( ◄ II ► ) TRACK ELEVEN
the aura

( The Body, Part II )

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⠀⠀⠀⠀THE CLOCK ON THE WALL seems to grow eyes and stare back at Thorn from above, its pendulum swinging with a dull thrum his eyes follow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Ripples of afternoon light and shadow paint the room as the sun crawls over Bradley Avenue, steadily setting and making his house grow dim. He'd slept almost the entire day—both Hopper and Joyce, separately, had been right in suggesting be get some rest last night. And for his dismissiveness, he'd paid the price.

⠀⠀⠀⠀He woke up an hour ago feeling awful, forcing himself to sit upright by the elbows. He cursed himself for rising too fast, too soon—nausea pulled him into its old embrace like an unwanted hug.

⠀⠀⠀⠀He feels nauseas even still, while staring at that dull, inanimate clock. It's an insult, really. Time is the very thing Will Byers doesn't have. He's still out there... somewhere. Thorn has to believe he is.

⠀⠀⠀⠀If not for Will, then for Joyce.

⠀⠀⠀⠀It's hard not to think of Will as truly gone when, unlike Thorn and Joyce, the townspeople of Hawkins have no reason to believe otherwise. Briefly, Thorn had bothered to turn on the TV and check the local chatter on the news. Sure enough, reporters spoke of Will Byers; a young, bright boy who'd fallen into—and later drowned—in the quarry, whose body was found late last night.

⠀⠀⠀⠀The image that then flashed up onscreen of the supposed crime scene—a waterlogged ditch at the bottom of a short cliff—had sent Thorn's head spinning. It was all too real, too perfect, too... convenient. How was he to believe the night both he and Joyce communicated with Will—supposedly days after he'd disappeared and had drowned—his body was coincidentally found?

⠀⠀⠀⠀Something was terribly off.

⠀⠀⠀⠀...Even that pendulum stops.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn, sitting at the dining room table, quits slouching. He squints at the clock-face. Alas, the two hands are stuck at 5:12.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Weird," he mutters to himself.

⠀⠀⠀⠀A voice replies, "What's weird?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀For a brainless second, Thorn mistakes it as the clock talking back to him. But then he's remembering the landline phone he's been holding in his hand for the past five minutes, and moreover, the someone on the other end of the call.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Uh," Thorn fumbles, slouching back again, "batteries in the clock just died, is all."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Stop staring at it then," remarks the warbling voice of Jay from the other side of the line. "It probably broke 'cause it got depressed just looking at you."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Ha, ha." Thorn glances at the clock one last time (He can't help it) before letting it go. His eyes meet the cold, untouched mug of coffee before him on the table, where he begins to count the number of cracks on the handle. "Sorry. Where were we again?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Well, Space Boy, the year is nineteen eighty-three, the Russians are conspiring against the Americans, and World War Three may very well be imminent. The weather forecast is nice down here on Earth, though, should you return."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Sorry," says Thorn, again. He really does lives up to this 'Space Boy' nickname—and not just because he's a fan of cosmology. "You were, um, saying something about having to give a speech?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Right... the speech thing," Jay says grimly. "I guess I was lookin' for a second opinion."

⠀⠀⠀⠀A second opinion. Though he often thought his own opinions weren't worth shit anymore, Thorn still had a lot of sympathy to give. His preferred method of advice was by stirring one's thoughts toward their own solution, such as asking someone a series of questions until they realize they'd had the answer within them all along.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Okay," he says, "then... you should do it."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"The speech?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Whatever it is you think is best."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Gee, thanks for your wisdom."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I mean it," states Thorn assuringly. "The principal wants you to give a eulogy at Will's funeral, supposedly to represent the school, just because... what? Because you're the captain? That part's meaningless."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"It's bullshit."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"You're not even Christian."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Jay's snicker is quiet, noncommittal. "My Jewish ass will just have to sit at the back of the pews. I spoke to Jonathan, and he..." He trails off, despondency evident in his tone. "He agreed I should speak at Will's wake. Said he'd appreciate it."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Christ... Poor Jonathan. In the short time Thorn was at the Byers' residence last night, he hadn't seen or heard Jonathan even once.

