Soon enough, we're inside the elevator, though I barely remember how we got there, and are hurtling up towards the surface. Somewhere along the ride, it hits me that we've escaped the Russians, and I frown.

"We have to go back," I say to Dustin as Steve rides a dolley behind me with Robin cackling next to him.

"What? Why?" Dustin asks me sharply, and I stagger sideways as the lift shakes.

"I never said goodbye to Stalin!" I exclaim desperately, but the boy just rolls his eyes, as if this isn't important. I get offended that he doesn't believe in the special connection that I had with Stalin, and am about to say something accusatory when I'm taken out by the knees as Steve goes flying off the dolley and rolls across the floor.

"Wipeout!" Shouts Robin as I fall hard on my back and Steve hits a bunch of boxes next to him, and any thoughts of anger towards Dustin are replaced with giddy glee as I watch him approach my brother and feel his forehead.

"He's burning up."

"You're burning up," Steve retorts, trying to push Dustin away as the boy gropes at his face and checks his eyes.

"His pupils are super dilated," Dustin says to Erica, and I grab Steve's face, looking into his eyes but not seeing anything surprising.

"I declare him perfectly fine," I say, shoving his face away, "Not guilty. Cleared of all charges!"

"The jury declares him not guilty!" Robin exclaims, and Steve cheers with glee.

"Maybe he's drugged," suggests Erica, watching us with apparent disgust.

"Steve," Dustin says, slapping my brother's face lightly, "Are you drugged?"

"How many times, dad? I don't do drugs," Steve scoffs, "It's only marijuana."

"When I was your age I had a stable job!" I snap at Steve in a deep voice that imitates my father, "I had a wife and four children and an ass for a head."

Steve laughs, "An ass for a head! He's still got that!"

"Old habits die hard," I point out, and we both cackle profusely as Dustin rolls his eyes.

"This isn't funny, okay?" He says seriously, "I need to know what they did to you. Are you gonna die on us?"

Steve reaches up and taps Dustin's nose, "Boop."

I roll over with laughter, and Robin crouches down with an ominous stare.

"We all die, my strange little child friend," she deadpans, fiddling with her hair, "It's just a matter of how . . . and when."

Dustin stares at her for a moment before shaking his head in apparent exasperation and turning back to Steve.

"They're gonna be looking for us up there so I need you to tell me where you parked your car," he speaks slowly, as if talking to a small child.

"Oh, can we make a pit stop at the food court?" My brother asks, suddenly looking starving. I nod vigorously as Robin leans forward.

"I would kill for a hot dog on a stick," she says, and I groan at the thought, practically drooling.

"I would do more than kill." I shake my head gravely, and Steve looks at me.

"You can't do more than kill, idiot," he retorts, and I straighten up.

"You can torture," I say darkly, "I'd rather be killed dead than skinned alive."

"Fair enough," he agrees, nodding wisely before turning to Dustin, "I'd skin someone alive for a hot dog on a stick."

"All right, food. Yes," Dustin assures impatiently, "You can have as much food as you want, but only if you tell me where your car is parked."

"Tell him, Sam!" I shout, shaking my brother's shoulders.

"My name is Steve!" He shouts back, and I slump back onto the floor as Dustin rolls his eyes once more.

"Your car, Steve!"

"Sam!" I mumble angrily, but my brother is already answering the curly-haired boy.

"Uh-oh," he says.

"Uh-oh?" Dustin asks in sudden alarm, and Steve looks at him through a puffy eye.

"The car's off the board," he elaborates, his voice sounding funny from the way his head rests on his chest.

"What?" Dustin asks.

"They took the keys, the Russians took the keys," Steve explains, fishing through his pockets, and I sit up suddenly.

"We have to go back," I state once more, and Dustin looks at me in exasperation.

"I already told you, we're not saying goodbye to Stalin."

"No, they took my ice cream scooper," I spit angrily, standing up and wobbling over to the control panel, "Turn this car around! We're going back."

"My ice cream scooper!" Steve blurts as I trip on a box and go flying to the ground. Robin and I burst into laughter, me rolling over while my brother glares at me angrily, "You lost my scooper, not my scooper!"

"Don't cry about it," I drawl, log-rolling back over to him and looking at him upside down before deepening my voice to sound like my father once more, "You're a man now, Sam. You have to learn to be tough."

His angry expression turns to a gleeful one, and he points at my face while guffawing.

"You sound exactly like him."

"Can we focus, please!" Dustin interrupts loudly, and Steve and I look at him before glancing at each other and exploding into laughter once more.

