Chapter 16

There’s no time to think. No words exchanged. Instinct kicks in. Maggie grabs her bike, Dustin and Lucas right behind her, and together they take off down the road, tires screaming against the gravel. Maggie knows in her gut this is the worst idea she’s had in days, but there’s no way she’s letting the kids go alone.

They race through the trees as fast as their legs will carry them, dirt kicking up behind their wheels, branches clawing at their jackets. The sky is dark now, clouded and heavy. The world feels suspended, like everything is holding its breath.

They reach the quarry and drop their bikes behind a firetruck, ducking behind the vehicle. Maggie’s heart pounds in her chest, nearly loud enough to drown out the murmuring cops.

Down by the water, a body is being pulled from the depths. Wet, limp, unmoving.

Will. Even from this far, even in the dimness, they can tell.

Mike gasps and stumbles back, “No, it’s not Will. It can’t be.”

Maggie’s stomach sinks like a stone in water. Tears well up fast, hot, and blinding. Her throat tightens as grief settles on her shoulders like a crushing weight.

“It’s Will,” Lucas whispers hoarsely, “It’s really Will.”

Lucas and Dustin collapse into Maggie, their small bodies trembling against her as she opens her arms and draws them in. She holds them tightly, their sobs muffled against her soaked jacket.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” she whispers, lying straight through her teeth. 

She doesn’t believe it, but they need her to say it. So she does.

She presses her forehead to the tops of their heads and silently taps into the aching grief. She draws it from them like she’s done with fear, with pain, letting it flow into her own chest like cold water. It nearly brings her to her knees. Her breath catches and the tears run freely, slipping down her face and dripping from her chin.

One hand covers her mouth to stop the sob that wants to rip from her throat. He was supposed to be okay. They were supposed to find him. Together.

“You were supposed to help us find him alive!” Mike’s voice suddenly cuts the air like a blade.

They turn to see him glaring at El. His face is red, contorted with heartbreak and betrayal.

“You said he was alive! You lied to us. What’s wrong with you? What is wrong with you?!”

“Mike…” El whispers, stepping forward slightly, her eyes full of guilt and confusion.

But Mike turns, grabs his bike from the dirt, and storms away from the quarry.

“Mike, come on,” Lucas pleads from Maggie’s side.

“Mike, don’t do this, man!” Dustin shouts, trying to follow but stopping short.

“Mike!” Maggie calls, her voice tight with emotion, but he’s gone, tires kicking up dust as he speeds into the trees.

The four of them are left standing behind the truck, silence creeping in again like fog.

Maggie wipes Dustin and Lucas’s faces gently, “You guys okay?” she asks, even though they clearly aren’t.

They nod, wordless and pale.

El stands a few feet away, frozen, her arms crossed over herself like she’s trying to hold herself together. Maggie walks to her, pulling her into a hug.

“You didn’t know,” she murmurs into the girl’s buzzed hair, “I know you didn’t know.”

El trembles in her arms but doesn’t cry.

After a moment, Maggie releases her, “You three go. Head home before they see us. I’ll catch up.”

They give her small nods and walk off slowly toward the bikes, El glancing back once before following.

Maggie turns around and locks eyes with Hopper across the quarry.

He’s walking toward her fast, face drawn in a scowl, something hard in his eyes. Her spine straightens instinctively, every nerve ending lighting up with dread.

She wipes the tears from her face and braces herself. This conversation isn’t going to be easy.

“Kid,” Hopper’s voice booms across the clearing as he stalks toward her, boots crunching over gravel, “What the hell are you doing here? Did you not listen to a word I said?”

Maggie startles, caught like a deer in headlights. Her eyes are bloodshot, cheeks raw from crying, and her arms still tremble faintly from holding the boys. 

She opens her mouth, trying to form a sentence, but all that comes out is a choked, “I—I followed the sirens. I thought… I thought we’d find him. That he was alive. That he wa—was okay. I—I…”

Her voice cracks and stutters with the weight of grief clawing up her throat. She clutches her own elbows tightly, shaking as if the words alone have sucked the warmth from her bones.

But then Hopper steps forward and pulls her into his chest.

Maggie doesn’t even resist. Her knees buckle and she collapses against him with a broken sob, her fingers curling into the back of his jacket as if holding on might stop the world from falling apart around her.