⠀⠀⠀⠀As pinpricks of tears threaten to sprout out of his eyes, Thorn makes the stubborn effort to raise his head. "Listen, J.P..." he tries, "whether you decide to stand up there or not, I'll be glad it's you. You know Will. You're like a brother to him."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Was..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Will isn't—"

⠀⠀⠀⠀Dead, he almost lets slip. How he wishes he could tell someone—Jay especially—what he knows.

⠀⠀⠀⠀By the time Thorn finds his voice again, he has counted thirteen cracks in the handle of the mug. "You wanna know what I think? I think... that no one's ever really gone. You carry a part of them with you, and that keeps them alive somehow."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Of course you'd think that," remarks Jay, sounding especially sympathetic. "You're you. And I'm... Well. I'm not good with words. That's you, man; the natural poet. You should be the one giving the speech at Will's funeral. You always know what to say."

⠀⠀⠀⠀At that moment, Auggie's voice chimes in from Jay's end of the call to say, "Except when he doesn't."

⠀⠀⠀⠀She and Jay are at Hardware Blue's, which, funnily enough, Jay had not technically been banned from despite Auggie's dad having fired him. Thorn can perfectly envision his friends together now: Auggie, standing next to Jay on her tiptoes, their heads pressed together ear to ear as they listen in on the phone. Sure enough, the audible sound of Jay shushing the girl and asking her to 'scooch over' is heard a moment later, to which Thorn cracks a smile.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Jay's voice returns. "We missed you at school today. You sure you don't want us to come over?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"My mom made soup," adds Auggie.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"No, it's—" Thorn pinches the growing ache between the bridge of his nose. "It's fine. I'm fine. I'm not... sick. But Jane is, so..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Right," grumbles Auggie. "Her."

⠀⠀⠀⠀He hates to lie them, truly. Given the new development in Will's fate, however (at least, that which the public now believes), Thorn couldn't very well admit he'd stayed home because he'd actually talked to Will, and was both now mentally and physically exhausted. And so he'd lied to his friends, touting Jane and her return as the source of his withdrawal from society. The irony being, she isn't even home. She, along with Regan, had apparently left long before Thorn arose.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Well," Jay says with a start, "if that step-nightmare of yours ends up giving you any more grief, you're welcome at my place any time."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Mine, too," insists Auggie. "Oh, actually! That reminds me—"

⠀⠀⠀⠀RRR–ING! The recognizable chiming of the doorbell sounds off at the front of the house. Thorn's surprise must be audible, because his friends are both asking, "What's wrong?" at the exact same time, like siblings fighting over phone privileges.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Someone's at the door."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Sure enough, there comes a second ring. Whoever it is, they quickly forgo using the bell entirely and start gently knocking on the door.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Well," says Jay, "are you going to answer it?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn deflates. "Ehh..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Thorn!" exclaims Auggie, making him flinch a little. "Don't be a ninny. Go and answer the door like a proper civilian."

⠀⠀⠀⠀He wishes she could see his eye roll.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"And don't roll your eyes at me!"

⠀⠀⠀⠀Welp.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Yes, mother," he snickers, sliding out of his chair and getting to his feet. "I'm going. I'll catch you guys later, I guess—"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Oh, wait—!"

⠀⠀⠀⠀He isn't exactly sure who spoke this time, but he pauses for them, anyway. What sounds like a scuffle soon ensues on the other side of the call as his two friends try to pry the phone away from one another.

⠀⠀⠀⠀It's Auggie who appears victorious. "Thorn," she continues, "you have to come into work tonight or my old man will seriously fire you for missing so many nights. Remember, he's pushed our shifts back by an hour, so you gotta be here by—"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Eight o'clock," he finishes. He'd already made a mental note of it hours earlier—a strange feeling, to be honest, knowing he should and must return to his day-to-day life as if nothing happened. "I'll be there. And Jay? If you can still hear me, try not to stress about that speech. I know you'll do what you think is best."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Yeah. Maybe..." mumbles Jay, still uncertain. "I guess I have a speech to write. Thanks, man."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Auggie adds, "I'll save you some soup!"

