Chapter 21

Shadows rise from the edges of the trees, all armored, all armed. Guns aimed. Voices bark in unison.

“DON’T MOVE!”

Hopper curses under his breath. Joyce makes a sound like she’s trying not to scream.

Maggie raises her hands and mutters, “And here I was worried this would be boring.”

“Let me do the talking,” Hopper hisses, already kneeling.

“Please do,” Maggie replies, “Because if I do the talking, I’m going to ask where they get their night vision goggles.”

They’re all cuffed. Maggie, of course, makes the process as difficult as possible, humming the Jeopardy! theme while being frisked, and asking one soldier if he’s a Pisces.

The soldiers separate them wordlessly and drag Maggie down a sterile, humming corridor. She catches glimpses of white-tiled walls, flickering fluorescents, the unmistakable echo of a place that should have stayed buried.

They shove her into an interrogation room and slam the door behind her.

Maggie is alone. Her hands are still cuffed behind her back. She’s seated at a cold metal table with nothing on it. There’s a one-way mirror on the wall to her left.

She sighs, loudly, “Well. This room could use some color. Maybe a fern. A little art deco? No? Okay.”

She shifts in the chair, tries to glance at her reflection in the mirror, “If someone’s watching, blink twice. Or play the ‘X-Files’ theme. I feel like that would really set the tone.”

The door opens without warning.

In walks a man in a white shirt and dress pants. His hair is snow-white and his expression is impassive.

Maggie narrows her eyes, “Ah. You must be the crypt keeper.”

Dr. Brenner doesn’t smile, “Miss…?”

She smiles tightly, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He sets a file down on the table, but when he opens it, it’s empty. He stares at her.

“There’s no record of you. No license. No social security number. No hospital records. No birth certificates. You don’t exist.”

“Thank you!” Maggie gasps, “Finally, someone sees me.”

Brenner leans forward, “You’re not a ghost, Miss…”

She leans in to match him, “It’s Maggie and no. But I’ve auditioned.”

He doesn’t blink, “What are you doing with Jim Hopper?”

“Are you asking why someone would willingly be around that grumpy man-bear with a mustache? Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You know Will Byers. You lived with him.”

The smile slips, just a hair.

“He’s a kid,” she says coolly, “And I like kids. They’re small and dramatic. He’s sort of my brother. We get along.”

Brenner turns toward the mirror.

“She’s not cooperating,” he says flatly.

Maggie rolls her eyes, “Sorry, do you want me to sing? I can do ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ with voices.”

The door bursts open and two agents enter, one with a baton, the other with something that looks suspiciously like a taser.

Maggie frowns, “Okay, no offense, but your hospitality sucks.“

“Restrain her,” Brenner says, already walking out.

The taser crackles.

Maggie grins even as they grab her arms, “This is unnecessary, I promise. I’ve only mildly broken several laws.”

“Hold still.”

“Oh, do you tase all the girls who don’t exist, or am I just lucky?”

The shock hits her and she sees stars.

“Ouch! You know that kinda hurt,” she chokes out.

“Who are you?” Brenner presses.

“I’m Maggie, your friendly neighborhood Spider-man,” she answers.

“Again,” Brenner orders.

Another bolt of electricity crackles through her chest and limbs. Maggie convulses. Her knees bang against the metal chair. The fluorescent lights overhead smear into streaks of white.

She gasps raggedly. For a second, her entire body sags like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Ow,” she croaks, “Okay. Soooo… not a fan of that one. You know you could’ve just asked if you wanted my number so bad.”

Brenner doesn’t react. Behind him, one of the agents shifts uncomfortably. The other keeps a firm grip on the taser.

“You’re not in any of our systems,” Brenner says, “Not DMV. Not social. Not census. Nothing.”

“Wow,” she wheezes, “So I’m off the grid and you tase me. No wonder aliens don’t visit.”

His voice lowers, “You’re not a civilian.”

Maggie raises her head slowly. Her hair is clinging to her cheek with sweat, but her smile is still there.

“I mean, unless you count Girls Scouts.”

He gestures at the agent. The taser crackles again.

This time, when it hits, the lights in the room flicker for a second. A single buzz of electricity runs through the ceiling, the bulbs stuttering and whining like something inside them doesn’t like this.