She hiccups through the tears, wracked with guilt and disbelief and that hollow kind of devastation that only comes when hope has just been ripped away.

Hopper holds her tightly. Not saying much. Just grounding her. His jaw clenched, his breath heavy with the weight of what he’s seen.

After a minute, he speaks, his voice softer now, no longer the clipped, authoritative tone she’s used to, “Go home, Maggie. Joyce and Jonathan are gonna need you now.”

She pulls back, tears streaking her face, and looks up at him.

“But… but what if they don’t want to see me right now?”

“You’re wrong,” he tells her gently, “They’ll need someone who understands. And that’s you, kid.”

Maggie gives him a small nod, lips trembling. She turns and moves to grab her bike but stops short, her hands shaking too badly to lift it. Hopper walks over, sighs, and gently takes it from her.

“C’mon,” he says, “I’ll give you a ride.”

He loads her bike into the back of his truck and helps her into the passenger seat. The drive is quiet, just the low hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from Maggie as she wipes her cheeks with the sleeves of her jacket. The streetlights blur past, distorted through her wet eyes.

By the time they pull up in front of the Byers’ house, the sun has disappeared, the whole street bathed in a heavy gray dusk. Hopper turns off the ignition and sits for a moment, watching the front porch.

“You ready?” he asks.

“No,” she whispers, “But I’ll go anyway.”

They walk up together. Hopper knocks gently. The door creaks open a few seconds later and Jonathan appears, eyes tired and confused.

“Chief?” he asks, glancing at Maggie and immediately sensing something’s wrong, “What’s going on?”

“Is your mom home?” Hopper asks as he and Maggie approach the door.

Jonathan stands half-in, half-out of the doorway, clearly rattled. His eyes are bloodshot, his voice a low murmur.

“Yeah… yeah, but she’s a mess,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “She’s rambling about some monster in the wall that chased her. I found her out on the road.”

Hopper’s expression tightens. He glances at Maggie, then nods, brushing past the boy with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

As soon as they step inside, the tension hits like a wall. Lamps, lanterns, strings of mismatched Christmas lights are strewn haphazardly across the living room. The couch is half-covered in tangled cords and torn newspaper. It looks more like a conspiracy bunker than a family home.

Joyce stands in the middle of it all, wild-eyed and shaking. Her hair is a mess, her shirt half-tucked and streaked with sweat and dust. The panicked look on her face sends a ripple of dread through Maggie’s chest.

“There was something in the wall,” Joyce blurts, pacing in tight circles, “It came out, it—it clawed through, I saw it. It was real. The lights flickered like crazy and then the whole wall just ripped open!“

“Joyce,” Hopper says, his voice carefully measured, “Look, I need to tell you something. I need you to hear me, okay?”

Joyce freezes mid-step, eyes darting between Hopper and Maggie like she’s expecting them to disappear if she blinks. Her breathing is shallow and fast. She doesn’t respond.

“A trooper found something,” Hopper continues slowly, like the words physically pain him, “In the water down at the quarry. The working theory right now is that Will… he crashed his bike. Made his way over there. And uh… he fell in. The earth must’ve given way.”

He swallows hard, jaw tight.

Joyce doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t cry. She doesn’t even seem to register the words.

“Joyce?” Hopper steps forward, “Joyce? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Finally, she  turns her head slightly toward him, her eyes glassy and distant. 

“No,” she says quietly, “Whoever you found… that’s not my boy.”

Maggie flinches. 

“Joyce,” she whispers, tears already stinging the corners of her eyes.

“No,” Joyce repeats, louder now, “You don’t understand. I talked to him. A half hour ago.”

She suddenly rushes to the wall, yanking open the small doors at the bottom. Her hands tremble as she pulls out a clump of Christmas lights, frayed cords and bulbs still tangled with tape and labels.

“He was here,” she insists, turning toward them with a manic gleam in her eyes, “He was talking to me. With these.”

“Talking?” Hopper asks, confused.

“One blink for yes, two for no,” she explains, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world.

Then she darts over to the wall where she’s painted the alphabet underneath more lights strung in a row.

“And then I made this,” she says breathlessly, gesturing to the letters, “so he could talk to me. He’s hiding. He’s scared. He’s in danger.”