⠀⠀⠀⠀With that, Thorn places the phone back onto the receiver and heads for the front door in the other room. Knocking has fallen away to ringing again. Whatever this damn visitor wants, it must be awfully important.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" Thorn calls. He's still dog-tired—and that goes without mentioning the splitting headache. "Cut it out with the damned doorbell!"

⠀⠀⠀⠀At the door, he unlocks and practically swings it open, squinting against a painful glow of white-grey sky through the mesh screen. A person is stood in his way, familiar in shape and giving a polite squeak of, "Hi."

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◄ II ►

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⠀⠀⠀⠀"YOUR ROOM," Nancy Wheeler, raising her head to take in the new environment around her, assesses her surroundings with a smile, "it's... impressive."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"It's a dump," says Thorn, "but... thanks."

⠀⠀⠀⠀He was just being honest, but the girl stood before him in the middle of his bedroom looks sideways at him incredulously, anyway. The blue of her irises seem to search his expression for something; perhaps a glimpse, or a clue as to what really goes on in his mind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Whatever she finds, she doesn't run.

⠀⠀⠀⠀With her satchel slung around one shoulder, Nancy continues to evaluate everything around her. From the alphabetically ordered astronomy books on one shelf to the Mets baseball caps aligned on another, to the rock band and film posters overlapping on the dark blue walls (on every wall), she takes in the sight of Thorn's room for the very first time.

⠀⠀⠀⠀One particular poster of actor Matt Dillon as Dallas Winston in the The Outsiders makes an amused Nancy smirk, and point to it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Relative of yours?" she asks.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Ha," Thorn says dryly, "no. I just,"—he clears his throat—"think he's cool. He's cool."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Next, Nancy's gaze settles on a scale model of the Solar System hanging from the ceiling. She points to it: the sun, it's nine planets, and a tiny spaceman in a rocket ship hover by near-invisible strings above her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Did you make that?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn, feeling exposed, keeps a relative distance between them by leaning against the open doorway with crossed arms. "Is it that obvious?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"System models are a universal submission in science fairs," she remarks, smiling to herself. "No pun intended. It's cool that you kept yours, if that's what you made it for. And, y'know... still cool if not."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn shifts uncomfortably, switching arms in crossing one over the other. "I did, actually. And totally blew the kid beside me with the volcano diorama out of the water, by the way."

⠀⠀⠀⠀She grins all the way this time. Thorn lacks the strength to tell her how the eight year-old him even sat up all night and into the early hours of morning at the time, painting and gluing things together with the help of his father. They hadn't even built it because Thorn was late to submission, or in a rush. He did it purely because he'd been too excited.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Blinking the memory away, the now seventeen year-old Thorn takes a slow, careful step into his room. Even though it is his bolthole to hide out and be himself in, he feels awkward and out of place, like he might be violating Nancy's personal space somehow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Nancy," he starts, still keeping her at a literal and figurative arm's length, "can I ask what it is you're really doing here? Not that I don't appreciate you coming over, but... I don't think it was just to give me homework."

⠀⠀⠀⠀He gestures with his eyes to his desk, where the assignments Nancy had brought with her from school to deliver to him, especially, sit piled on top of unused sticky note pads and half-filled composition books.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Oh." Nancy blinks. "Oh, God, I—" She chides herself with a moderate shake of her head. "What was I thinking? I can totally leave if I'm overstepping, or making you uncomf—"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Oh, no, it's okay! That's not what I meant. You just seem like... like you want to talk about something, I guess?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thankfully, her shoulders visibly relax, and lower in tandem with the receding of any embarrassment in her voice. "Boy,"—she puffs out air—"do I ever."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Giving her his best half-smile for reassurance, he motions toward his bed for her to sit down, which she does. After a moment more of deciding where to go and what to do with himself, he abandons shame and joins her in sitting on the edge of the bed with one leg folded beneath him, his body half-turned toward her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"What's up?" he asks. He hasn't had another girl in his bedroom before aside from Regan and Auggie, but, they don't really count.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Well..." Nancy inhales. While fumbling with her hands in her lap, she, too, shifts to face him some more. "First, just... swear you won't freak out?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀He blinks back at her. "You might already be dooming me with that one, Wheeler."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Thorn..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Nancy."

