The Long Game, Lucas Sinclair

a happy family in the 50s

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Sam, Robin, and Nancy were taking turns, explaining to Victor what was happening right now in Hawkins. They were hoping to convince Victor they really did believe him, and that they really did believe the "demon" (Vecna) was back.

"When he attacks, our friend described it as a trance," Sam explained, trying to stop her voice from wavering at the thought of Max. "Like a waking nightmare. That's why we think he's — coming for her next."

Victor sat on his chair, listening to the girls as they recounted the recent events to him. His elbows were on his thighs, and he rubbed his hands together, processing.

Sam asked, "Does any of this — anything we've told you — sound like what happened to your family?"

Victor breathed shakily, in a manner much like how Sam behaved when she was disturbed. Robin and Nancy looked to Sam impatiently, like they had no hope that the mentally deranged man would talk.

"Victor," Nancy said firmly. "I know this is hard—"

"You don't know anything!" Victor snapped, frustrated yell sounding deep from his gut. Victor's voice echoed around the halls and rang in Sam's ears. She sucked in a sharp breath, but she eyed him so sadly.

Sam nodded, even if he couldn't see it. "You're right," she agreed. "We don't know. That's why we're here. To learn, to understand."

Victor's head craned towards them again, slowly calming down.

"We need to know how you survived that night," Robin leaned forward to say.

Victor laughed out incredulously, turning towards them and standing in his chair. "'Survived'? Is that what you call this?"

A man forever bound to a cell. A man, doomed to grow old and die guilty of a crime he didn't commit. A man, without eyes, never to see again because they were carved out of him.

"Did," Victor walked forward slowly, "I... survive?"

He crossed his arms at them, and Robin and Nancy leaned away from the cell. Victor shot closer and Sam put her arms protectively in front of them.

"No, I assure you," growled Victor. "I am still very much in hell."

And then the story began:

"I had been back from the war some 14 years."

A happy family in the 50s. A husband, a wife, a daughter, a son.

"Her great-uncle had died, leaving us a small fortune."

A grand house painted in blue, larger than life itself. A stained-glass window of a rose on the door.

"Enough to by a new home, a new life."

It was unfurnished, but lovely. An impressed family soaked in the beauty of it all.

"It was... a magnificent home. Alice said," Victor grinned fondly, "it looked like it was from a fairytale."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed, and she stepped closer again. The name sounded familiar. "Alice... Was this your daughter?"

The smile on Victor's face was rare but genuine. "Mmm," he hummed. "Yeah." Victor breathed in, smile faltering. "But Henry... my boy, he... he was a sensitive child.... and I could see he felt something was wrong."