chapter two. the weirdo on maple street

"𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐌𝐎𝐌. Breakfast is ready," Jonathan called softly, his voice carrying a mixture of warmth and exhaustion as he and Elizabeth carefully balanced three plates of food. The smell of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast filled the small, cramped kitchen, mingling with the ever-present scent of strong coffee that had become a staple during these sleepless nights. The room should have felt comforting, but instead, it was thick with tension, as if even the air held its breath, waiting for something to break.

Jonathan set his plate down on the worn wooden table, the surface barely visible beneath the avalanche of clutter. Photographs, hastily scribbled notes, and missing person posters were scattered everywhere, a constant reminder of Will's absence. Elizabeth's fingers brushed against the edge of a picture, and her heart tightened painfully. She glanced over at her mom, Joyce, who sat at the table, her frame small and fragile. Her eyes were red and swollen from another sleepless night, her face etched with worry and exhaustion that seemed far beyond her years.

"What? No, be careful of the poster," Joyce mumbled, her voice strained, almost detached, as she shuffled through the papers in front of her. Her hands trembled, betraying the fear and desperation she tried so hard to suppress.

Jonathan swallowed hard, trying to push down the growing lump in his throat. "Yeah, okay. All right," he replied, attempting to keep his tone light, though the heaviness in the room was impossible to ignore. He found a tiny corner of the table and placed the last plate down carefully, making sure to avoid disturbing the sea of papers that had become their reality.

Joyce stared at the food but made no move to touch it. Her eyes, hollow and distant, remained fixed on something none of them could see, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts. "I can't eat," she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the silence that followed.

Jonathan exchanged a worried glance with Elizabeth. It was a look they had shared many times, a silent acknowledgment of the weight they both carried. Seeing their mother like this - so broken, so fragile - was almost unbearable. Elizabeth moved closer, her heart aching as she reached out and gently took Joyce's hand. Her fingers wrapped around her mother's cold, clammy hand, offering whatever small comfort she could.

"I just need you to eat, Mom," Elizabeth said softly, her voice thick with concern. She squeezed her mother's hand gently, hoping to pull her back from wherever her mind had drifted. "Please. Just a little."

Joyce blinked, as if only just now realizing her children were there, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She sniffled, trying to pull herself together, but the cracks in her facade were too deep to hide. She glanced between Jonathan and Elizabeth, her lips quivering. "Listen... listen, the Xerox place opens in, like, 30 minutes," she murmured, her voice shaky and uneven.

"Yeah," Jonathan murmured back, though his chest felt tight.

Joyce's eyes darted between her children again, her worry palpable. "And I don't want you two to go alone," she said, her words faltering as her voice cracked. The strain in her voice sent a wave of helplessness crashing over Elizabeth. How could they fix this? How could they ease her pain when they could barely manage their own?

"No, I know. I told you, we got it," Jonathan interjected, trying to reassure her.

Joyce shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. "So, I'm gonna have Karen take you. Because I should be here. In case..." Her voice trailed off, unable to finish the thought. In case something happens. In case Will calls. In case he comes home. The words hung unsaid in the air, suffocating them all.

Jonathan and Elizabeth exchanged another glance, both understanding the silent plea behind their mother's words. "Okay," Jonathan said softly, nodding in agreement, though his heart ached seeing her so lost in her fear.

"We need to make, what, 200, 300 copies?" Joyce continued, her voice picking up speed as she spiraled into frantic calculations. "How much is a copy?"

Jonathan, sensing her growing anxiety, tried to remain calm. "Yeah, okay."

Elizabeth's stomach churned as she watched her unravel, her hands moving erratically as she tried to gather the papers, her voice rising in desperation. "10 cents? If we... Ten cents-"

"Mom," Jonathan said, his voice low but firm. He took a step toward her, his hands clenching at his sides. "Mom," he repeated, louder this time.

Joyce's wide, tear-filled eyes met his, the floodgates of her pain threatening to burst. "You can't get like this, okay?" Jonathan whispered, his voice breaking.

Joyce nodded, blinking rapidly, her breath shaky. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her grief and guilt.

Jonathan reached out, gently squeezing her shoulder. "No, it's okay," he reassured her softly, trying to hold back the emotion that was threatening to choke him. Elizabeth stood nearby, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears, trying to stay strong for both her brother and mother.

The silence was thick, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock on the wall, counting the seconds that seemed to stretch endlessly. Then, a sudden knock on the door broke through the tension, pulling them all from the heavy stillness. Joyce exchanged a quick glance with Jonathan and Elizabeth, her expression tightening with a flicker of hope - or maybe fear - before she moved toward the door, her footsteps hesitant.

When she opened it, she found Hopper standing on the porch, his face drawn with exhaustion, concern etched deep into his features. The sight of him, so familiar yet burdened by the same unrelenting worry that had consumed their lives, caused something inside her to unravel just a little more.

Joyce let out a deep sigh, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her anxiety and frustration. "We've been waiting six hours," she said, her voice a mix of relief and quiet exasperation, like she was finally letting out the breath she'd been holding.

