Chapter Text
A week later, Officer Powell knocked on the trailer’s front door. Chief Powell, going by his new uniform, a pressed brown button-down to replace the powder blue. Eddie never felt as brave as Wayne proclaimed him to be, but standing at the threshold, he called upon his slivers of courage to secure his feet and keep him from running.
“Munson.” Powell tipped his hat. “I’m going to guess you know why I’m here.”
Eddie’s mouth was dry. He stayed up too late on the phone with Steve, his bedroom window propped open, whispering to not disturb the neighbors. His eyelids were caked with sleep. When he spoke, his tongue peeled itself from the roof of his mouth.
“Are they giving me a key to the city? Because fucking finally.”
Powell had the decency to smile. “I’m afraid not.”
For weeks, panic hardened inside of him, like concrete smoothed against the underside of his stomach. Layer after layer it thickened, steeling him for this moment. It wouldn’t feel good to face the end of this life, but the inevitable wouldn’t overwhelm him.
He sucked in a breath of air and reached for his storage of calm, but it couldn’t be found. His hand met that concrete wall and punched against it, bones shattering beneath the pressure.
Eddie’s chest rose and fell. The image of Powell swam like ripples in a puddle.
Powell removed his hat. “I’m going to ask that you don’t run. Are you hearing me, son? It’s only me out here. I requested to pick you up alone. Please don’t make me a fool.”
His legs were made of liquid. Eddie gripped the doorframe to keep from falling. “I’m not – I’m not gonna run.” He owed that to Wayne. “But I…”
“Put on some clothes.” Powell glanced at his tattered t-shirt, his worn briefs. “I’ll wait out here.”
He didn’t ask if he could close the door. Eddie thought better of doing something that might make Powell drag him out by the roots of his hair.
In the shadow of their conversation, the trailer looked anew. Eddie had never seen that crack in the wall, reaching up toward the ceiling, or the abstract painting of a cat he made in ninth grade. Had Wayne always kept a jacket over the arm of the couch? Did the American flag, folded and boxed, need dusting before he left?
He read a short story once about a girl who could travel through art. She visited bustling cities from across oceans and worlds born from her imagination. She only needed to pin her eyes open, stretch out her hand, and most importantly, believe. Sometimes the cities changed, but often they were suspended in her memory. The same flowers for sale in June and December, the same argument playing in January and May. When he had enough cash to buy something from the prison commissary he would buy paper, a pen, and draft a version to carry with him. He would use it to travel back to the trailer, to Hawkins, two places he would never wholly return.
Wayne was working a day shift. When Eddie called the plant, the receptionist told him she could take a message, and Wayne could call him back on his break.
He steadied himself against the kitchen counter. “It’s an emergency. I’m his neph – his son. I’m his son, and I’m fucking dying.” His voice broke, a record scratched at the wrong moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding very sorry at all. “I’ll let him know when he’s off the floor. Should I have him call the hospital?”
Eddie slammed the phone against its base. Then he picked it up and slammed it down again, and again, and again. The plastic groaned, and his whisper-thin resolve dissolved into despair. He promised Wayne he would say goodbye, even that was a promise he couldn’t keep.
Above him, the clock ticked. Powell wouldn’t wait forever, but Eddie remained motionless. He waited for the phone to ring, for the receptionist’s change of heart. He waited until Powell knocked on the doorframe.
“I’m sorry, man. I’m coming. I’m –” He tried to look over his shoulder but couldn’t remove the phone from his eyeline. “Can you give me five more minutes?”
“Five minutes,” Powell said, “or I turn on the siren.”
He picked up the phone. The dial tone burned in his ears. “Come on,” he said, casting his voice across power lines. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
“Family Video, where fun for the whole family can be had for just ninety-nine cents. My name is Steve. How can I help you?”
A swell of relief, a tightened breath. “Steve. It’s me.”
“Hey,” Steve shed his flat customer service tone. “What’s going on? You sound strange.”
He couldn’t shield his vulnerability with laughter. The cement, his courage, dwindling by the nanosecond, would not allow him.
“Powell’s here. Officer – Chief – Whatever the fuck. He’s here to take me in.”
“No. Fuck. That can’t – Are you sure?”
He wanted to lie in hopes of twisting the truth. “Unfortunately, I’m positive.”
