Shutter [Jonathan Byers] Stranger Things I

XLV: Shaken

shak·en

past participle of shake.

upset the composure of; shock or astonish

A sickening feeling overcame Hopper when he woke; something bad had happened, and it only took him a few seconds to remember what had happened the night before. After sneaking into the lab, suspecting that Will in that building somewhere and that they were responsible for putting a dummy-corpse in place of him, Hopper had seen some unexplainable things. Things that were just an nonsensible as the things Joyce was saying; it didn't matter anymore what made sense and what fit in with the laws of science. Science had reached a new level, a level that the human race never should have gotten involved with. Hopper was shaken to his core.

He jerked out of his sleep and noticed that his house was all wrong; pills were scattered over the table. Although Hopper had probably taken a pill or two more than he was supposed to on a bad day, he would never have done something like this. It was so clearly a set up to make him think he'd gone crazy, or to make others not believe a word out of his mouth that Hopper knew something was wrong. Standing up, he didn't even notice Emilia as the blood rushed violently to his head and made him waver where he stood. The first thing he started to do was look for the bug that he knew they had planted; there was no way they would leave him be after just pretending as though he popped a few too many pills. There was too much at stake for the company, and Hopper was too close to figuring it out.

He began to rip apart his home, the lights in the kitchen, bedroom, the bathroom. The telephone, when he got his hands on it, he smashed so hard that a piece went flying across the room. Emilia jolted in her chair and realized that she was still holding the knife in her grip, and she flew out of the chair, rushing to see what the hell was going on. Hopper was sitting on the ground, the phone smashed, couch cushions torn, chairs in the kitchen flipped over. He was panting, breathing heavily, and looked up at the young woman across from him, wielding his largest kitchen knife. Instead of saying anything, he brought his finger to his lips.

He stood up then, as he'd been looking up at Emilia and noticed he'd missed the light in the living room. Carefully, he pulled the glass semi-sphere down and handed it to Emilia. It burned her hands, but she hardly took notice as she watched Hopper slowly pull down a small wire with a metal piece attached to it. He stared at it with such anger and resentment that Emilia thought he might start shouting, but instead, he began to shake his head. Carefully placing it down on the table, to deal with later, he beckoned for Emilia to follow him.

Glass bowl still in hand, and knife jutting out comically, she followed him outside to the back deck. Only when he had closed the door did he take a deep breath and study Emilia, "Did they see you?"

She shook her head, but couldn't speak.

He looked half relieved. "What... what time did you get there? Were you there when it happened?"

"I-I got there around eight? Nine, maybe. I don't know... I was asleep when they showed up, I-I hid."

"Good," he leaned forward as it he might throw up, then straightened. "Good. They can't know..."

"Know what?"

"That you're involved."

"What makes you think I'm involved?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're going to be," he told her, "I'm going to tell you what I know, okay?"

Emilia looked down at the glass bowl in her arms, there were dead bugs inside of it, shriveled and ancient. Dusty. All this information, it was all coming at her and she wasn't sure she really wanted to know anymore. Whomever was behind this -this lab- they had power, they had persuasion of law enforcement, she suspected. But she needed to know what Hopper knew, otherwise how would they ever get to the bottom of it all?

"Hawkins National Laboratory, I think they have Will," he explained, in a whisper with his hand on Emilia's shoulder. "The body was a decoy, a dummy. Joyce was right when she said it wasn't him. I don't have proof that they have Will, but they know I'm on to him. This little stunt last night is proof that I'm getting close to something they don't want me sticking my nose in. I don't know what the hell they are doing in there, but it's beyond my scientific capacity."

They didn't have Will, but Emilia didn't tell Hopper that. Everything had to be connected, and instead of having Hopper out there looking for monsters and missing children, it made sense to have him pursue to possible cause of this monster. Emilia simply nodded along with what Hopper was saying, because she knew that Will was out there, trapped in some other world. But someone had to be responsible for it, someone had to be the ground-zero for everything that had happened in the last half week. And if Hopper was going to dig into that, and hopefully in turn relay back information to Emilia, she wasn't going to direct him in another direction.

Enough people were risking their lives hunting a monster.

"What I'm getting at is that you're not safe here anymore. The chance that they didn't see you last night, it's not one I'll take again. They'll be watching me..." he paused, mumbled something Emilia didn't understand. "They'll be watching Joyce... The funeral..."

"The funeral," Emilia's eyes shot open, "I know Will isn't dead, but I still have to go."

He nodded, "Where are you going to stay?"

She shrugged, "I'll find a place."

At the lush cemetery, Emilia felt her shoes sinking into the soft grass as they stood. Jonathan had his hand wrapped around hers; even though the funeral felt fake and pushed, everyone stood politely and patiently. Across from where Emilia stood were Will's friends. Pint-sized, in her opinion, and certainly far from sad looking. One boy leaned in and whispered something to the other one, and he smiled; his mother shushed him, and the funeral went on. Joyce sat on a chair, although most people remained standing. There was no mourning in her expression, although she looked far less determined to find her son today than she had the other day in the street. Emilia wondered if maybe she had lost contact with Will, but she couldn't ask Joyce anything right then and there. In fact, Jonathan told her not to mention much to his mum. Not yet.

Thoughts of her mother warped their way into her mind, thoughts that Emilia had long forgotten. When she was just a young girl, her mother would bake with her, teaching her how to measure ingredients and how to eyeball them. Arlene Roth had taught Emilia a love for the kitchen, without letting the expectations of a woman tie her down to it. She refused to bow down to those social and marital expectations. Emilia's thoughts ran wild as she thought about how defiant her mother had been all her life, how she had told her father off when she had to, when she felt something was wrong. Why they stayed together so long was a mystery to Emilia, but she suspected it had something to do with how old Emilia was. She felt partially to blame for keeping her family together when it shouldn't have been, and tears streaked down her face.

The funeral concluded, and Emilia's wet eyes remained on the three boys who were clearly Will's closest friends. They should have been crying, or holding back tears to keep up appearances that were expected and forced upon boys of all ages. They should have been mourning for their friend, but they weren't. What did they know? Emilia couldn't help but wonder, and was taking a step over to them after everyone had tossed their yellow roses into his lowered casket and cemetery plot. Just as she was walking over to them, Jonathan reached for her and tipped his head, "You alright?"

She forgot what she was doing, why she wanted to talk to the younger kids. Clearing her throat, she nodded, "Yeah, fine..."

"I've got some good news," he told her, "Come on, Nancy is waiting over near the road."

Question of the day, what is something you do to completely calm you down? Relax you?