy. You are the one who doesn't know)

He felt like all the space around them began to spin, even though his feet were fixed on the ground. There was no clear way to describe it. It was as if they were back to back, and that person tried to turn to face him face to face. Damien had never played this kind of game with another person; until a few months ago, he didn't know there was anyone else who could do it. And he could feel without a problem that this woman had enough experience dealing with such situations, and she knew exactly how to maintain control in all of them. Apparently, her previous threat was not fueled by empty words.

However, even if it was a new game for him, he had an innate talent to learn fast. And whether it was in a physical or a mental room, he was always the one in control. For every move she made to turn to see him, he made his own to stay in the same position and avoid it. In turn, he tried to do the same, make everything turn around, but in the opposite direction, so he could see the face and place where his opponent was facing.

It was like a dance, but not a fun one at all. So many twists and turns, sooner or later, one would end up getting dizzy, but Damien was sure it wouldn't be him.

(You're good, but I'm better...)

Suddenly, the ground beneath them turned from black to blood red, and the feet of their captor sank into it like sand. He quickly turned before she could react, and as soon as he did, the black stage vanished from his eyes. Instead, he could see an unfamiliar scenario: it looked like a study, with two glass doors that overlooked a garden and through which intense sunbeams entered that illuminated the entire place. Beyond the doors, there was a large space of grass, mostly green, and beyond trees that were lost in a small forest. The sky also looked sunny and bright. The weather, plus the position of the sun, made him think immediately that he was not in Portland, possibly not even in Oregon. He pointed to something closer to the east coast.

(Nice place. Is it your home or your office...?)

He started trying to turn his eyes around. In front of him, there was a wooden coffee table, with several papers on it.

(Let's see if we can find out who you really are...)

He tried to get close to the documents, trying to spot anything. He could only see a few incomprehensible words before the whole space was shaken and stained red.

(You will not do it!)

The woman's voice rang out loudly, drilling her head.

He was in the dark space again, or at least a part. His vision took turns between the darkness and the image of that study repeatedly, like a flickering light. He could feel his opponent making an effort to try to push him away. He didn't allow it, but, surprisingly, it seemed like she was doing it...

(Get away from me... and from my... friends!)

The last words were like an intense explosion in his head. Then, he felt as if his body was flying through the air, traveling light years of stars and constellations, unable to put any brake until it slammed into the ground like a calcining meteorite.

— — — —

Damien's eyes flew open, and he had to hold onto the back of his couch so he wouldn't collapse to the floor. His vision cleared after a few seconds. It was evident that he was not lost in space or anything like that but in the pent-house study. He inhaled slowly through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, trying to make his body and mind relax as much as possible.

That had been amazing. That lady, whoever she was, had pulled him to that space where she was in control. She had subjected him to then push him away with an intensity such as if a horse had kicked him in the face. He wasn't furious, but... fascinated. He couldn't believe that someone could really do that to him. And it wasn't just her; the other woman, that was even able to stop the bullets and stop and subdue Esther. Where had all these people been? Why only until now did they appear before him?

He let out a loud laugh, and turned his head back, leaning it against the back and looking up at the ceiling, sketching a long smile.

"Well, well. This is really getting fun..."

Anyway, that had been a victory for him wherever he saw it. Esther had escaped with the girl, and he had discovered two fascinating people. How many more would he know if he continued on that path?

— — — —

Far from there, in Hawkins, Indiana, Eleven had not had the same balance or strength as Damien to stay in her seat. She did end up falling on her carpet of dull colors and throwing some of the papers she had on the table. She made no immediate attempt to get up; she just sat with her hands against the carpet, and his legs tangled up in a position where she didn't even wonder how they got that way. Her curly hair fell on her face. She was breathing heavily and felt that her heart was beating very intensely, as was her head. She felt exhausted... very, very exhausted...

The study door swung open, and that set her on an alarm, forcing her to raise her face. Her powers seemed to react by mere reflection to an imminent danger. The coffee table next to her slid down the floor alone, until it hit the wall, to the side of the door that had just opened.

There was this husband, Mike Wheeler. He was a tall, thin man in his mid-forties, with slightly curly dark brown hair, round glasses, and a discreet mustache on his upper lip. He had entered alarmed to his wife's study upon hearing her scream those last words that surely nor had she been aware that she had spoken in her own voice. The sound of the table sliding on the floor and crashing into the wall, made him jump to the side, making him even more nervous than he already was.

Upon recognizing her husband, Eleven calmed down a bit, but not all the strange sensations that ran through her body were calmed down.

"Jane!" Mike snapped and quickly circled the table and sofa to go where she was. "Jane, are you alright?"

He took her in his arms and helped her to stand up slowly and put herself back on the couch. Eleven dropped on it and leaned her head back. She brought her hand to her forehead and carved it with her fingers in an attempt to calm the pain.

"Yes, I'm fine..." she murmured with some weakness, although she felt she was more stable.

"Jane... your nose," she heard Mike said in an almost trembling voice.

Eleven looked up at him and noticed that he was staring at her with fear, behind his glasses. She brought her fingers to her nose and then placed them in front of her face. The fingertips were stained with blood. She was bleeding from her nose...

Mike hurried to her desk, which was at one end of the study, and took two handkerchiefs from the box she had there. He returned to the chair, and she accepted these without hesitation, wiping with them the blood, which fortunately did not seem to be much.