"Yes, ma'am," I snicker, giving him a sloppy salute as Steve grins. I sit up again, reaching out and grabbing a chunk of Dustin's hair. He gives me a strange look as I pull on one of his curls and watch it bounce back towards his head, "Curly boy, curly boy . . ."

I sing the words a few times while playing with his hair before he pushes my hands away angrily.

"No! Not curly boy!"

"That's exactly what curly boy would say," I respond solemnly, and he gapes at me in apparent shock at my words before shaking his head and standing up. I continue to sing, and soon Steve and Robin join in, all of us rolling across the floor.

"Curly boy, curly boy, curly curly curly boy."

"He's a very curly boy, curly curly curly."

"Curly boy, curly boy . . ."

"Curly curly curly boy. Curly boy, curly boy, he's a very curly--"

WHAM.

I go flying into the air, landing hard on my tailbone and wincing with the pain as our singing is cut short by the stopping of the elevator. I close my eyes, rolling onto my stomach and groaning. Steve tugs on my arm to pull me up, but I shove him away.

"I want to go back to say bye to Stalin," I whine sadly, and soon Dustin is tugging on my arm as well.

"Liz, if you don't get up right now we're leaving you here."

"Good," I say, "maybe Stalin will find me. Or Freddie Krueger."

"Who's Freddie Kru. . . you know what? I don't care," Dustin sighs, dragging me by the arm out of the elevator with Erica's help. I try to hook my feet around the door to keep me inside, but soon we're out in the cold night air, and I breathe in deeply, my eyes snapping open.

"Oh my god, that tastes so good!" Robin says as she steps outside with my brother. I sit up, opening my mouth and grinning, "Steve, can you taste the air?"

"I taste it! I taste it!" My brother says, and I get to my feet, staggering out into the lot behind the mall and lapping up the oxygen gladly.

"That's better than ice cream," I moan, trying to breathe in as much as I can and closing my eyes to heighten my senses.

I'm snapped out of my daze when the sound of a gate clanging open reaches my ears, and I open my eyes to see two burly men approaching us with guns.

"Stop!" One shouts, and I grin as Dustin and Erica stagger backwards.

"Shit!" Dustin shouts, turning around, "Come on! Come on!"

"Stop right there!" The other man shouts, and Dustin pushes me in the direction of the door as Erica grabs Robin.

I spin around Dustin and stumble out into the open, pointing at the men running our way.

"Liz!" Dustin shouts as I grin.

"I have a gun too!" I say, making my fingers into a pistol and pretending to shoot at them. They don't stop sprinting, and just as I'm about to be tackled by the man closest, Erica grabs my sleeve and tugs me sideways and towards a door.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Robin shouts as Erica grabs her too.

"Why are we running?" Steve questions as Dustin pushes him through a door.

"Yeah, I totally had it under control!" I say as I too am shoved inside. I lower my voice to a loud whisper, "The gun wasn't real."

"No, really?" Asks Dustin dryly as he slams the door and we begin sprinting.

"They didn't know that, though!" I shout after him, Robin giggling as we stumble around corners and through doors. We can hear clattering behind us, and the Russian men continue to shout. I feel my legs burn, but it's almost as if they aren't really there. Somehow I'm able to keep running.

"You know why the Russians haven't caught us yet?" I ask as we hurtle around another corner, Steve slamming into the wall and bursting into laughter.

Robin turns to me, "Why?"

"Because," I grin, "they're always Stalin."

Robin makes a noise of glee, while Steve frowns.

"I thought they were always Russian."

"Well, that too," I answer, and we all burst into laughter again, trying to keep up with Erica and Dustin.

"Where are we going?" Erica asks Dustin, grabbing Steve as he runs into another wall and pulling him along.

"Just trust me," Dustin says, tugging me as I head down a different hallway and forcing me in front of him.

We stop at a door that I vaguely recognize, and Dustin puts a finger to his lips.

"Is this the bathroom?" I whisper shout, "Because I really need to pee."

"No, it's not the bathroom," Dustin grumbles, and I groan as he pushes past me to open the door a crack and look both ways.

"All clear," he mutters after a moment, grabbing my wrist and pulling me through. The others follow, and we come out into the movie theatre, tiptoeing around the corner and into one of the cinemas. Dustin suddenly stops ahead of me, and I go slamming into him, hearing a movie playing loudly in the room we enter.

"Come on," he beckons, and I look up at the screen to see a film I don't recognize playing.

"Is this Indiana Jones?" I question, and Steve nods.

"Temple of Terror," he says wisely, and Robin shakes her head.

"No, it's Temple of Fear," she corrects, and I shake my head.

"It's Temple of Death."

