[COMPLETED UNTIL SEASON 5]
Ana Thompson always seems to wind up in the strangest predicaments...
A perpetual victim of Murphy's Law, Ana finds herself arriving in Hawkins, Indiana just prior to the events of November 6th, 1983.
And, just prior to f...
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RUSHING BACK into the house, Hopper had listened to Benny's message for himself once, and then twice more for certainty. All animosity between the two dissipated immediately upon the shared realization that this changed everything.
"Something else is going on here," he concluded, beginning to pace around her living room, threatening to leave a divet where his steps ceaselessly tread. "Someone shot Benny, put the gun in his hand, and staged it to look like a suicide."
Ana sat up straighter on the couch upon hearing this revelation. "What did you just say?" She asked, stopping him short in his strides.
Her confusion spurred his own, and his brow dipped in befuddlement. "What?"
"What did you say about the gun?" She tried again with only a measure of patience. Ana couldn't have heard him right because he should have noted the inconsistency himself, if it existed.
"The gun, it was in Benny's hand, making it look like a suicide," he responded, but this clarification only confirmed her suspicions.
Ana let out a bark of laughter, although the current situation was anything but funny. "Well, that's the first mistake." The look of perplexity on Hopper's face didn't let up. "You're a cop, how do you not know this?" His only reply was a scoff of indignation. "When someone shoots themselves, they don't hold onto the gun after. It's like going boneless. You can't clutch on to shit." She'd pronounced this as if it were public knowledge, information that everyone should be privy to.
"The better question is, how do you even know that?" Hopper asked, aghast. Why did she possess the capacity to continually surprise him, and when would it end? Probably never, he figured.
Ana paused for a moment. Tonight was all about revelations, now what's it? "My aunt committed suicide when I was ten," she replied tonelessly. "I found her."
The air between them became thick like an unexpected fog had descended in her living. She took on a faraway look then, avoiding eye contact, and he grappled for something, anything to say.
"Ana, I'm sorry," was the best he could conjure after releasing a heavy breath.
"It was a long time ago," she replied snapping back into the moment, but still not fully returning to herself. "You're not the only one who feels cursed sometimes," she muttered, heading off into the kitchen to produce some alcohol that would numb their collective pain to the point of bearability.
When Ana had returned with a can of beer in each hand, passing the second off to Hopper who cracked it open swiftly and drank from it greedily, she asked, "so what about this little girl?"
Did Ana Thompson show up to her teaching job on Wednesday, November 9? Yes. Did she get much accomplished while there? Who's to say. She'd definitely delivered a lecture over the symbolism of The Lonely Mountain in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. What she'd specifically ordained to the kids in her class that day, though, was all but a mystery to her.