“Eddie, he can’t.”
How could the receptionist turn him away if his voice held a fraction of Steve’s desperation? Eddie’s chest tightened, ribcage breaking like the shards in Steve’s voice.
“We talked about this.” Eddie tried to keep his voice level. “I’m not ready, but I knew –”
“No. I thought –” Steve sucked in a breath. “I was going to fix it. It was supposed to –”
“Steve, this can’t be fixed, and I wouldn’t ask you to try. Powell’s not giving me much time, so I – I need to tell you that I love you, okay? Yeah, it’s too soon, but you can tell me I’m fucking crazy in ten years.”
He didn’t plan to tell Steve, but time broke the dam, all of it spilling out. Eddie glanced at the clock. The hands moved quickly.
Steve sounded closer, syrupy and warm, when he said, “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. You want me to yell at you, since we know you’re into that, you know where to find me.”
His love for Steve radiated through his veins, blinding his panic, breaking apart concrete.
“Please don’t wait for me, man. Go to Italy with Robin, meet some Italian sports guy, and never come back.”
Steve sounded underwater. “That’s someone else’s dream. I’m going to get a sad little job at Hawkins High and keep my phone number. Do you remember it?”
“I’ll get it tattooed, so I don’t forget.”
Steve laughed. “You are fucking crazy.”
“Too soon.”
Outside, Powell’s boots landed on the steps. “I gotta go put on some real clothes. Can you call back later, around seven, and let Wayne know what happened? And if – if you could, you know, look in on him from time to time? You don’t owe me anything but –”
“I owe you a lot, but I would do it even if I didn’t. Everything you asked, I promise.”
“Thanks.” The words thrummed underneath.
“I’ll see you around, Munson.”
The dial tone reappeared. He pressed the phone against his ear, letting it beat against his eardrum. When the tone cut out, he hung his head and hooked the phone on the wall.
From the doorway, Powell said, “My watch is a little slow. I think you have enough time to get dressed. Then we have to go.”
-----
Powell didn’t lead him away in handcuffs, but his dignity drained at the sight of his neighbors, watching with curious and judgemental stares as he climbed into Powell’s patrol car.
Eddie leaned his head back, watching the town speed by, inverted in the rear window. When he and his mother first drove through Hawkins, he told her the town reminded him of oatmeal. No color, no life. Buildings and back roads smeared with a layer of pale brown shit. He still believed that to be true but he missed the clarity of the sky, the vibrant greens of the forests, the sparkling orange sign of The Hawk.
They were playing Weird Science. In a few hours, Gareth, Jeff, and Dennis would lock their bikes at the entrance and save a seat for him in the middle row. When he didn’t show up, Gareth would whisper, “Where the hell is Munson?” and Jeff would shrug, pretending he didn’t assume Eddie was with Steve. After, Dennis would say, “Maybe the cops came and took him away.”
When Callahan arrested him, he told him someone from the county jail would pick him up from the station to await trial in Roane County Detention. At twenty, they would house him with adults, and for that, he was grateful. He’d experienced the casual cruelty of teenagers who weren’t fucked up enough to end up in jail. He did not want to be locked away with the teenagers who were.
However, at the station, Powell led him away from the holding cells. Eddie assumed they were full, or the county jail arrived right on time until Powell opened his office door, and his eyes landed on the most beautiful woman Eddie had ever seen.
The sunlight pouring through the office windows bathed her in a golden glow, accenting her warm eyes and elegant high forehead. She had the sort of glossy hair Eddie saw in magazines, light brown highlights, almost blonde, fading into dark brown. When she greeted him, her cheeks raised, and faint wrinkles appeared at the corners of her downturned eyes. He knew her before she held out her hand and said, “You must be Edward Munson. I’m Elizabeth Harrington. It’s nice to meet you.”
He stared at her dumbly. “You’re Steve’s mom.”
“And Mayor Kline’s Deputy Administrator. The pay is vastly better, but Steve’s Mom comes with incomparable benefits. Have a seat?”
The room carried the frequency of a silent conversation being held over his head. Mrs. Harrington and Chief Powell, trading lines with every look. Eddie didn’t know what she was doing there. Then he remembered something Steve said on the phone, he tried to fix Eddie’s impending arrest. Did he tell his mom about them, hoping his admission would endear her to his pleading? Was she here to slap another charge against him, extending his sentence from ten years to fifteen or twenty? His unease came and went like the tide, rushing into his throat and spilling into his restless leg.