"I know. I came as soon as I could," Hopper replied, stepping inside. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his tired eyes scanning the room as if searching for something to say that would offer even a shred of comfort.

"Six hours," Joyce repeated, the words thick with the ache of every passing minute. It wasn't just time - it was hope, slipping further away with each tick of the clock.

Hopper's expression softened, his voice low but steady. "A little bit of trust here, all right?" He let the silence settle between them for a moment, allowing the gravity of the situation to hang in the air. "We've been searching all night. Went all the way to Cartersville."

At the mention of Cartersville, Joyce's eyes widened with a mix of hope and dread, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. "And?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, the question filled with a desperate longing for good news, for anything.

Hopper's hesitation was enough to give her the answer before he even spoke. He took a deep breath, his face weary, worn down by the long hours and the lack of results. "Nothing," he finally admitted, the word landing like a stone in the pit of her stomach.

Joyce's breath hitched, and she turned her face away, as if hiding from the truth might make it less real. "God," she whispered, her voice breaking as the tears she'd been fighting to hold back finally spilled over, streaming down her cheeks.

Hopper shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting at his sides, before he cleared his throat. "Flo says you got a phone call?" he asked, steering the conversation toward something tangible, something he could try to make sense of.

Joyce sniffled, quickly wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Oh, yeah," she mumbled, her voice shaky as she led Hopper into the living room, where the phone sat, its handset blackened and burnt from the strange incident the night before. She motioned toward it, her hands trembling slightly.

Hopper crouched down, examining the phone with a furrowed brow, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Storm barbecued this pretty good," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Elizabeth, who had been standing quietly, listening to the conversation unfold, suddenly spoke up, her voice filled with disbelief. "The storm?" she exclaimed, stepping closer. She hadn't been home when the phone call came in, but even she knew this wasn't something a normal storm could do.

Hopper straightened up, confusion etched across his face. "What else?" he asked, his tone cautious, as if he already knew there was more to the story but wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

Joyce's eyes flashed with frustration, the same raw emotion she had been trying to suppress boiling to the surface. "You're saying that that's not weird?" she snapped, her voice rising as her fear bled into anger.

Hopper raised his hands in a gesture of calm, trying to defuse the situation before it escalated. "No, it's weird," he conceded, his voice measured.

"Can we, like, trace who made the call? Contact the-" Jonathan's words tumbled out, faster than his thoughts, fueled by the gnawing fear that had taken root in his chest.

Hopper cut him off, shaking his head, his voice calm but unwavering. "No, it doesn't work like that," he said firmly, grounding the moment in a cold reality none of them wanted to face. He paused, then glanced at Joyce, his expression softening as if he regretted what he was about to ask. "Now, uh, you're sure it was Will? Because Flo said you just heard some breathing."

"No. It was him. It was Will," Joyce said, her voice cracking with the weight of her certainty. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, as if holding on to the last piece of hope she had left. "And he was scared. And then something-"

Hopper, still holding onto his need for logic, interjected, "It was probably just a prank call. It was somebody trying to scare you."

Elizabeth felt her frustration boiling over. How could Hopper not see it? Her mom wasn't just imagining this - she knew.

"Who would do that?" Jonathan asked, his brows knitting together in confusion, anger tightening his chest. He didn't want to believe that someone could be so cruel.

Hopper let out a heavy sigh, as though he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders all night. "Well, this thing's been on TV. It brings out all the crazies, you know. False leads, prank calls..." His voice trailed off, and for a moment, it seemed like he wasn't even sure what to say anymore. The situation was spiraling, and he was trying to hold on to some kind of control.

"No, Hopper, it was not a prank. It was him." Joyce's voice wavered, but her eyes blazed with a fierce determination. Tears brimmed at the edges, threatening to spill over, but she refused to let them fall.

"Joyce," Hopper began gently, his voice trying to soothe, trying to reason with her.

"Come on, how about a little trust here?" Joyce's voice rose, her emotions pouring out. She was pleading now, not just with Hopper but with the universe, with anyone who would listen. "What, you think I'm... I'm making this up?"

"I'm not saying that you're making it up," Hopper replied carefully, as if he was walking on thin ice. "All I'm saying is it's an emotional time for you." He trailed off, his gaze dropping for a second, knowing how hurtful his words sounded, even if they were coming from a place of concern.

Joyce's eyes, wide with grief and anger, locked onto him. "And you think I don't know my own son's breathing?" Her voice was raw now, cracking under the pressure. She was unraveling. "Wouldn't you know your own daughter's?" The room seemed to hold its breath as her words hung in the air, sharp and undeniable.

Hopper's silence was answer enough. He didn't have a retort, just a lingering, heavy pause.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction things had taken. "You hear from, uh, Lonnie yet?" His tone shifted abruptly to business, a lifeline for both of them to grab onto.

Joyce's expression darkened. "No," she replied flatly, the name alone souring the air between them.

"It's been long enough. I'm having him checked out," Hopper said, already turning towards the door, his hand on the knob as if the conversation was over.