“The thing that came out of the wall?” Hopper asks gently, “That chased you?”

Joyce nods furiously, voice cracking, “Yes! That thing…it was like a human but… not. It had these long arms and no face. It’s after him!”

Jonathan moves closer, his voice tight with emotion, “Mom, come on. Please. You’ve got to stop this.”

“You said it was some kind of animal?” Hopper asks carefully.

Joyce shakes her head, almost frantic now, “No. Not an animal. Worse. It was almost human, but wrong. Wrong bones, wrong skin. No eyes. No mouth. But it saw me. It saw me.”

Jonathan turns away, pressing his fist against his mouth to keep from crying out. His shoulders quake with the effort.

“Joyce,” Maggie cries, walking toward her, “I saw him… they pulled him from the water. He’s… gone.”

But Joyce shakes her head, tears running down her cheeks as she collapses into Maggie’s arms. Maggie lowers them both onto the couch slowly, cradling her like a child. She can feel the tremors of fear and panic radiating off her, sharp and jagged.

Maggie breathes deep and quietly draws some of the woman’s storm into herself, trying to soothe her just enough to allow her to hear.

Hopper kneels in front of them, his face open, vulnerable, scarred by his own past.

“After Sarah…” he starts, his voice catching, “I saw her too. Heard her. I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. But eventually… I realized it was my mind. And I had to let go. Otherwise, I’d fall down a hole I couldn’t climb out of.”

Joyce sniffles hard and shakes her head, “You’re talking about grief. This is different. I’m not hallucinating, Hop. I know what I saw. I swear to you.”

Hopper exhales, “I’m not calling you crazy.”

“I need you to believe me,” she begs, “Please.”

He glances at Maggie, then adds, “I think… you should go down to the morgue tomorrow. See the body yourself. Get the answers you need.”

Joyce flinches like the word body struck her.

“But tonight… try and rest, okay?” Hopper finishes as he rises.

He places a gentle hand on Maggie’s shoulder, “Take care of her. But don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

Maggie nods solemnly and hugs Joyce tighter as the woman begins to tremble in her arms again.

“Joyce,” she whispers, brushing the woman’s hair back, “I’m gonna go check on Jonathan, okay? Just rest for a bit. Please.”

Joyce doesn’t respond except to hold her hand tightly before letting it go.

Maggie rises and moves down the hall, her boots barely making a sound against the floorboards. She knocks twice on the last door.

“Guess who, Broody Tunes,” she calls softly, her voice laced with sadness.

She opens the door to find Jonathan sitting on the edge of his bed, back to her. His head is buried in his hands, shoulders slumped, his body curled in on itself like it’s the only way to survive the pressure caving in around him.

She takes a few steps closer.

“You know,” she starts gently, trying to keep her voice steady despite the ache still crushing her chest, “if I were a better person, I’d probably be asking if you wanted space right now.”

Jonathan still doesn’t move. His shoulders are slumped inward like he’s trying to disappear.

Maggie crosses the room and lowers herself to the floor beside him, resting her back against the bed. They sit in silence for a long time, just the occasional soft sniffle from Jonathan and the quiet thump of her heart in her ears.

“I used to think grief was like… thunder. Loud. Immediate. Something you heard and felt and then it passed,” she finally says, “But it’s more like fog, isn’t it? It rolls in slow and sits in your lungs. Makes it hard to breathe.”

Jonathan lets out a shaky breath, but still doesn’t speak.

She leans her head back against the side of the bed, “I really thought we were going to find him. I didn’t even let myself consider this. It felt impossible.”

His voice comes out hoarse, nearly broken, “I keep thinking… what if I’d gone with him? What if I’d just—just stayed home that night?”

Maggie turns to face him, pain settling into the creases of her brow, “You can’t do that to yourself.”

“I left him. I wasn’t there,” he whispers.

“You didn’t know,” she says quietly, “None of us did. We were all just… being kids. Living our lives. And we didn’t know the world was about to crack open underneath us.”

He finally lifts his head, eyes red and wet, and looks at her, “Mom’s falling apart. And now this thing with the lights, and the wall… she sounds insane. I know how it sounds, but I—I want to believe her. Because if she’s wrong, then he’s… really gone.”