No one notices except Brenner. Maggie slams back against the chair, breathing hard.

“God,” she rasps, “You’re really committed to the villain aesthetic, huh? All that’s missing is a monocle and a cat.”

Brenner steps forward. He studies her like a specimen.

“You know Will Byers. You arrived without warning, connected to the boy in another dimension, and inserted yourself into the lives of people under surveillance. The odds of coincidence are zero.”

Maggie lifts her head again. Her eyes are glassy and a grin is smeared across her face like graffiti.

“Or maybe I’m just really likable.”

He ignores her.

“Your hair is unusual. Do you have abilities?” he asks.

“I have the ability to tell when someone’s compensating.”

He doesn’t blink, “Have you ever seen things that aren’t there? Done things you can’t explain?”

Then she laughs again, “Sure. Once I saw a pigeon that looked like Danny DeVito.”

Brenner turns to the agents, “Put her under.”

“Wait—hey—hey! You guys already tased me! I’ve paid my dues! I deserve a juice box or something—”

A needle pierces her neck before she finishes. The room tilts sideways, the walls stretching like taffy, and everything blinks out.

She’s unconscious. But her brain is not.

The EEG monitor next to her spikes wildly, readings dancing across the screen in jagged, impossible patterns. Technicians whisper to each other as the data prints out, strange waveforms, inconsistent with normal human activity.

“She’s reacting to nothing,” one tech whispers.

“She’s dreaming,” says another.

“No,” says the third, staring at the screen, “She’s responding.“

A bulb in the adjacent hallway bursts with a pop. Somewhere, a siren beeps and then silences itself.

Brenner watches her through the reinforced glass.

“No record,” he murmurs to himself, “But… there’s something there.”

One of the techs leans forward, “Should we stop?”

Brenner smiles thinly.

“No. Run the rest. Full panel. Bloodwork. MRI. I want to know what she is before we release her.”

Maggie lies motionless on a metal gurney, bathed in blue-white fluorescent light. Electrodes are attached to her temples and chest. Her face is calm now, no trace of the sharp tongue or manic sparkle from earlier.

But the readings? Not calm. Not even close.

“She’s stabilized, sir,” one technician reports, sweat beading on his brow, “Vitals holding. Heart rate normal. But her—her neurological data is…”

He trails off.

Another tech swivels a monitor so Brenner can see for himself. Brainwave patterns spike across the screen in erratic, powerful surges.

“She’s showing synchronized prefrontal activation and elevated alpha power in a sustained cycle,” the tech says, voice taut, “That kind of activity usually only shows up under high-stress or in abnormally powered subjects.”

Brenner narrows his eyes, “But she’s unconscious.”

“Yes, sir. And has no known history. No training. She’s either faking it—”

“She isn’t.”

The room falls quiet.

Brenner watches Maggie for a moment longer, her brow twitching lightly, like she’s dreaming.

“No tattoos. No ID. No registry. Nothing. She doesn’t belong to any program we know.”

He steps back from the glass, hands clasped behind his back, and exhales once.

“I want full blood analysis, genetic sequencing, and I want it cross-referenced against Project Indigo and every Hawkins file from the late seventies to now.”

“Sir,” the younger tech murmurs, “if she’s not one of ours… then what is she?”

Brenner doesn’t answer.

Hopper stands across from Brenner, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight.

“She’s just a kid,” Hopper growls.

“She’s not a ‘kid,'” Brenner replies, “She’s an anomaly. Possibly dangerous. Certainly unknown.”

“She’s coming with us.”

Joyce sits beside Hopper, arms crossed, eyes red from stress but burning with conviction, “She’s the only one Will trusts besides us.”

Brenner considers this, “The child is lost somewhere in the void. The gate is unstable. If we let her in and she becomes a liability—”

“She won’t,” Hopper cuts in, “She helped us. She’s going. That was the deal.”

Brenner looks at him flatly, “You’re gambling a lot on someone you don’t understand.”

Hopper leans forward, “Yeah. Feels like we’ve both done that before.”

“She goes in. With you. But if she deviates… if I get so much as a flicker of abnormality…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

Hopper nods once, “Noted.”