⠀⠀⠀⠀She pokes him. "You have to swear!"

⠀⠀⠀⠀He pretends to wince, chuckles instead and, upon hearing her authoritative tone, throws his hands up in feigned surrender. "Okay!" he caves. "I swear."

⠀⠀⠀⠀She then confesses to him clearly and rather factually; a burden once hers to bare finally unraveled. "It's Barb. She's... missing. And I th–think—" She shuts her eyes a moment. "No... I know something happened to her. Something terrible."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Good thing Thorn was sitting down for that bombshell. The room is sent suddenly spinning—or is that just him?

⠀⠀⠀⠀"She— Barb... wha?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀He isn't laughing anymore. And he promised not to freak out on her, so it's all he can do but to sit there, open-mouthed and silently processing what she's really saying here. Missing... Just like Will—potentially exactly like Will. Barbara Holland is missing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Are you sure?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀He needn't have asked, really. The anxiety, the worry, the panic swirling within her eyes tells him she feels it deep down; that she already knows.

⠀⠀⠀⠀He blinks feverishly, neither looking at Nancy or past her, but half between them. A moment's give later, and both Barb and Will's faces are swimming before his eyes, forcing him to squeeze them shut. As if he could escape them. They're brighter in the dark.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Nancy seems to mistake his movement for a flinch. "Sorry, I,"—she scooches back a bit to give him space—"probably should have eased you into it first."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"What did this happen?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I don't know. I mean, I think I know, but..." She blows out a self-possessed breath. "The authorities only officially got involved this morning. And yesterday, when Barb didn't show up to school, I had my suspicions. You... sensed it, too. Didn't you?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀So that's why she was acting so detached and weird at lunch yesterday. Part of the reason, anyway.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I..." His brows furrow in realization. "I mostly thought there was something off about you, but... About Barb, yeah. I guess maybe I did."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"You were the only one who cared enough to ask about her yesterday." Nancy looks down at her hands. "And really bother to ask how I was."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn frowns, sympathetic. "You mentioned you spoke with Barb's mom on the phone that afternoon, though? You said she was just sick at home."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I lied," she replies, guiltily. "People lie."

⠀⠀⠀⠀His frown deepens. "I see."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I didn't want to worry you. But you deserve to know, so... that's why I'm telling you now, before you hear it from someone else."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Because I'm her friend?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Because you actually care."

