Evanescent | Stranger Things ¹

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ONLY THE DARK

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November 13, 1983.  Sunday.

"GO BACK TO THE beginning."

"I already told you everything."

"Melanie, I know this is a difficult time—"

"You don't know the half of it."

"Then tell it again, and make me understand."

My fingernails dig crescent-shaped marks into one of my palms as I struggle to keep my clenched fists from making contact with the detective in front of me.  His steely, dark eyes are unfaltering as he searches my rigid expression for any crack in my demeanor, but there are no flaws to find.  He cannot see through me, but I can see right through him.  I know this man is not on my side.  I know that none of the police officers and detectives from the state that are thoroughly searching my house are on my side.  They do not care about the supernatural story leading up to this very moment, or even of my involvement within the story.  All they care about is the monster and the girl that have vanished into thin air before us.

"What do you want from us?"

The question comes from my twin brother who sits across from me at our family's dining table.  The two of us have been separated from the rest of our family during follow-up questioning as we were believed to have been in the most contact with the "Russian girl" being trained for battle.  Our parents, on the other hand, are in the living room, currently being sworn to secrecy on a topic they cannot even begin to understand.  My sisters, by some miraculous grace above, have managed to completely skip interrogations entirely.  Holly is simply too young and Nancy has feigned an innocence and reassured that she has no recollection of any involvement in our situation.

"There are holes in the story . . . That don't make sense."

Mike scoffs and raises his hands up in annoyance before slapping them back down on the table.  "Look around!" He sneers coldly.  "Does anything about this make sense?"

"About the girl—"

"There's nothing to find," I snip out.  I am cold, blunt and to the point, hoping to end this conversation in its tracks. "She's dead."

Suddenly, before Mike can stop himself, his eyes widen and he blurts out, "She's not dead!" He exclaims defensively.

It takes everything in my power to keep my face void of any emotion, but the same cannot be said for my brother.  There is a rage within him that cannot be contained and his grief for his fallen first love is insurmountable to hide from the blatant stares around us.  I simply look down and shake my head in disbelief.  Between my twin and I, I am the head, and Mike is the heart.  His emotions are our downfalls in many situations, and now, this time, his emotions are likely about to bring more people down with us.

"We never found a body."

"She's not dead," My brother repeats.  "But I don't know where she is . . . And even if I did, I'd never tell any of you."

"I know it's difficult to accept, but the stories that she told you and your friends were not true.  She's a very dangerous individual."

"She saved our lives on more than one occasion," I growl back at the man standing at the head of the table.  "She saved this town and she didn't even realize it.  She didn't have to save anyone, but she did.  How does that make her dangerous?"