"That hadn't happened to you for years," Mike pointed out as he sat next to her.

And indeed it was. During Eleven's childhood and puberty, nosebleeds were quite frequent in her, especially when she used her abilities, and even more when she abused them. Over time, however, they were less in how much their powers were further strengthened, and she learned to know and better measure their limits. And at one point, she had practically forgotten them.

What did it mean that after so long it happened again? Nothing good, she was sure of that. It implied that this guy had taken her to the limit of her ability to defend herself from him. And although she had managed to get him away at that time, she had a feeling that he had not fully demonstrated everything he was capable of. And had not even managed to discover his identity.

"What happened?" Mike asked, carefully taking his wife's hand that did not hold the handkerchief against her nose.

Eleven shook his head slowly.

"There's no time, give me my phone, please," she said, pointing her finger at the table she had pushed away from her without realizing it. Mike went to it and returned a second later with Eleven's Smartphone in one hand. She immediately took it and began to dial one of her recent contacts.

She tilted her body slightly forward while holding her head. It didn't hurt so much anymore, but she still felt tired and somewhat dizzy. Mike, meanwhile, ran his hand up and down her back comfortingly. It didn't help her much to relieve her, but it made her feel at least more confident that she was indeed safe at home, a thought that still didn't seem to be fully reflected in her head.

The call was slow to be answered, but it was at the end.

"Hello, Eleven," Detective Cole Sears' playful voice replied. In the background, there was some hustle, footsteps, and sounds. "I was wondering when you would make your first call..."

"Cole, I don't have much time," Mrs. Wheeler hurried to intervene. "Have you already landed in Portland?"

"That's right, I just picked up my suitcase, in fact. I go to the module to rent transport to Salem..."

"No," her former mentor interrupted quickly, "I need you to go somewhere else first. Matilda needs you there."

Even without seeing him, Jane could feel that Cole had stopped suddenly, confused, and expectant. She told him as briefly as possible about the situation and the place where Matilda and Cody were at the time. She asked him to go there as soon as possible and support them in everything. As was his own, he did not refuse at all.

After hanging up, Jane held the phone in her hands, staring straight ahead, past the glass doors, the grass, and the trees in the forest, and the blue sky. Everything that stranger had managed to see by getting into her head, going through all the different protections she had placed to avoid it. She had not felt so helpless and vulnerable in years, maybe since she was a girl.

"Jane, what's going on?" Her husband questioned her, quite unable to hide her concern. She turned to see him for a moment and then turned back outside.

"I don't know... I swear I don't know..."

END OF CHAPTER 16

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

—Mike Wheeler is based on the respective character of the Netflix series, Stranger Things of 2016. In the original series, in its first season in 1983, he is only 12 years old. By this time, however, it will be around 46. By the time this chapter was written, it has only been taken until the Second Season of the series. So, for the moment, only the First and Second Season will be taken into account as a reference for this story from now on. As previously mentioned, in this story, it is speculated that Eleven and Mike got married at some point in their adult life, and this will remain so, even if in the next seasons of that series, something happened that contradicts this idea.

SPECIAL AUTHOR'S WORDS:

Hi everyone, I'm WingzemonX, and this is a special greeting to you, who read this story in its English version. These last two chapters that I published are of my favorites, for the interaction and encounters of the different characters and the action. If you have read this story up to this point, you had already an idea of its style, its tone, and where it wants to go. What do you think? Has it captivated your interest?

But the real intention of this special note is because recently in the Spanish version, I just published Chapter 50, and that makes me very, very excited and happy. I had never been able to write so many chapters of the same story, fanfic or original. And even later to reach so much, it keeps provoking inspiration and new ideas in me, as well as emotion to continue writing.

It has been a story that has really been happening on its own and growing more and more without me proposing it, giving me many great moments. I know that, despite everything, it is still fanfiction. These are not my characters or concepts. They all emerged from the wonderful imagination of several writers and directors. But I have also put a large part of my effort and my heart to each word, fitting their worlds and stories so different into one, thus creating a tribute to these films, series, and books, made only by the love to them and their creators.

I also know that it is a complicated story to read because of the different works involved, and it is not the kind of characters or stories that one expects to see in a fanfic. For this reason, its readers in these two and a half years, have been relatively few (although lately, they have been a little on the increase). That has sometimes come to put me off and rethink me if I should continue. Luckily, inspiration has always been more than discouragement. In addition to that, although they are few, there are very nice and great people who have followed the story almost from the beginning, leaving me their comments and votes, giving me advice and support.

And these include you, who gave this poorly translated and weird story a chance, and follow it even though I know you have to bleed your eyes with the mistakes I make. However, you still read, write your comments, and give me confidence.

I must thank Boris Yeltsin, Lucius Walker, 12345, rosabell14, and especially Shian1998, which I do not know how he does it, but he is always pending, and he comments each new chapter, leaving his impressions of all, from the beginning to the end, and I am always glad to read these. Also, thanks to those who don't leave comments, but give me their votes or kudos on different platforms. Or even those who may read each chapter on time without fail, but prefer to remain anonymous. You are all part of what has inspired me to continue and believe in the potential of this story and not leave it. And I hope, over time, I can improve in translation and make it easier and more enjoyable to read.

And finally, I can only confess that although in Spanish, I already have 50 chapters written, this is not even close to finishing. There is still much to tell about this special and unusual crossover.