“I don’t mean to be an ass– jerk. But what’s going on?”
Another silent conversation. Mrs. Harrington lowered her brows, a mirror of Steve when Eddie said something to upset him.
Powell caved just as easily. “Mrs. Harrington is here because she has a proposition for you.”
“The mayor’s office has a proposition for you,” she clarified. “Chief Powell has shared that you were arrested for drug possession. Is that correct?”
Shame coated the roof of his mouth. So much for the hope of impressing Steve’s parents. “Yes, ma’am.”
“He also shared that you claim, against all evidence, that the drugs aren’t yours.”
From behind his desk, Powell’s fingers steepled into a triangle, his expression unreadable.
“Is this a trial?” Eddie looked between them. “Because I don’t have a lawyer, and it’s against the law not to get one, right?”
“It’s not a trial,” Powell said. “Neither of us is a judge.”
“On behalf of the mayor’s office, I’m trying to keep you out of the courtroom. But I can’t do that unless you’re honest with me.” Mrs. Harrington leaned forward. “Were those drugs yours?”
“No.” Eddie swallowed. “I don’t know they were in there.”
Her unwavering gaze showcased her skepticism. “Can you tell me who may have put them there?”
“No. I was in Indy that Saturday. Sometimes I forget to lock the van, and I think somebody just put them there.”
Mrs. Harrington hummed. On the side of his face, Eddie felt Powell’s watchful gaze.
“Well, Mayor Kline is well aware that a few months ago, Rick Lipton was arrested by the Drug Enforcement Agency for manufacturing and selling narcotics. It was a shock to hear that such abhorrent criminal behavior occurred in Hawkins so soon after the tragic loss of life at Starcourt Mall. We’re a family-friendly town, Mr. Munson. While one drug peddler is an unfortunate oversight, two is a sign of an epidemic, and we don’t have an addiction problem in Hawkins, do we, Chief Powell?”
Powell did not immediately answer. When Mrs. Harrington looked at him, mouth tight, he slunk into his chair. “If the Mayor says we don’t.”
Her smile wasn’t satisfied. “We don’t want you to be charged for this unfortunate incident, Mr. Munson. In fact, we want your arrest to be wiped from your record. A clean slate. Chief Powell has agreed to forget this all happened if you do something for us.”
It was an offer from a beautiful woman, presenting a poisoned apple in her outstretched hand.
“What do I need to do?” he asked. “What’s the catch?”
“This upcoming fiscal year, the Hawkins library will lose some of their funding. The mayor recognizes that utilization has increased. He also recognizes the negative impact the library’s inability to hire additional staff will have on their daily operations. Thus, we would like you to help alleviate their predicament. Monday through Friday, after school, you will spend four hours at the library assisting in any way they ask. You will also work two Saturdays out the month for a full eight hours.”
“Think of this as court-ordered community service,” Powell said. “Without the court order.”
“So I won’t get paid?”
“No. You will also not be permitted to engage in any illegal activity henceforth. Nor will you be granted more than three unexcused absences. If you violate this agreement, our office’s hands are tied.”
He didn’t believe them, but nothing in their stony expressions read that it was a joke. If Powell were Callahan, Eddie would spit in his face for dangling false shreds of hope, but Powell had always been decent to him and Wayne, and Mrs. Harrington had no incentive to play along.
“What will it be, Munson? Do I need to call County, or do you agree to complete community service?”
The knife-edge of hope pressed against his throat. “How long is this gonna last?”
“Two years,” Mrs. Harrington said. “When you graduate, we’ll adjust your hours to fit your new schedule.”
In two years, he planned to be in Chicago or New York, running from gig to gig with his guitar slung on his back, the bells of freedom in his ears, and Hawkins a faded memory turned punchline. He never wanted to linger, but he didn’t want to rot in prison either.
Beneath the spotlight of their eyes, he said, “Of course I’ll take it. Thanks – Thank you so much, ma’am.”
Her smile softened. “Don’t thank me, Mr. Munson; thank Mayor Kline by voting for him in the next election.”
