Clean cut American kid ~ Stranger things

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A sharp turn that sends the wheels of the car screeching on the gravel delivers me in front of the Byers' house. I jump from the tall car and slam the door behind me as I scurry towards the door, fuelled with adrenaline and a worry for Hopper. I slam my healthy fist against the door to announce my arrival before I waste no time to barge in. My heavy steps echo through the house as I march through the hallway before I come to a halt. There's something strange going on here. The house is dark and cold, seemingly lifeless, and a gigantic mess. There are papers strewn across the floors, and taped onto the walls. They're all covered in scribble of blues and browns that weave into each other and connect, turning the house into a maze.

"Who is it!?" A voice screams out in frustration from another room. Hushed and stressed mumbles of profanities follow. By the tone of the voice my timing couldn't have been worse as they are clearly doing something life important. I stomp in further to the house, leaving muddy footprints behind me on the floor and scrambling the drawings from their organised roads. I crash into the small body of Joyce as I turn into the kitchen door opening and she catches herself on my shoulders and stare up at me in disbelief.

"Sherry Harrington?" She breathes out. I've never had a relationship with the woman but I'm sure she knows some things about me since she's always been close with Hopper. Behind her are three other people hovering over the kitchen table but with their wide eyes set on me. I focus on the woman in front of me.

"Hopper... Vines... The upside down... They got Hopper..." I stutter hurriedly. I was so stunned by the state of the house that I momentarily forgot the urgency my message holds. This is life and death.

"You know where he is!?" Joyce screams and shakes me back and forth. Without my confirmation she starts to herd me out to the cars. We both climb into the police car. Me in the drivers seat and Joyce in the passengers. As I turn off the road I remember the other people in the house. They're standing on the porch and gaping at us. Joyce rolls the window down.

"BOB!" She shouts, "GET WILL AND MIKE AND FOLLOW US!"

I swear that woman might seem small and nervous but she is definitely intimidating when she wants to be. Her words send the man flying for her small green car with the two boys in tow. Soon they are visible in my rear view mirror.

We don't speak during the ride. We sit in silence and impatiently bounce in our seats, wishing to arrive sooner than possible. The gnawing in my stomach grows with each passing second. It's worry for Hopper. I don't know what I'd do if we are too late. I don't want to think about it. I also don't really have to because the gnawing is not strong enough to distract me from the growing ache in my left hand. It's throbbing with pain and I'm almost thankful for it. The self harmer deep down inside myself has always preferred the physical pain over any kind of psychological. I keep the hand rested on the steering wheel as I grip it tightly with my other hand. A pained groan escapes through my lips.

"Sherry what happened to your hand?" Joyce gasps when I catch her attention.

"The vines..." I croak.

We turn onto the field of Merrill's pumpkin patch. The car wobbles violently as I drive across the bumpy ground before I pull it to a stop. Bob and the boys are right at my tail and flies out their car to aid me and Joyce in whatever has to be done to find Hopper. We stumble into the hole and Joyce picks up the shovel that has been thrown to the side and starts to dig in the very bottom. The different looking dirt with the blue tint is already visible, so she should hit the vines soon. Bob slides into the hole after us. Joyce pushes the shovel into his hands and orders him to dig.

"No questions Bob!" She screams when he weakly stutters some argument. The poor man nods and adjusts the grip he has on the shovel before he gets to work. I've never seen the man before. He seems a little lame to be together with Joyce, and I always thought her type was someone like Hopper. Or actually Hopper. Joyce stumbles through the mud and stops in front of me. She asks me to hold my hand up so she can take a look at it. She takes a thorough look and cringes.

"Is it bad?" I don't want to think about it. If the bones are shattered enough that is something that never will heal correctly. If I don't have to chop it off it might just hang limply for the rest of my life. I can't imagine how powerless I'd be. I wouldn't be able to defend myself with only right hand punches.

"It's not too bad, you'll get a cast when this is over and it will heal just fine." She assures me. Her voice is comforting even though it's shaky and her mind obviously is some place else. I hope and pray that her nervousness is because of everything else that is happening around us and not the state of my hand. I need my hand. Joyce must sense my apprehension because she places both hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. "You'll be fine. Let me and Bob take care of Hopper. Focus on trying to get the swelling down, okay?"

I nod and she gives me a gentle nudge in the direction of the cars.

"Mike get the first aid kit in the glove compartment in my car and wrap up Sherry's hand!" Joyce shouts towards the boys' standing of to the side and watching us with worried eyes. The taller of the two, Mike, follows her directions. I walk up to them and lean against the side of the green car. I tug my sleeve up behind my elbow and stand with my arm in the air in front of me as I wait for him to find something to wrap it with. He pulls out a long and tangled bandage from a small bag with a cross on the front. The two boys stand warily a few feet in front of me and look at the bandage as if they hesitate what to do with it.

"Please help me do it, it will be painful as shit." I groan impatiently and just want to get this over with. Mike takes a step forward and start to wrap the bandage, starting around my arm. So far it isn't agonising.

"You're Steve's sister?" Mike asks shyly as he wraps the bandage with sweaty pubescent hands.

"Yeah." I nod. I don't know if that tells him something, if he's heard some stupid rumour story about me or whatever. I wouldn't guess that high school rumours spread to middle school but I may be wrong. The kid seems afraid of me but that might just be everything that's going on and me barging in to their house like a maniac.

"Do you know my sister Nancy then?" He asks and glances up at my face. So that's Nancy's little brother.

"Yeah." I repeat. I pull out a cigarette from my pocket and light it with my free hand. I need it as a distraction and reminder to take deep and full breaths. I almost pull a Tommy and choke on my cigarette when Mike starts to wrap the bandage tightly over my hand. My knees buckle and I press myself further into the side of the car as he continues through my wailing.

"I'm sorry! I have to!" Mike apologises as he pulls the fabric tighter around my swollen hand. I wave my other hand in the air as if to signal that I'm all right and for him to keep going. My attempt to cope with the pain sits between my fingers and the cigarette soon turns to nothing but ashes on the ground. I stomp frustratedly and want it to be over. However Mike's painful movements comes to an end too soon for him to be done. I look down at what he's doing. My palm is facing up in his grip. There's a small sliver of skin left naked on my wrist. It's the sliver of skin that holds my tattoo.

"El?" Mike chokes as tears well in his eyes.