Maggie wakes up groggy and disoriented. Her wrists are free now, but there are still faint red lines where the cuffs had been.

She sits up slowly on a bench near a row of lockers, pulling the collar of her borrowed jacket tighter around her neck. Everything smells like antiseptic and metal.

A pair of boots thuds beside her. She looks up and it’s Hopper.

“You alright?”

Maggie squints at him, “I’ve been tased twice, blood-tested, probably scanned by a microwave, and I think someone brushed my hair back at one point, which I did not consent to.”

He cracks a rare, crooked grin, “Still got that mouth, huh?”

“Yeah, until you let them tase me again.”

He tosses her a granola bar, “You’re coming with us.”

Her eyes narrow, “Wait, seriously? I passed the vibe check?”

“You passed a check,” he mutters, “Not sure what kind.”

Joyce walks over and envelopes Maggie in a bear hug, “We have to leave now. And we’re gonna have a talk after all this.”

Maggie stands up, wobbling slightly, then rolls her shoulders.

“Cool. Love field trips into interdimensional voids.”

Four armed soldiers lead Hopper, Joyce, and Maggie down a stark white hallway that smells like bleach. The group stops in front of a room.

Inside, a grim-looking scientist gestures to a row of hazmat suits hanging on the wall like oversized dolls.

“What is this?” Hopper asks, his tone already suspicious.

“Protection,” the scientist replies blandly, “The atmosphere is toxic.”

Joyce steps forward, voice cracking, “But my son’s in there. He’s breathing it—he’s—”

“Put it on,” Hopper tells her quietly, reaching for the suit closest to him without waiting for more explanation.

Joyce hesitates, hands shaking, but grabs the suit next to his.

Maggie, meanwhile, picks hers off the hook and dramatically throws the helmet under one arm like a soldier reporting for duty, “Now this is peak fashion. I think I actually really pull this off,” she says, striking a stiff runway pose in the middle of the sterile room.

Joyce lets out a soft, strangled laugh, even as her eyes brim with tears, “Only you.”

The suits hiss as they zip up. The trio is ushered into a freight elevator that descends slowly. The lights dim as they go down, down, down into the hidden underbelly of Hawkins Lab.

At the bottom, the doors groan open into shadow.

Their flashlights flicker to life. The walls pulse with dark vines, spiderwebs of organic matter, all of it slick and breathing. Ash floats in the air, suspended in slow, eerie spirals like snow in reverse.

Maggie wrinkles her nose beneath her helmet, “Well, this is… unpleasant.”

They move quietly, boots squelching on soft ground that isn’t quite soil. And then, there it is.

The gate.

A pulsing, veined anomaly in the wall, fleshy and wet. Red light pulses faintly beneath its thick membrane. They all stare at it.

Maggie grins behind her mask, casting a sideways glance at Hopper, “Ladies first.”

He sighs through his comm, “You’re lucky I don’t believe in curses.”

With that, he steps through the barrier, swallowed instantly by the fleshy membrane.

Maggie reaches for Joyce’s hand and squeezes gently, voice soft, “Don’t think. Just go.”

Joyce nods tightly, and together, the two women step through.

On the other side, they’re met with a cold so sharp it feels like being scraped raw. The sky is a colorless void, and a strange crackling buzzes in the air.

Joyce’s breathing quickens, visible in the freezing air. Her hands tremble as she tries to find her bearings.

“Deep breaths,” Hopper says into the mic, “In through the nose, Joyce.”

Joyce nods, clutching her flashlight like it might anchor her.

Maggie reaches out instinctively to soothe her, but Hopper catches her wrist.

“Whatever you’re about to do… don’t,” he warns, “Brenner is watching like a hawk.”

Maggie nods reluctantly. She curls her fingers inward, pulling her hand back. They push forward into the forest. Every step squelches in a layer of dark, damp ash.

What feels like hours pass in silence. Then Hopper freezes, pointing his flashlight downward.

“What the hell is that?”

A cracked, leathery shell half-buried in the underbrush.

“I do not wanna know what came out of that thing,” Maggie says, grimacing.

They continue onward until they stumble upon Castle Byers, or what’s left of it. Joyce runs toward the ruined fort.

“Will! Will!”