⠀⠀⠀⠀He's prideful enough to feel touched by the statement, but also sort of hurt she'd lied to him. He feels like he should be angry, but he isn't. Confused and hurt, yes. But never angry. It wouldn't be fair to her. He would have done the same thing in her position. Hell, he is doing the same thing, isn't he? Lying. Keeping secrets. From Jay, Auggie, his sister... All of them, lied to and left out of the loop, because he figures it's better this way.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Because he cares for them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Jesus..." A little lightheaded, he sits back until he has pressed himself up against the bed's headboard with a thud he hears but does not feel. "Sorry, just— This is a lot to take in."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Nancy cringes. At some point, she must have moved, for she now sits closest to the center of the bed with crossed legs and her satchel in her lap. "There's more you should know."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Of course there's more," he mumbles, giving an unhappy sigh. "There's always more."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Soon, Nancy is plunging into an explanation of what happened at school today, and what he'd missed. It makes his head whirl all over again, but not as much. He supposes—almost hopes—he's grown so accustomed to hearing bad news over the past few days that he's finally starting to go numb. Maybe he'll even stay this way, so that any time something else decidedly terrible comes bowling through his life, he won't have to feel a thing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Cops?" Thorn says in alarm the moment Nancy finishes her recap. "You guys were interrogated?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I wouldn't go that far," she responds. "Officer Powell and Callahan just asked everyone who showed up at Steve's the other night some questions. Pulled us out of class individually for it."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I was also there that night." Moreover, if he'd actually gone to school today, he, too, would have likely been forced into an interview. "My sister, too. If the cops came to get your statements, why not come to us?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Actually... that's another thing. Steve made Carol and Tommy swear they wouldn't tell the authorities about you being at his place that night, or he'd have their heads on a social pike."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Steve did that? For real?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Something about three strikes and you're headed straight to juvy...?" Somehow, she doesn't look troubled by this tidbit. Just surprised.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn, however, is pretty damned surprised. "Wow. I didn't think he much cared after he trashed Jonathan's camera," he admits. He'd be more touched by the gesture, but, knowing Harrington, him covering his ass was likely an 'IOU' sort of deal. "Well... tell him I said thanks, I guess. Did he mention anything else about that night, like seeing or hearing from Barb?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"No, nothing like that." Nancy's lips press into a thin line. "And even if the officers had interviewed you, whatever you might have told them likely wouldn't have changed a thing. They're convinced Barb's just a teenage runaway. I told them she isn't like that."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Judging by her glum, vaguely aggrieved expression, they hadn't listened to her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"But," she continues, "you could throw those wasteoids a bone and they wouldn't know what to do with it. They're used to small town problems. Whatever's going on here, it's... different."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Funny that. Not for the first time, Thorn was just thinking the same thing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Nancy perks up like she'd just remembered another thing. "I have to show you something."

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's already in the midst of digging through the contents of her satchel when Thorn nods, and waits for whatever's left to come. She moves quick and voltaic as if she were a tape on fast forward, grabbing things out and tossing them onto the bedspread. Books, homework, hair ties, lip balm... Eventually, her hand comes out holding a few cards of something shiny, wobbly, and thin.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Upon realizing they're photographs, Thorn sits forward and straightens up. "Did Jonathan take these?" he guesses right away, to which Nancy nods. "I thought Steve broke his camera?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"He broke the camera, not the film."

⠀⠀⠀⠀She holds the photographs out to him, her hand shaking as she does. When Thorn tries to take them and she doesn't let go, he bows his head so they're at eye level and gives a small, reassuring smile.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"It's okay," he murmurs. "I've got it."

⠀⠀⠀⠀She blinks back at him—seems to realize her mistake—and relinquishes them with a quiet, nervous laugh. "Right. That might help."

⠀⠀⠀⠀He takes them from her now, casting his gaze down to the monochromatic photos in hand. There are five of them in total, and they're all underexposed and a little too dark. One in particular had clearly been ripped into pieces and taped back together—perhaps even one of the several Steve had torn up yesterday.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"These were taken two nights ago, at Steve's," Nancy explains. Right. Like the ones Jonathan took of you without your permission, Thorn notes grimly. But Nancy seems past that. "Jonathan helped me develop them after I thought I saw..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀She hesitates. She needn't finish her sentence, anyway. Already, Thorn is beginning to understand why she'd been shaking.

⠀⠀⠀⠀The ripped image is a photo of Barb. She's pictured alone by Steve's pool, sitting on the end of the diving board at what Thorn presumes was long after he'd left to take Regan home. Barb's legs dangle over the side, feet in the water and her hands in her lap. One such hand is wrapped in what looks to be gauze. Only then does Thorn recall Nancy mentioning Barb had cut herself as they were shotgunning beers while he was upstairs. The two had fought about it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn can feel the Wheeler girl's eyes on him now. And though all the lightbulbs in his home remain blown, and shattered, one seems to blink on above his head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Barbara Holland, missing. This photograph—Jonathan's camera—potentially the last witness to her whereabouts before vanishing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀And behind her...

⠀⠀⠀⠀Some thing is looming over her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn has to squint against the film grain, wishing he could tear into the image and change the angle. Even so, there's no mistaking it: Behind Barb, this ghastly, tall thing with gangly long limbs looms amidst the darkness. It looks like a corpse, but... inhuman. Even as Thorn flips to the next photo and sees an unripped, enhanced closeup of this thing, it does not get any more familiar. No animal or person on earth looks like this. If it has a face, he cannot decipher it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Will. Electricity. Lights. Things without faces climbing out of walls...