“I’ve got this weird feeling,” Maggie says, firm and soft all at once, “I don’t know how to explain it, but I think there’s something going on. There’s something wrong here, something bigger than what we’re being told. But I’m not sure if that’s my mind trying to give me false hope.”

Jonathan swallows hard, dragging his sleeve across his face, “What do we do? What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“We hold each other up,” Maggie says, looking him in the eye, “Even when we feel like falling. Even when the world doesn’t make sense.”

For a long moment, he just stares at her. She nudges his shoulder gently with hers, “Whatever this is, whatever’s going on… I’m not letting you two face it alone.”

His mouth pulls into the tiniest smile, a shadow of what it once would’ve been, “Thanks, Maggie.”

She rises to her feet and reaches a hand out to him, “Come on. Let’s at least get you a glass of water or something. You look like you got run over by the grief bus.”

Jonathan takes her hand and lets her pull him up, “You’re really bad at this whole comforting thing, you know.”

“I’ve been told. Repeatedly,” she says, offering a tired grin.

They walk back down the hallway together, two worn silhouettes in the dimly lit house, each carrying a piece of the pain, and each helping the other survive it.

Back in the living room, Joyce is still sitting on the couch, staring into the distance. And somewhere inside Maggie, a seed of suspicion is beginning to take root, because if Joyce is right, and that wasn’t Will’s body in the water, then whatever took him is still out there.

Maggie retreats to her own room after bidding Jonathan goodnight when her phone rings.

She stares at it for a second, then reaches out slowly, bringing it to her ear without even saying hello.

“…Maggie?”

Nancy’s voice is soft. Fragile, like if she speaks too loud, she’ll shatter.

Maggie swallows hard, “Hey, Nance.”

There’s a pause, filled only by the faint hum of static on the line.

“I just… I heard,” Nancy says eventually, “About Will.”

“Yeah.” The word is a whisper. Maggie closes her eyes, voice rough and low. “It was bad.”

“I saw Mike when he got home. He wouldn’t even talk to me. Just locked himself in the basement.”

“Yeah,” Maggie repeats, “He’s wrecked.”

Another pause. Maggie shifts slightly, lying flat on her back now, the ceiling swimming above her.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks, barely audible.

Maggie lets out a shaky breath, “No.”

She waits for Nancy to say something. Anything. But instead, there’s just a quiet exhale on the other end of the line.

“You?” Maggie asks.

“I don’t know,” Nancy says, “Everything feels wrong. Like I’m still at that stupid party but the house is underwater.”

Maggie lets out the ghost of a laugh, “That’s weirdly accurate.”

Silence drifts between them again.

“I can’t stop thinking about Barb,” Nancy admits after a while, voice cracking, “She still hasn’t called. And now Will…”

“She’s probably mad at me,” Maggie says, eyes falling shut, “I kissed her and it ruined everything.”

“Don’t do that,” Nancy says immediately, “Don’t put this on yourself.”

Maggie’s lip trembles, and she presses her fist to her mouth.

“What if something did happen to her, Nance? What if she’s not just ignoring me? What if whatever took Will—what if it took her too?”

Nancy’s breath catches on the other end.

“You think that thing Joyce saw—”

“I don’t know what I think,” Maggie cuts in, “Hopper says it was just an accident. But I just…I don’t know. Something is off. There’s something about what she said”

For a few seconds, they just breathe together.

“Do you want me to come over?” Nancy asks softly.

Maggie opens her eyes. The offer touches something tender in her chest.

“No. I think I should stay here with Jonathan and Joyce. Just in case,” she murmurs, “But… thank you.”

Nancy’s voice is small, “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I’m not,” Maggie says gently, “But you can call again. If you need to.”

“You too.”

“I mean it,” Maggie adds, her voice barely above a whisper, “If Barb calls, or shows up, or if anything weird happens… let me know. I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will. I promise.”

Maggie closes her eyes again, hand resting on her chest like she’s trying to hold everything inside.

“I’m scared, Nance.”

“I am too.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” Nancy asks.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

The line clicks, leaving Maggie in the quiet again.

She sets the phone down, then rolls onto her side, pulling the blanket up over her head like a shield. But it does nothing to stop the gnawing feeling in her gut that something is unraveling, and whatever they’re standing on is getting thinner and thinner by the hour.