Over the years nightmares have been a frequent friend in the Hopper house. Chills and a scream lodged in the back of her throat is the only way that Christine Hopper knows how to wake up. Her father tries hard to believe his daughter has a handle on...
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With a heavy, discouraged shake of her head, Chris pushes hurriedly past them, her heart pounding so fiercely it feels like it might burst. Hopper and Jonathan shout after her, their voices loud with anger, pleading for her to stay. She slams the door behind her, pressing her trembling back against it as a tidal wave of emotion crashes over her. Fear, guilt, and heartbreak overwhelming her in a moment of desperate quiet.
The faint sound of a heart monitor beeps from somewhere that feels both distant and painfully close, as if it's lurking just beside her. At first, she barely registered its presence, but now it's quickening relentlessly, echoing her mounting unease. While Chris's own heartbeat remains steady, this pulsing sound she's hearing races wildly, restless and unsteady, amplifying the depth of her dread.
"Hey there, Shadow Walker," Steve greets her, pulling her mind away from the dread. Her back is leaning against the sliding glass doors to the Harrington's backyard. The pool is empty, having been drained for the winter. They don't use it much anymore, not after Barb. Steve's sitting on a lounge chair. He smiles at her, but the look doesn't reach his brown eyes.
"Steve," she breathes out, relieved. She starts walking toward him.
The sky is bleeding once more, and any ordinary person would surely panic, but to her, it feels entirely natural. The air remains as still as stone, and not a single other living creature is in sight. This is the calm before the storm, a quiet moment before everything changes.
"Do you remember that night?" Steve's voice is low, curious.
She stops. "What—?"
"—That party I threw. When Barbara died, Nancy and I had sex."
Chris involuntarily shudders. Both notions are not things she tries to remember often if at all and Steve agrees. They've only talked about their past relationships a handful of times, and Barbara is always a tough subject.
"You were there," he continues. "With Barbara, watching it all happen, unable to help."
"Why are you saying this?" she questions, her defenses building up slowly.
Steve swings his legs over to the side of the lounge chair, standing to face Chris. They're several feet away from each other. When his eyes reach hers, her spine straightens. Her gut is telling her this isn't right, but she can't leave. As much as she'd like to.
The expression on his face is a mix of fascination and mischief. Like he's a little kid messing with something he shouldn't. Dissecting a bug to see how it squirms. He takes a step forward as he asks her, "How does it feel?"
"What?" she repeats, unease spreading through her bones.
"Feeling so...helpless. Unable to save Barbara. Everyone blames you."