⠀⠀⠀⠀Oh, God.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Is this...?

⠀⠀⠀⠀This has to be what Joyce saw.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Newfound horror and skepticism set in as Thorn glances between Nancy and the photo with dinner plate eyes. She says nothing, only nods at him. Real, her eyes are telling him. This is real.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"You've seen this thing, haven't you?" Thorn blurts. "In real life? Outside of a photo?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's surprised by the assertion. "I don't know what I saw. But I think...? Maybe." Her expression gets serious here. "And whatever it is, you... heard it."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I— You..." He blinks fast. "What?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I saw it, and you heard it. That's why you were absent from school today, wasn't it?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"But how did you—?" He shakes his head, disbelieved and confused. "How do you even know that, when I never even...?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Sorry." Nancy lowers her voice an octave. The tiny smile she gives is a little ashamed, even bittersweet. "Jonathan said you showed up at his last night. And that he overheard you taking to his mom..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀His jaw feels suddenly tight. "I see..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I really am sorry."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"For what?" He raises a brow—the unwounded one. "I'm aware how crazy I must have sounded to him. How crazy I must sound now. If anything, you and Jonathan already knowing what I claim to saves me from a lot of explaining and confusion."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I'm... still confused, to be honest," she admits. "He mentioned you saying something about electricity. That his brother Will, and that,"—she glances at the photos in his hands—"thing... communicated with you and his mom somehow."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn looks similarly pained as he glimpses his radio in the corner of his eyes, which he still has yet to pick up off the floor. "It's... a long story."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I've got the time."

⠀⠀⠀⠀He smiles at that; a real, genuine smile.

⠀⠀⠀⠀After a long moment, Nancy seems to realize he doesn't plan on speaking about it anytime soon. And so she changes the subject. "He, uh—Jonathan, that is—told me little bits about what you and his mom were saying. But I think he was holding off. Probably just afraid he'd scare me."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Are you?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"What; scared? I'm terrified."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"That makes two of us."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Oof. Then you're really gonna hate me after this, when I tell you—"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Let me guess. There's more?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"There's always more," she remarks, using his own words against him. "Just... flip to the next photo."

⠀⠀⠀⠀He does as she instructs like it's as easy as breathing; as if she could ask him to do anything, and he wouldn't even blink before it was done. He shuffles the photos to the third in the pile.

⠀⠀⠀⠀And he stares.

⠀⠀⠀⠀And he stares.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Until, finally: "What... is that?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀A bright, glowing aura surrounds some second version of Thorn—a past version of Thorn—like this great big spotlight bursting from within him. It takes shape somewhere around what he thinks is the middle of his torso, although it's hard to tell past the grain and haze of white. He can just make out his limbs and head of forever-tousled hair, sticking out from wherever he is—wherever he was when Jonathan took this photo—but it's as if the white glow has swallowed the rest of him. Like there's a big chunk of the image missing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Frantically, he rifles through the remaining photographs, expecting them to be different. Yet the aura persists. Only the scene and position of the light changes. There are three different angles of this past-Thorn, and each time, the glow either shrinks or grows with him. The first photo is of him standing at a distance; the second, of him and Barb sitting on pool chairs by the water; and the last... The last was taken of him head-on, alone and staring straight ahead into the woods in the direction of some past-Jonathan, but never seeing him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Present-Thorn gets the heebie-jeebies and shakily puts the photos down.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Before he knows it, he's on his feet and pacing back and forth. One hand is rubbing the nonexistent stubble on his chin; the other, buried in his hair. "It's probably the flash," he begins rationalizing aloud. First, more so to himself, then finally, to Nancy as his gaze falls toward her. "It's just the flash, right? That's... all it is. Just some weird flashback from the lens?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I thought so, too," she replies, but the relief it brings is only momentary. "I said as much to Jonathan, but he told me his camera couldn't retain light like that. Any flashback would have cancelled out."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Jonathan says a lot of things."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"He's just as confused as we are."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Fair point.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"This is impossible." With an exasperated huff, he forces himself to maintain a level head, and stops pacing. "At least it should be impossible. And I don't know about you, but I've seen some pretty weird shit lately to believe this is all just a coincidence. Will went missing, and now Barb? Whatever that is,"—he gestures to the photo where it looms above Barb, haunting her memory—"it could be taking people. Maybe it's already had a lot of people."