The silent conversation between Powell and Mrs. Harrington turned audible, but Eddie couldn’t hear it over the sound of blood in his ears. He signed a stack of papers and shook Powell’s hand, but Eddie missed the details with his entire body pumping blood like an overworked engine.
Glued to his chair, the world moved around him. Powell exited his office, and Mrs. Harrington gathered her purse. The sound of phone lines and typewriters dragged him to the present, where Mrs. Harrington fixed her hair in a compact mirror. It was as big as Steve’s, curved in the same effortless swoop.
Their eyes met in the mirror. Eddie ducked his head, caught.
Mrs. Harrington turned to him. “My son tells me you’re a big reader and that you’re writing a book. Hopefully, working at the library won’t be too tedious for you.”
“I would’ve shoveled actual sh–poop not to go to prison. I’m very grateful for this opportunity, ma’am.”
A minuscule laugh escaped through her nostrils. “You’re a very polite young man.”
“My uncle Wayne raised me. Anything that’s wrong with me is going against what he taught.”
“I’m sure.”
She nodded and headed for the door. With her hand on the threshold, Eddie said, “Did Steve ask you to do this?”
Mrs. Harrington paused and pulled her lips inward. “When I have the opportunity to share, I’m open with him about my work. He knew of the mayor’s trepidation regarding the previous narcotics arrest and proposed a solution to yours.”
“He would make a great politician.”
She laughed with hints of her son. “No, he wouldn’t. Steve doesn’t have the stomach. A guidance counselor, on the other hand, would utilize his talents that don’t involve a scoreboard.” Her foot hovered, one in the office, one out. “Maybe you can speak with him about reconsidering college. His father and I have tried, but kids, none of you want to believe that we know what’s best for you.”
“I don’t know how much he’ll listen to me.”
Her eyes changed into something less guarded. “I’ve known my son since he was born. I can draw the lines in his hand perfectly, like your mother can draw yours. He’ll listen to you if you let him. Do me this favor?”
Eddie hoped his mom remembered him with more clarity than he could recall the shape of her hand holding his own.
“Absolutely, Mrs. Harrington.”
She nodded, leaving him in the office with the smell of her perfume.
-----
Chief Powell offered to drive him home, but Eddie decided to walk.
Miles stretched between the police station and Forest Hills, but Eddie needed the ache in his feet, the sweat pooling along his back. The discomfort grounded him. It said: You are here in this reality with all of your flesh and bone. Not in a dream he never allowed himself to have.
Eddie made it to the trailer and climbed into his van. The keys were in the glove box, scrubbed clean of any lingering residue, stinking of lemon pine and bleach. Eddie listened to the halted purr of its engine. A groan and a cough, but she still kicked.
“Give me a few more miles,” Eddie said before tearing out of town.
Eddie drove, drove, drove. Hawkins bled into Paragon, Whitaker, and Gosport. He passed farms and lakes, craters with mouths like giants, and the ragged edge of hills that rivaled the size of mountains. The world flashing by painted him green and blue and brown as he traveled nowhere and everywhere all at once.
He stopped to watch the sunset in a town with a single church on the side of the road. Sun-bleached slats and an open door as black as a portal. The sign out front read: Ask, and ye shall be saved.
But Eddie had not asked.
Steve had.
Eddie drove back to Hawkins, eyeing the speed limit dial. It was Saturday night. The streets were crowded with SUVs and compact cars, small groups out for ice cream at Donahue’s cart or heading to a movie at the Hawk. From his van, Eddie spotted three familiar bikes parked beneath the marquee.
There were couples with their arms around each other, some heading to a date at Enzo’s. Eddie squinted to get a better look, and by the door was Jonathan Byers, wiping tears from Nancy Wheeler’s face.
His windows were down, the night air pouring in, the aftertaste of Starcourt painting the roof of his mouth. “It’ll be gone soon,” Wayne said, two evenings before. “Wish you’d be here for it.”
Wayne didn’t know that Eddie would be here, rotting away in Hawkins for another two years. The choking hands of disappointment couldn’t touch him. Eddie was too buoyant, too light, too ecstatic. The impossible bubbling inside of him like Pop Rocks and Coke, ready to explode.
Stalling at the red light in front of the Hideout, he threw his head back and screamed. It was a glorious feeling, having the sound rip through him like the world’s longest guitar solo. Each breath a rhythmic vibration, setting his hair on end.
