Shadows of the Night •a Stranger Things story•

I Will. Promise

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Lisa Drewins quietly walks down the sterile white halls. The lights above her glow intensely, leaving no shadows through the laboratory. She has a clipboard in hand full of papers and files, as usual. Her tan pumps dig into her heels, pinching her toes. The tan nylon stockings on her legs are ripped on one knee, reminding her she needs new ones. Her teal lab coat was pressed before work, but now it's got wrinkles around the elbows.

She fixes the pins that hold back her blond hair and steps up the room labeled with the number nine. She knocks on the door softly before scanning the room with her card. Lisa peeks inside. The light is on, and Nine is on his bed. The radio is on and classical music plays, a Ferneyhough's string quartet no. 2.

"That's a lovely piece, yes?" she wonders.

Nine looks at Lisa, then closes his eyes. The radio frequency changes filling the room with the melody of static. Lisa stares closely at the radio, then glances back at Nine. A heavy sigh comes from the radio, and Lisa steps closer, tilting her head. Nine twitches on the bed.

"You again." A girl's voice reaches through the static.

Lisa furrows her eyebrows, unsure if this is a voice coming from a radio station, or somewhere else entirely.

"Why am I here? Is something wrong...? Nine, say something. Please, I want to help you. You asked for my help last time, do you remember that?"

Lisa reaches for her folder, finding a document with the date October 29th, 1984. When he went to the light room to search for subject 011. He mentioned something about someone in there 'not being her'. What if this is someone else? An older subject?

"Nine, who is that?" Lisa mumbles.

"They'll look for you too," says Nine, his eyes still closed. He's not talking to Lisa. "You have to be careful..."

"Are you in trouble?" wonders the voice through the radio.

Lisa furrows her eyebrows together. She doesn't understand why Nine is showing her this. She doesn't know who he's talking to. Could it be an older subject that escaped? Like the girl they were looking for? What does she know about Nine? What has he told her?

"They will find her, Chris," mumbles Nine, eyes flickering behind closed lids. Lisa's eyes blink twice. She recognized that name...somewhere. "And they'll find you. They're coming for us." Lisa swallows at Nine's hauntly voice. She's surprised to hear the girl on the other end act so calm. This girl has done this before.

"I'm going to help you, okay? Can you tell me where you are?"

"That's enough, Nine." Lisa reaches forward, grabbing Nine's arm in the heat of the moment. She gasps, pulling her hand close to her chest.

Nine's dark eyes stare at Lisa with a cool expression. Peering down at her tender pink palm, Lisa sighs heavily, picking up her clipboard. She rises to her feet. "If anyone finds out what you just..." Lisa exhales loudly. "You need to get a better hold on this."

Chris paces the tiny length of the guy's bathroom. Steve has himself pushed against the door, in hopes that no one walks in on their conversation. She stops by the sinks, running her palm under cold water again. She whimpers in pain.

"I don't want you doing this anymore," he states, shaking his head.

Chris turns to him, eyes narrowed. She's frustrated, in physical pain, and her migraine is lingering. "Don't," she warns.

"You're getting yourself hurt!" Steve walks over and aggressively turns off the faucet. "How is it worth it?" He puts his hands on his hips, scolding her like Chris's mother used to do.

She raises an eyebrow at him, softening a bit. "Steve, he needs help."

"You said someone might've been listening in? What if this is all a trap, huh? What if they are looking for you? To find El."

Chris shakes her head. "They won't find her." Chris leans against the sink. "And I will be fine. They're not looking for me. The Hawkins Lab knows exactly where I am, anyway."

"You think he's in Hawkins?" wonders Steve. He furrows his eyebrows together. "There's no way...Dr. Owens wouldn't do that, besides Hopper searched every inch of that place."

"It's been nearly a year," she points out. "But no, I don't think he's in Hawkins." Chris glances away from him, her eyes glazing over slightly. "He's more...distant."

Steve reaches forward, grabbing Chris's uninjured hand. "I know you won't stop...but I need you to be more careful, please?"

Chris nods once, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I will," she lies. "Promise."

Ronda marches into the Police Station, the afternoon of Halloween day showing a promising night ahead. The receptionist, Flo, sees Ronda coming through the doors and smiles a tight-lipped smile. She pitied the girl, who came in to the station more than once a week. Flo didn't know exactly what for, but she could tell it was eating up the teenage girl. It was eating up Hopper, too.

"He's speaking with someone right now, Miss Jones," says Flo as Ronda makes her way toward the desks.

"I'll wait," she replies, not bothering to look back at Flo. Ronda had nothing against the woman, but her temper has been on the rise all day. She sees Chief Hopper talking to Eugene, the owner of the pumpkin patch that Melissa had gotten their pumpkins from this year—before they were all rotted. Powell and Callahan are there too, listening to Eugene's story.

"My Jenny and her boys were in town. I was with them all night..."

Hopper tilts in his chair. "Did you actually see Merrill?"

Eugene shakes his head. "No need. That man done lost his mind. Went around slandering me, threatening all sorts of madness."

"A pumpkin conspiracy, Chief," comments Powell, chuckling in his chair. His hands are rested on his stomach. Clearly he wasn't as invested in this report as Eugene was.

Callahan smiles. "Hawkins' very own Chinatown."

Hopper leans forward, trying to sympathize with Eugene. "Merrill threatening to do something and him actually doing something are two very different things."

"You got a better explanation?" inquires Eugene, narrowing his eyes.

"Cold weather," offers Ronda, not really sure what pumpkins needed in order to grow. The four men look at her, and she settles herself on Powell's desk.

Eugene shakes his head. "It's October."

Hopper shrugs, "Yeah, it's a cold one."

Eugene, growing impatient, raises his hands for Hopper to look at. His dark hands are weather-beaten. He's seen a lot of things growing plants. He knows how soil works, how plants should grow. He knows what happens to them if they don't. "You see these hands? You know why they look like that?"

"Because you're old?" wonders Callahan, still being a bit of a smartass.

Eugene shoots him a dark look. "You're damn straight." Powell and Ronda chuckle. Eugene continues, "And I've been doing this a long time, Chief. A long time. And I ain't never seen anything the likes of this. None of us have."

"None of us?" repeats Hopper, glancing at Powell.

"Merrill didn't just hit me last night. He hit damn near everyone."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jack O'Dell, Pete Freeling, Rick Neary, the Christensens. All of their crops, dead."

Hopper reaches for a pen and paper. "Give me those names again."

Ronda sighs; her conversation with Hopper would have to wait.

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