⠀⠀⠀⠀To eat, he avoids saying.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"You said you heard it," says Nancy. "How?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀No point in having his reservations about it now. "Through my radio." Again, he adds, "Long story."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Okay, so... you talked to Will and heard... whatever this thing is through your radio. And now there's these pictures of you, too? You were... glowing!" Her eyes go wide as she looks him up and down, like she might be expecting him to turn into a giant flashlight right before her eyes. "Did you know about any of this? Did you know you could..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Glow?" He snorts. "As far as I know, I've never 'glowed' before in my life." He spins to grab something from his desk and comes back the other way, handing Nancy a framed photo. "See? Totally normal."

⠀⠀⠀⠀And he's right. There's no glow. It's just an ordinary photo of a nine year-old Thorn back home in a Christmassy Central Park, grinning from where he sits atop his father's shoulders with his mother squeezed up at their side. The family is bundled up in coats, scarves, and woolen hats for the winter. Unknowingly, that Christmas would be their last.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Nancy freezes.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Thorn realizes his mistake.

⠀⠀⠀⠀She stares at the photo, awestruck like a newborn baby seeing anew. "Are these... your parents?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Ah, geez. I cannot do this right now." A hand flashes out as Thorn takes the picture from Nancy and returns it back to the desk, this time face-down. "I can't talk about them. We have other things to worry about. Other..."—he stiffens—"developments."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Nancy peers at the boy through her lashes with harrowing eyes. She's curious, but certainly not an idiot, and so she does not press him on the matter. "Jonathan and I were talking about what to do." She once again changes the subject. "And we have a plan."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"A plan?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Well... sort of. His mom is convinced Will's still alive—you too, I'm guessing—and that gives me hope for Barb. We're not exactly sure what we're going to do, exactly... but we can't just sit by."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Then I want to help."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I was hoping you'd say that."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Something about that strikes a cord in him. He's used to others telling him to stay in his lane, mind his own business, don't get involved. Hearing Nancy say otherwise—that she wants his help—is affirming.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Finally, slowly, he sits back down beside her, avoiding the contents from her bag still spread out across his bed. "What did you have mind?" he asks.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I want to find Barb. Will, too, of course... If he's not actually, y'know..."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"He isn't dead."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"The town is under the impression he is."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Worse yet, so is Jay. If and when Jay gives that eulogy at Will's funeral, it will be under the impression that the boy he once babysat is well and truly gone.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I don't know what's happening," starts Thorn. "But whatever is—that aura, my radio, these damned power outages that have been happening in my house,"—he gestures around him vaguely, though Nancy ought to have no idea what he's talking about—"it all started the night Will disappeared. Like he triggered it. I don't know." He gently shakes his head. "It's like... like I'm connected to him somehow."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Anyone else might have judged him, abandoned him, or even called him a psycho, just as Flash Morgan had. Not Nancy, though. Never her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Nance...?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Yeah?" Her hand, now on her knee, still quivers from nerves.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Everything we know, or think we know... we can't let this get out. And as much I'd hate to keep my sister in the dark, she especially cannot find out about,"—he thinks of the photos of him again—"whatever that glow in those photos of me might be."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Nancy smiles at him, but it's worn thin. She's braver than she knows. "I won't tell if you don't."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Bet."

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Swear?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀"Swear."

⠀⠀⠀⠀And with that, they even link pinkies like grade schoolers exchanging secrets, officially, solemnly sealing the deal like a promise.

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( ミ☆ ) A/N.
thancy my beloved. they're so sweet together 🥹

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( word count: 5,402 )

Publishing Dates:
[ Original: Sep 10th, 2017 ]
[ Revamp: Jan, 2026 ]