✓ | 2. young blood [STEVE HARRINGTON]

thirteen.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
C-L-O-S-E-G-A-T-E

[ THE MIND-FLAYER PART II ]

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After Mike's words, a plan — though it could hardly be considered a concrete, highly-likely-to-be-successful idea — had come about rather rapidly, piecing together bit by bit an alarming rate. Though they weren't sure it would work for certain, all efforts went in to preparing Will for interrogation. Well, that was if they could reach the boy, seeing has his mind had been overtaken by what was now pinned the Mind Flayer.

They set it up in the Byers' garden shed. Hopper and Thomas cleared the space out, dumping tool boxes and ladders and all sorts of unless, miscellaneous junk in the back yard, until a huge pile of crap had formed on the wet grass. Meanwhile, the others raided the kitchen, the bedrooms, the trashcans — everywhere they might find cardboard or newspaper or plastic liners for bins, they searched. Then, as a group, they coated every inch of every wall and floor and ceiling the paper materials, until the room was lost of black and white articles about Ronald Reagan and plastic wrappings for microwaveable food.

Once they were all finished, and that was an hour or two later, Jonathan carried an unconscious Will over and they tied him up using wire, which had been clipped down from the back garden where Joyce hung her clothes out to dry. His body slumped forward in the chair they brought over, also covered in cardboard, and the washing line's wire, tied to a pole that supported the ceiling, was the only thing keeping him upright.

Taking a last look at the young Byers boy, Thomas and Steve and the others retreated from the shed, back to the house, leaving Joyce, Mike, Jonathan and Hopper to try to talk to Will.

            In the kitchen, Dustin watched from the window, his cap off and hands absently combing through his hair. Across the room, Steve leant against the wall, lost in thought, and in the hallway to his right Lucas and Max sat against the walls, opposite each other. In the room behind Lucas' back, the lounge, Thomas slumped on his side across the couch, half asleep, while Nancy stood on the rug in the centre of the room, occasionally moving only to pace back and forth hopelessly.

          "If he finds out where we are," she spoke up suddenly, breaking the impatiently waiting quiet that everyone was drowning in, though her words were quiet and spoken only to Thomas, "he'll send those dogs after us, right?"

          Thomas flicked his eyes up to Nancy, who wasn't looking at him, continuing to pace slowly, mindlessly. At first, he pondered briefly if he had just imagined her speaking, but no. The fear on Nancy's face was entirely real, tangling with her messy hair as it fell into her face.