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024. 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗳𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗿.



𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃, her finger twirled around the cord. She was in Jonathan's room— she assumed she was, by the band posters and photographs around the walls— leaning against the wall beside an old dresser where the phone was. The door was open, but she was at the end of the hall so nobody would hear.

There were drawings in here, too. The tunnels stretched out along the entire length of the house, in every room, on every wall. She was standing with her feet crossed at the ankles, one arm folded underneath the other as she held the phone— her eyes trailing around the room at said-tunnels. She squinted her eyes, as the ringing sounded in her ear, observing the sloppy crayon-drawn pictures taped to the ceiling, the floor, and all four walls. Like a maze.

"Hello?" Maureen's voice sounded over the other line, cutting through her thoughts.

Lori immediately straightened, her eyes alert now on the floor, "Mom? It's me,"

She felt some sort of comfort she'd never felt before, from hearing her mom's voice after all that trauma.

"Lori?" her voice spiked in curiosity. "Where the hell are you calling from?" she said, and that curiosity quickly spewed into growing anger.

"Listen— I can't tell you that, not right now, but," she tried. She stopped twirling her finger in the cord when Maureen cut her off.

"Where are you?" Maureen pressed, sounding like she'd been wanting to ask the question for a while. "I've been worried sick! All night!"

"I'm safe, okay, I'm with Dustin," Lori said, quickly. She lied through her teeth— about the being safe part.

She scoffed on the other line. "I told you, I made it clear! That if I came home and you weren't here—"

"I'm with Dustin." Lori repeated, sternly.

Maureen took a second to reply, because she knew what she said— family was the exception to the grounding. "Still. It is the middle of the night, Lorraine."

"I know." she said, sort of resentfully. "But he needed help with something, alright? I wanted to help," that part hurt a little to say.

Maureen let out a long, aggravated sigh, "What kind of help does the kid need in the middle of the damn—"

"Listen, mom," Lori said, delicately. "I'm fine. We're fine. You don't need to worry, okay?"

Lori was never someone that consoled somebody else, especially not her mom. But maybe just this once, it was okay. Lori was doing a lot of things she wasn't used to doing tonight.

"Please don't worry about me, I'm fine," she repeated, and with every lie about how she was "safe" it got harder to breathe. "I don't know when I'll be home. Okay, but you can't, mom, you can't come looking for me — please tell me you won't."

Maureen sighed, beginning to protest, "Lorrai—"

"Please, promise me." Lori said strongly, her voice more passionate than it'd ever been before. "Don't leave the house, please, just stay home."

Her voice was urgent, and fearful— because she didn't want Maureen out in town when those things were loose. She didn't even want to imagine her mother out looking for her in the middle of the night, while those creatures were on the prowl.

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