𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

𝟗. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚? 
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙖 𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙚?
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙮𝙧𝙚?
𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣."

⬻ 𝘎𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 - 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 ⤖

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟏𝟕𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟔

Billy Hargrove didn't die.

One minute he was pushing 50 mph in the school parking lot behind the wheel of that stupid flashy blue sports car and then he was gone. Vanished.

He didn't die, he disappeared.

You never truly processed his death because you never had a death to process. You weren't like Max. You didn't see his body after it was pierced by the Mind Flayer, nor were you invited to his funeral two weeks after the fact. You never even saw his grave up until just now.

Getting there was all a blur. Maybe Steve drove you, maybe you drove yourself. You could have walked all the way from your house for all you knew. The only thing you understood for certain was that you were standing in the middle of an open sunny field dotted with greyish-white headstones, and the one directly in front of you had Billy Hargrove's name chiseled into it.

You're not even sure if this is what it really looked like, or if it was just another image that your brain produced in order to help you cope. These days, your dreams seemed to bleed into your waking day more easily than ever before. Usually, you could blame it on the weed, but you've been sober since Chrissy's death. You didn't even bother to swipe one of the beer cans that you knew Andy was hiding under the backseats of his car when you got home from Rick's last night, despite how badly you wanted to shotgun it in the driveway before walking inside for family dinner.

It felt like your life was turning into one big D.A.R.E commercial. Hey kids! Don't do drugs or one of your friends will die under mysterious circumstances and your pot dealer will be forced to go into hiding for her murder. Oh, and also, you'll be plagued with terrible nightmares for the rest of your life!

The sun peaked out from behind a misty white cloud and you blinked back at the brightness. The smooth sides of Billy's marble headstone sparkled and you sank to your knees in front of it, squinting down at the inscription carved into the face.

Nothing felt real. You had almost totally convinced yourself that if you reached forward and made a grab for it, the stone would cave underneath your fingers and float off like dust in the wind. Your skull throbbed in rhythm with the faraway ticking of a clock — another eerie reminder that you were running out of time to rush to Eddie's defense before the law caught up to him. 

You wished you had something to offer Billy's grave. A candle or a cigarette or anything you knew he would have appreciated in life. But your hands were bare.

Slowly, and then all at once, your face morphed into shock when you realized that was a lie. Looking down and opening your fist, you watched a single sprig of baby's breath shiver in the cool spring breeze that flowed through the empty cemetery. Any doubt that you were dreaming instantly vanished, though you were only acutely aware of it then.

"Those your favorites?"

If you weren't already knelt in front of the grave, you would have collapsed out of sheer fright.