𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

𝟕. 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙤.
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙡𝙛 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙧𝙮, 𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬.
𝙃𝙚'𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙨, 𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙞𝙣.
𝙊𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜."

⬻ 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘈 𝘏𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘦 - 𝘚𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 ⤖

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟏𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟔

In the back of Gareth's garage, past the river of bright extension cords and in front of the mountain of amplifiers hooked up along the low walls, there was a musty old leather sofa. It was moth-eaten and smelled like cat piss in the summer months, but it had become your designated spot whenever Eddie bribed you to stay and watch him perform with his band. It's where you found yourself the day after his disappearance, and despite being desperate to leave the house, being there really didn't make you feel any better.

There was a long, white sheet draped over your lap and a black paint marker in your hand. You thought it would be easy to sit down and pick back up the project you started a few weeks ago — a banner for the band to pin up behind the stage at the bars where they played. But you only finished coloring in the C in 'coffin' when the boys started pelting you with questions.

"No one's seen him?" Gareth furrowed his eyebrows and leaned over his drumset with his hands folded over the top of the center drum. You shrugged without meeting his eye, shaking your fist to make the paint marker clack in your hand. The police released the latest statement about the case that morning. The only thing that gave you hope was that the headline didn't have Eddie's face on it, labeling him a prime suspect.

Thoroughly disappointed, Gareth sat up straight and pocketed his drumsticks. "He wouldn't just leave. Not like that."

As much as you wanted to agree with him, you didn't know enough about Eddie Munson to decide what he would and wouldn't have done in that case. All you knew was that Hawkins had a bad habit of breeding dangerous supernatural shit, like whatever it was you saw last summer. Judging by the state of Chrissy's body, the odds of Eddie actually being responsible for her death were slim to none. But the police didn't know that any more than they knew what really happened to Starcourt Mall in August.

"Eddie's missing?" Chester, the band's dual-bassist piped up. You glanced up from your black-stained hands to watch him anxiously fiddle with the shoulder strap supporting his bass. "Like, milk carton missing? Search party missing?"

You opened your mouth to correct him when Jeff scoffed and socked Chester in the shoulder. "Yeah right. Do you think enough people actually give a shit to form an entire search party? Face it. The only people who ever cared about him are in this room right now."

The garage went quiet and you looked back down at your hands. The marker had bled through and left black splotches all down the lap of your blue jeans, but it didn't really phase you. Your heart was still stinging with the realization that he was right. That if it wasn't for Chrissy, there was no way in hell that anyone in Hawkins would blink twice at his missing poster.

You wanted to say something — literally anything to make the situation feel slightly less terrible — but nothing came to mind. Eddie was missing and those who knew about it couldn't do anything to help him.