Her voice cuts through the empty trees like a knife, but the fort is empty. They press on.

A distant screech rips through the air, followed by the rattling of vines.

“Do you hear that?” Hopper says.

The sound leads them to the Upside Down version of the Byers house. It looks like a haunted photograph soaked in black veins and fleshy webbing. As they step inside, the Christmas lights above them flick on.

And on the floor is a huge black bloodstain.

“It was hurt,” Hopper mutters, inspecting it.

They push forward.

“Is that you?” a faint voice echoes through the space.

Maggie spins around, “Jonathan?”

But Hopper cuts her off, “Let’s go. Come on.”

She follows, but the hair on her arms stays raised. Something is bleeding through.

They follow the blood trail through the shadowy, frozen town until it leads them to the dark shell of the public library. Inside, the vines are thicker.

They shine their lights into a large chamber.

Human bones. Half-eaten, curled into webbed corners. What Maggie sees next makes her heart stop.

“Barb…”

The breath punches from her lungs like she’s been struck. Barb’s body is tangled in the webbing. Maggie stares, paralyzed.

“Hey, hey,” Joyce says gently, turning Maggie into her shoulder, “Don’t look. Don’t—”

She clings to Joyce for just a second. Then pulls away. Grief gets stuffed down like a knife under the ribs. Later, she tells herself. Later.

Because Joyce’s voice cracks open with a scream, “WILL! OH MY GOD, WILL!”

Against the wall, half-cocooned in vines, is Will Byers. A thick black tendril snakes from his mouth into the darkness.

Maggie moves instantly.

She grabs the tendril and tugs with Hopper joining her. It resists, slimy and writhing like a snake fighting to stay buried and then it snaps loose. Hopper tosses the thing and fires until it stops moving. Joyce falls to her knees, catching her son.

“He’s not breathing, he’s not breathing!” she wails.

“I need you to tilt his head back,” Hopper says urgently, dropping beside her.

But Maggie steps forward and pushes him aside.

“No,” she says, “I’ve got this.”

“Maggie—no. They might—”

“Non-negotiable,” she snaps, “I can heal him.”

She peels off her gloves and her helmet. The cold air hits her like a slap, but she doesn’t flinch.

Maggie’s bare hand presses to Will’s chest, and the cold bites at her skin like the Upside Down is trying to crawl into her bloodstream. His skin is stiff and chalky like it hasn’t remembered warmth in days.

“C’mon, Sunshine,” she murmurs, “Don’t make me look uncool in front of Hopper.”

She closes her eyes and everything else falls away. The moment her power reaches out, it strikes like a current.

Her back arches with the force of it, and her breath punches out of her lungs. Her veins glow a silvery blue, emanating all over her body. They glow brighter, pushing warmth into Will’s chest, deeper and deeper.

She gasps sharply as it hits. A crushing cold and pain that isn’t hers.

Her limbs go heavy. Her head swims. Her heart thunders too fast and then too slow. Each pulse she gives to Will pulls something out of her in return. Every breath she forces into his lungs steals one from her own.

Will’s skin begins to change subtly. A flush of pink creeps into his cheeks. The blueness of his lips fades slightly.

Joyce gasps, “Oh my God—he’s—!”

Will sucks in a ragged, choking breath and starts coughing, violently, like he’s forcing the Upside Down out of his lungs.

Maggie stumbles back, disoriented, and drops onto her side.

“Maggie!” Hopper grabs her before she hits the ground.

Her whole body is trembling. Her skin is pale and clammy now, lips tinged the same soft blue Will had just moments ago. She coughs twice and presses a hand to her chest like something is squeezing it from the inside.

“Breathing is for amateurs,” she jokes weakly.

Hopper eases her against his chest, “You idiot. That was reckless.”

She blinks slowly, “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

Will groans weakly as Joyce rocks him in her arms, crying quietly, whispering his name over and over.

“He’s alive,” she says through sobs, “You did it. Maggie, you did it.”

Maggie gives a dazed smile, “Cool. Just remind me to never do that again without a warm-up.”

The cold is in her bones now. Her fingers are stiff and every breath hurts. She took just enough so he could wake up.

She leans her head against Hopper’s chest and closes her eyes, the heavy hum of the Upside Down still thick in the air.