Happenstance ⌱ Jim Hopper

[ 2 ] PRESSURE DROP

[ 2 ]

JIM HOPPER was not having the best morning. Having woken up an hour late for work, with a splitting hangover, was one thing. But, the feeling of having a hammer pounding into one's skull wasn't numbed by the frantic mother of Will Byers, claiming her son had gone missing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, as he'd told her, the kid wasn't missing, but with a parent.

Chief Hopper was confident in the belief that the young boy had merely run away to his father's house. Maybe Joyce Byers had refused to buy her son a board game, or perhaps he just missed his father, Lonnie. Either way, there were better things Jim could be doing than leading a full-fledged police investigation into the vanishing of Will Byers. Certainly, he didn't need to listen to a trio of oddball kids brief him with riddles about Mirkwood and Lord of the Rings.

"We can help look for Will," the lanky, pale boy with black hair said. Mike Wheeler. Jim wrote his name down so he would remember, as he did with the other two. In the boy's eyes, Jim Hopper could see the desperation. "We know the route he takes and everything."

Jim shook his head sternly. Though he felt bad for the predicament that these boys were in, he wouldn't have a threesome of children, who played pretend almost constantly, running around. They would be more trouble than they were worth. These were the boys that Jodie Whittier had given fireworks and explosives to a couple days before; Chief Hopper made a mental note of that.

"No. After school, you are all to go home. Immediately." He stared down each boy, making sure they knew he was not bluffing. "That means no biking around looking for your friend, no investigating. No nonsense."

Lucas Sinclair, the loud-mouthed kid, shot Hopper a scoff. "You said that last time. You still haven't found Jamey."

"Dude," the curly headed one piped up, knocking Lucas on the arm, "not cool. They're gonna find Will."

Chief Hopper, annoyed, rested his arms on his legs and leant forward, staring at them as any hardened policeman would. "Do I make myself clear?" When they didn't respond, Jim stood, menacingly striding closer to them with slow, paced steps. "Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Y-Yeah."

Jim gave them a brisk nod and jammed his hat on his head. Internally, he was fuming. With three long strides, Jim was out of the Hawkins Middle School's Principle office. He slammed the wood panelled door shut behind him, the glass shaking with a whoosh—BANG.