"Would you guys shut up?" Dustin asks, pushing us down the aisle and pointing at seats in the front row, "this isn't Indiana Jones. Now sit."

"No no no, these seats are too close!" Robin complains as I plop down in the one closest to the middle.

"Dude, these seats blow," Steve says angrily through a mouthful of popcorn. Where he got it I have no clue.

"Then don't watch the movie," Dustin argues.

"We wanna watch it."

"Then watch it!"

"Shhhh," Interrupts a guy behind us, and Steve, Robin, and I shush him in return.

"I'm trying to watch Temple of Horror," I snap at him, and he gives me a quizzical look before leaning back in his seat.

"Whatever you do," Dustin continues, "don't . . . go . . . anywhere."

"Fine, Dad," Steve scoffs, and Robin and I burst into laughter.

I turn back to the screen as Dustin and Erica leave. The colours look so saturated and three dimensional that instantly I'm put in a trance.

"Wait wait wait," Steve says to me over Robin, a huge grin on his face as he gestures to the screen, "Liz. This—" he bubbles with laughter and shakes his head, "—this isn't Indiana Jones."

I look to him, then the screen, then back at him before wheezing with laughter. Robin joins in, and soon all three of us are collapsed on one another, struggling to breathe. I shove my hand in Steve's popcorn and stuff my face, only now realizing how hungry I am. I turn to them.

"Guys . . ." I start, "how did we get here?"

Their eyes widen as they shake their heads.

"I have no idea."

We all start laughing again, getting shushed once more by the man behind us, which only makes us laugh harder.

"What's going on in this movie?" Robin asks, and we all look back to it, me narrowing my eyes at the man on the screen with the crazy white hair.

"I don't know," I shake my head, "but that guy looks like Hopper."

"Oh my god!" Steve cackles, "He totally does!"

"I wonder what Hopper is doing right now," I say thoughtfully, thinking back to the last breakfast I had with him. With Mike and Eleven broken up, he's probably on cloud nine.

"Wait wait wait," Robin cuts in, "who's Hopper?"

"The big bad chief of police." Steve puffs out his chest and talks in a deep voice as I snicker.

"He's like a large toad," I explain, and Steve snaps at me.

"He totally is!"

All three of us implode into laughter again, and we die down after about two full minutes, at which point we indulge in the movie once more.

"I have to pee," I whisper loudly, and Steve leans over Robin.

"I'm thirsty," he adds, and we all share looks before coming to the same silent conclusion and standing up.

"Come on," Robin grabs me, and all three of us make our way out of the theatre and to the open lobby. I rush into the bathroom, relieving myself before washing my hands and staring at myself in the mirror. I feel like there's a fire brewing in my belly. I'm warm and fuzzy and it's sort of like I can feel the world spinning on its axis. The girl in the mirror has a bloody face and hair that's sticking out at odd angles. I can't comprehend that it's me, so instead I look away and at my hands, giggling lightly. They look so wrinkly and small, like newborn a rat's. I find myself laughing for what seems like a while.

All of a sudden there are running footsteps, and Steve and Robin come barrelling into the bathroom, collapsing into separate stalls and retching into the toilets. I turn to them slowly and frown.

"Wh—what? Why are you . . ."

"The ceiling!" Steve exclaims before blowing more chunks, and I frown, not liking the sounds of them throwing up and deciding to leave. I head out of the bathroom, my feet stumbling over each other as I go. The mall is decently empty, as it closes soon, and I look down at the small crowds of people before seeing someone I know. It's Jonny, and he's looking right up at me. I immediately duck behind the railing, covering my mouth to try and prevent a fit of giggles and beginning to crawl on the floor in the opposite direction. I make my way across the carpeted surface until deeming myself in the clear and standing.

I head around the corner to the same phone that Dustin pretended to use back when we thought the jazzercise guy was an evil Russian. That feels so long ago.

I dial my home number. For some strange reason, I want to talk to my father.

While it rings, I look around, momentarily distracted by the lights everywhere. My jaw falls open, and I sigh in awe, watching them spin.

"Hello?" Comes a woman's voice.

"Wha—dad?" I frown, turning my attention back to the receiver, "Wow, you sound really different on the phone."

"Is this . . ." The voice trails off, sounding breathless.

"No, seriously. Like, did you just suck the helium out of a balloon?"

"Elizabeth?"

I freeze, somewhere in my head is a chisel picking away at a wall that has been up for about seven years. Somewhere deep in my brain, a dam has broken, memories flooding my mind. I choke on my words, nearly dropping the phone as I feel, for a split second, more sober than I ever have before.

"Mom?"

Word count: 2749