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"Eddie."
Joan let out a breath of relief at the sight of the metalhead through the weird portal in his uncle's trailer, her shoulders sagging even though she had known he would be okay. She still wasn't too positive if anything she had done had already affected the outcome of the future, but so far everything was on track that she could see.
"Are those handcuffs?!" Eddie asked bug-eyed from above and all eyes went onto Joan who shrugged and smirked at the boy, showing them off. "I leave for a few hours and you're in handcuffs!"
"What can I say, I like it freaky."
"Jesus Christ, Jo." Eddie let out as it was his turn to climb, heart pulling him closer to her, his body longing to feel her warmth after spending so much time in the cold. Despite her craziness, he raced up the make shift rope, before falling onto the mattress with a grin. Joan leaned over him with a smile and Eddie could see the beginning of a sassy comment. "That was fun."But before she could say anything, Nancy fell into a terrifyingly familiar trance and the race was on to find music for Nancy, while an anxiety-laden Steve's voice filled the background.
And before Joan could reach the bedroom, she stumbled with a wave of disorientation onto the small kitchen bench, and the familiar cold feeling washed through her bones. She fought it amidst the panic that seemed so distant, but she couldn't keep her eyes open as if her lashes were made of lead.
She blinked.
And there was the impudent never-ending nothingness once more.
Particle by particle, a scene built in front of her and Joan walked over to the freshman Agatha standing over her desk with a frown on her face. On the desk rested the diary that seemed to loom heavily over their heads and Joan half-expected lightning to strike behind them from the mere presence of the book.
Hesitantly, Agatha traced the hand holding wilted flowers on the front cover before sitting down at the desk. She looked over her shoulder as if she were about to read a porn magazine and Joan stood behind her as she carefully opened the front cover where and started writing her name in an act of ownership.
But what froze Joan was where she wrote it.
Right under the previous owner's name.
Henry Creel.
At the final 'n' of her name, Agatha paused and looked up as if waiting on something, slowly setting down her pen with a growing frown on her face. A few painstaking seconds went by and Joan watched as Agatha rolled her eyes and turned the page, writing out the familiar words of dear diary followed by her day.
And next to her a rectangle mirror appeared and Joan took the few steps towards it, absentmindedly complaining about her still cuffed hands, and looked through the reflective decoration. Surprisingly enough, the entire bedroom with Agatha in it was reflected inside, Joan moved her head to prove the theory and chuckled at the poster of Elvis with lipstick marks on it, obviously not printed on.
