Briggs is restless, bored with the mundanity of Hawkins and the drag of rural Indiana November. That energy is channeled into laps up and down the Hawkins High pool, where he's worked his way up the ranks of the swim team and found a rival in one of...
BRIGGS DOESN'T REALLY know what he planned to do, realizing it's barely halfway through second hour as he sits in the nearly empty parking lot of Hawkins Middle. He squints at the doors, mid-morning sunlight blinding him through the windshield. It's not like he has the authority to walk in there and get Corey out of school.
Even if he did, what would he tell Corey? What would he tell his mom and Danny?
Yeah, I pulled Corey out of school because I saw a white van at Joyce's house.
There's a logical explanation for that van, those men. Briggs knows there is. He just jumped to the worst possible conclusion, like always. There was a power outage—maybe it had something to do with that. The phone's broken, hence the first repair truck. It's not—it's fine. Nothing about a Hawkins Power and Light van means his sister is in imminent danger.
What was he thinking? Whoever the hell those people were—they won't get her here. Even if they were the people responsible for Will's disappearance, which they're not, they wouldn't abduct a kid right out of the public middle school. And there's no trace of any vans or repair trucks in the area.
So why is Briggs buzzing with nerves, hardly seeing straight, unable to get a real breath in? God, get a grip, he tells himself, clenching the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.
Van or no van, there's nothing he can do right now. He can't see Corey. She's in school. He could go home, maybe, but the idea of sitting in an empty house right now is unsettling.
He's never wanted one of those stupid walkie-talkies more.
He could go to class, he supposes, but then he'd have to explain his morning absence. Briggs groans when he realizes that if anyone saw him or his car today, he's going to have to explain his absence in some capacity to his mom anyway. He hasn't missed enough days yet to warrant a letter or call home, but Hawkins is small and people talk.
Shit.
Briggs doesn't let himself consider the logistics or the consequences as he drives over to the high school, but not to the front doors—to the side doors. They probably should be locked, but they never are. And they lead right to the empty Hawkins High pool.
The deck is dry but enveloped in a sea of darkness, one that intensifies as the door slams shut behind Briggs. He's done this only two other times in his high school career—nobody's ever in here during the day, anyway, and it's probably breaking some rule, but he hasn't been caught yet.
