[COMPLETED UNTIL SEASON 5]
Ana Thompson always seems to wind up in the strangest predicaments...
A perpetual victim of Murphy's Law, Ana finds herself arriving in Hawkins, Indiana just prior to the events of November 6th, 1983.
And, just prior to f...
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MURRAY'S VARIOUS CONTRAPTIONS were sprawled across the entire length of the kitchen table. His personal computer, which he was typing furiously away on, a recording device with cassette tape poised in the dock, and a microphone were all at the ready, prepared for the upcoming call they were all itching to place. 12:00 P.E.T.T had been the designated time, and as the marker approached, nerves began fraying, throwing stray sparks.
"Murray, we gotta make this call," Joyce pestered as the man in question continued to click away on his keyboard, eyes drawn down in concentration behind his oversized glasses.
"One moment, please," he ground out, the civility of the 'please' not matching his clipped tone.
While he worked, Joyce hovered to his left, Enzo's note clutched within her hands, as Ana lingered over his right shoulder, watching the green words and images shine across the black computer screen. With one last hammer of his finger on the enter button, he finally relaxed back in the seat and exclaimed, "voila!" The monitor beeped twice in succession as the US map shifted to the midwest. "Okay, you are now calling from Durham, North Carolina. But if this is KGB, they will still be able to trace us eventually, so keep it brief," Murray warned Joyce. Then, he pivoted towards Ana and gave her a withering glare. "And you, do remember to shut up. You're not supposed to be here."
Ana was two seconds away from thumping him so he'd be the one shutting up, but Joyce's question interrupted her. "How brief?"
"A minute max, and..." Which might have seemed long enough for Murray's overly cautious ass but didn't appear to offer enough of an opportunity for Ana's liking.
"Proof of life," they echoed together before Joyce pointed and nodded. "Got it."
Taking the seat beside Murray, Joyce sat down and picked up the receiver, the numbers pinging as she inputted the reservation number provided. The pair began counting up from one when it was finally keyed in. Once they landed on the silent three, Joyce pressed the call button as Murray hit record, both their hands rising to pause midair in anticipation.
One, two, three, four, fix, six rings trilled until the line was answered before the seventh could sound. "This is Enzo," a man's voice stated, coated in a thick Russian accent.
Joyce jumped nervously in her chair, shifting closer to the microphone as Murray and Ana lent forward to hear the conversation clearer. "Hello, Enzo?" She asked uncertainly. "This is Joyce. I received your message, and I would like to make a reservation." It was all so formal, like they were participating in a ransom call, which Ana supposed they actually were.
"Yes, good, good," Enzo simpered across the line, his tone lifting to a chuckle at the end. "But for reservation, you need to make deposit." And there was the kidnapper's ultimate demand.
Ana couldn't fathom why Joyce seemed so surprised by this development, but she watched passively as the other woman stuttered over her words in confusion regardless. "Um, what...what kind of deposit?" Money, Joyce, obviously, Ana longed to say, but she'd been mandated to keep her mouth shut by Murray, so she simply watched as the realization warped across the caller's features instead.