Eddie screamed until it turned into laughter, and his laughter intermingled with his tears. Salt in his mouth, and moisture on his face, Eddie yelled, “Fuck you, fate, you merciless fucking fuck! I win! I fucking win!”
On the sidewalk, a group of teenage girls paused. “Oh. That’s just Eddie Munson,” one of them said. “He’s, like, a total freak show.”
The insult cut into his stomach, and light poured out. “Total freak show, baby!” He yelled out the window. “The number one freak in this whole goddamn town, and don’t you forget it.”
When he arrived at the trailer the lights were on, and a pair of cars were parked out front. Wayne’s pick-up next to a familiar red beamer. His sputtering engine announced him, and Steve and Wayne stepped onto the porch. Immediately he noticed Steve’s button-down and tie, a much better first impression than Eddie made with Steve’s mom.
Eddie jumped from the van, his limbs partially numb, his shoulders slick with sweat. Standing in the center of the street, he shouted, “I’m back! And I’m not going anywhere for a very long time!”
“Hey, Munson,” Carl yelled from two trailers down. “Tell that boy to shut the fuck up.”
“Get in here,” Wayne said, his smile infectious. “Before you get arrested again.”
On the porch, he and Steve had a hairsbreadth moment alone. Wayne in the trailer, Steve not far behind him. Eddie took Steve’s hand and squeezed. Steve pressed his thumb against his pulse point before heading inside.
The trailer flooded with the sound of pre-season football on the television. “God, I forgot about hating this,” Eddie groaned, but his grin betrayed him.
“Steve was just defending the starting lineup for the Colts,” Wayne said.
“Your uncle thinks the Panthers are going to the Superbowl. I had to break the truth to him.”
Eddie shook his head. “Nope. Absolutely not. This conversation stops now.”
Nothing had changed since that morning, but Eddie didn’t remember as much as he thought. In a few hours, he’d forgotten the cobwebs by the corner cabinet and the stain on the rug from when he fell off his bike and bled from the front door to the bathroom. He would have never recreated this trailer. If he tried, the world he entered would be turned on the wrong axis, and he wouldn’t know why.
The three of them stood around the living room, Wayne lingering by his lounge chair and Steve by the door.
“Where’d you go, Ed?” Wayne asked, a hint of trepidation pulsing through the question.
Guilt gripped him. Of course, Wayne would worry. He should have left a note.
“I didn’t do anything stupid,” he said. “I know my promises don’t mean much right now, but I just went for a drive.”
Wayne’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I believe you, son. Sounds more believable then what Steve’s been telling me, anyway. Apparently, his mom helped to cut a deal with Chief Powell?”
Eddie nodded. “I barely believe it myself.”
“Well, the boy brought pizza, so why don’t you both explain it to me.”
Over cold pizza from Dominick’s and a beer Steve wasn’t old enough to drink, Eddie told them everything. Perched on the kitchen counter, he gave Wayne and Steve the two chairs and painted a vivid picture of the meeting, his upcoming community service. At the more dramatic moments, Steve and Wayne exchanged a glance and Eddie’s heart tightened in his chest. All those years he imagined Steve inside of the trailer, and he never placed him across from his uncle, smiling knowingly at one another.
After, Eddie tossed the pizza box, and Wayne shoved them both from the kitchen. “Why don’t you two get out of here? Celebrate the good news with a movie or something?”
Eddie glanced at Steve. Unsubtly, they were being kicked out.
Wayne waited for Steve to head to his car before he pulled Eddie into another hug. Against his shoulder, Wayne said, “I’m proud of you, son.”
“I didn’t do anything, man. This was all Steve.”
Wayne shook his head. “That ain’t true. You could’ve let your ego get the best of you. Turned down that offer just to prove you could beat the law. Al did that more than once, and when his goddamn luck ran out, look where it got him.”
For weeks, Eddie thought he was worse than his father. His throat tightened at the truth. “I don’t wanna be like him, Wayne. I’m – I’m trying.”
Wayne gripped his shoulder. “You ain’t even close. Now get. We’ll talk about whatever’s going on with that boy out there, later.”