Joyce let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Oh, come on! You're wasting your time!" Her voice cracked with frustration.

Hopper, though, didn't stop. He gave them a nod, and with a look that said "stay strong," he stepped out the door, leaving behind a house filled with fear and unanswered questions. With a look back at his family, Jonathan ran out of the door after Hopper.

Elizabeth, who had been quiet up until now, crossed the room to their mother. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around Joyce, holding her close. "It's okay, Mom," she whispered, though her own voice was thick with unshed tears. "We'll find Will." She repeated the words like a mantra, as if saying them enough would make them true.

𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇, Elizabeth and Jonathan exchanged a solemn nod, an unspoken promise to each other to keep it together for just a little longer. The weight of the task ahead hung heavy between them, and without another word, they separated, each going their own way. Elizabeth turned on her heel, her hand clutching the stack of missing posters against her chest like a lifeline.

The familiar faces around her blurred into the background as she made her way down the crowded hallway. Conversations and laughter echoed around her, but it all felt distant, like she was moving through water. She didn't spare a glance at anyone, not Steve or his group standing near the lockers, or the people who cast sideways glances her way, whispering under their breath. The weight of the posters in her hands felt heavier with every step, as if each sheet was a reminder of Will's absence, of the days slipping by without any answers.

Her breath hitched as she caught sight of Cameron walking down the hall with his basketball teammates. For a brief moment, her heart skipped, and she froze. His presence tugged at memories she had tried to bury - late summer nights riding bikes through empty streets, hands clasped under starry skies, whispered promises that felt so real back then. Cameron smiled when he saw her, that same easy smile she used to love, and he gave her a nod before turning back to his friends.

Elizabeth's chest tightened. She forced herself to keep walking, her eyes forward, refusing to look back. She didn't return the nod. What was the point? They weren't those kids anymore, and no matter how much she wished she could reach back to those simpler times, they were gone. She felt foolish for even hoping that they could pick up where they left off, that somehow things could go back to the way they were before the world had shifted. Cameron was a stranger now, nothing more than a familiar face in the halls. They had drifted apart, and there was no going back.

She clutched the posters tighter, her knuckles white. She needed to focus on what mattered now - finding Will. That was all that mattered.

But as she walked, memories flooded her, uninvited and relentless. She remembered the way Cameron used to make her laugh so hard she'd cry, the way they'd sneak out just to sit by the quarry and talk about the future, about how nothing would ever change between them. She remembered the warmth of those moments, how safe they had felt, like the world was theirs and nothing could take that away.

But everything had changed. Will was missing. And Elizabeth was no longer that carefree girl dreaming about the future. Now, every day felt like a battle to keep it together, to not drown in the fear that gripped her every time she thought about her little brother out there, somewhere, alone. She had no room for nostalgia, no space for what-ifs or the hollow ache in her chest that came from seeing Cameron's smile and knowing it meant nothing anymore.

She pushed the memories aside, swallowing down the bitterness that rose in her throat. She had to stay strong. For Will. For her mom. For Jonathan. For herself. Dwelling on the past wouldn't bring her brother home.

As she rounded the corner, she didn't notice Cameron glance back at her, his smile faltering for just a second, a flicker of regret crossing his face. But it was gone just as quickly, and he turned back to his friends, picking up the thread of their conversation as if nothing had changed.

𝐀𝐒 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃, the familiar beat of The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" filled the car, the volume just loud enough to drown out the oppressive silence between them. Elizabeth leaned her head against the cool window, her eyes squeezed shut as the pounding in her head intensified. She counted to ten, then again, trying to chase away the growing headache - or was it the tears threatening to spill from her eyes? It was hard to tell anymore.

The music should've been a comfort. It was Will's favorite song, one he used to hum around the house, his small voice a light in the middle of all the chaos. Elizabeth could almost see him, bouncing into her room, wide-eyed and excited, telling her about the new songs Jonathan had shown him. "You'll love this one, Liz! It's so cool!" he'd say, dragging her by the hand to listen.

But the memories that once brought her joy now left her feeling hollow. She remembered how, on those nights when their parents' fights got too loud, Will would sneak into her room, his face pale, his small frame tense. He'd crawl into her bed, his little hands clinging to the blankets like they were a lifeline.

Elizabeth would reach for her guitar, her fingers moving instinctively over the strings, finding melodies that could drown out the shouting from downstairs. She would sing quietly at first, then louder, until the music was all they could hear. Will would relax beside her, his eyes fluttering closed, his breathing evening out as her voice carried him to sleep. For a while, the world outside her door would disappear, and it was just the two of them - safe, together, and untouched by the chaos.

Now, the absence of that chaos was almost more unbearable than the noise itself. The silence was suffocating, the stillness like a heavy blanket pressing down on her chest, making it harder to breathe with each passing second.

As the memories surged back, Elizabeth felt a lump rise in her throat. The ache of missing Will, the uncertainty of whether they'd ever see him again - it felt like too much. The weight of it all pressed down on her, crushing her spirit, threatening to shatter the fragile composure she'd been clinging to since the moment he disappeared.