Eddie stiffened. His uncle’s name shook in his throat. “Wayne –”
“Oh, quit your fretting. You haven’t been able to hide anything from me since your momma dropped you here. You think I’m gonna judge you for that?”
Eddie crossed the trailer and hugged him again. Wayne probably had a well of hugs. At this rate, Eddie would run it dry.
Outside, the sound of crickets lit up the night. Leaning against his car, Steve stood out in the darkness. White shirt and black tie, shoes shined like diamonds.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re Catholic. No Mormon Bibles today, please.”
Steve tipped his head back and laughed. “Shut-up. These are the nicest clothes I own.”
“According to who? The nicest is your gym uniform. Those shorts?” Eddie whistled.
Beneath the sallow light, a sickly yellow-green, Steve flushed red. “This is why you failed gym.”
“Some of my classmates were too distracting, man. But it’s a hell of a problem to have.”
In a place like Forest Hills, someone was always watching. A face in a window, a shadow behind the door. Someone wondering what Steve Harrington was doing here, in his nicest clothes and his nice car, leaning his body in Eddie’s direction.
“Movies?” Steve asked, swinging his car keys around his finger.
Eddie shook his head. “I have something else in mind.”
-----
Months later, everything at Rick’s house looked the same. The footsteps were covered by overgrown grass, and someone had locked the front door, but it was as if Rick vanished. Beamed into the air without so much as a mug shifting on the coffee table.
He and Steve sat on the same back porch as the day Eddie met Rick, lounging in his grandmother’s matching rocking chairs. The hinges squeaked, and the wood splintered along the armrests, but nothing could beat the view. The ripple of deep water, the moonlight’s glaze. Somewhere behind the forests, a small party played the Beatles on repeat.
Steve hummed along, tapping his foot, capturing Eddie’s attention in the smallest ways.
“I thought I told you not to tell your parents.”
Steve’s rocking didn’t falter. “You said don’t tell my dad, and I didn’t.”
Eddie laughed. “Shit, I guess you’re right. But you didn’t have to do that, man. I wasn’t happy about it, but I was prepared to go.”
Steve turned to him. “You were resigned, which isn’t the same as being prepared. I wanted to help, and you would never ask. Plus, Kline is a drugged-out crook. The least his office could do is something helpful.”
“Kline. Mayor Kline is on drugs?”
Steve nodded. “Coke, mostly, but my mom says she found ecstasy at the Christmas Party and had to flush it when Hopper showed up.”
“Huh.” Eddie was almost impressed if he weren’t so betrayed. “He doesn’t even buy local. Now I’m definitely not voting for him.”
Steve’s laugh ballooned over the water, warming Eddie’s blood.
He loved him. Told him when he thought they’d never see each other again. “So, about what I said on the phone? That I –”
Steve cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. You were going away. It’s not like you didn’t mean it at the moment, but things change.” He shrugged, a Harrington tell that he was upset and burying it beneath bullshit politeness.
“You think I don’t mean it? Steve, I love you. It’s the sureish thing about me, but I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything. I’m moving fast, I know that. It’s not gonna break my heart if you want to take a step back now that I’m not one hundred miles away.”
Steve turned his head, the paleness of his shirt reflecting in his eyes. “You’re lying.”
“Yeah, I am lying, but I would understand. Or at least make an effort to.”
Now that he had him, Eddie didn’t want to be without Steve. If he had to choose between a fraction of his attention or never seeing him again, Eddie would choose the former every time.
Steve’s rocking chair sighed.
Eddie’s chair groaned beneath its new weight, Steve on his lap. Around them, lake houses were filled with families, but the night shrouded them from watchful eyes.
“You hung up before I could actually think about what you said. Which was on purpose, I know. But you didn’t give me a chance to say that I love you too, and I’m glad you’re still here.”
Their mouths brushed, their lightest kiss so far.
“For two more years,” Eddie said, mouth on Steve’s chin.
Steve lifted his head. “What happens after that?”
Eddie’s fingers worked open the top button of Steve’s shirt, the second, the third. His lips found Steve’s throat. “Your mom wants you to go to college. Said you’d make a great guidance counselor.”
Steve grabbed Eddie’s hair, bringing his face to the light. “Don’t talk about my mom when I’m trying to kiss you.”
Eddie pressed his lips together in a show of silence, and Steve met him in the middle.