Broken: the Ultimate Crossover

Chapter 14

Betty's POV

Peter is standing in front of the death mass, lighter in hand. He takes in a deep breath and slides his thumb along the igniter of the small multicolored object. A small flame emerges and Peter carefully puts the fire to one of the tentacles.

The tentacle of the death mass flinches, but doesn't release it's grip on the locker. Peter, as well, flinches and regains his composure before he puts the flame to the tentacle again.

Archie and I must look stupid, standing over his shoulder, mouths agape.

The death mass almost screams, releasing a high pitched noise as one tentacle releases it's grip from the locker, falling to the floor.

Peter looks back at us and smiles with satisfaction as he realizes that he has the upper hand. He returns the flame back to the death mass, working away when we hear a door creak opedown the hall.

Peter almost drops the lighter and slams the locker as all three of our heads turn in the direction of the door. I can hear my heart pounding in my head and I want to turn to run, but a can't. Peter and Archie seem to be petrified with fear as we see a shadow make it's way toward the door, my heart basically stops as a tall, thin figure emerges from the door.

All three of us exhale deeply as Mr. Hall exits his classroom with a box of who-knows-what in his arms. I grab onto Peter's shoulder to steady myself, my body calming down.

He looks up at us and stops in his tracks, looking us up and down. Peter quickly slides the lighter behind his back and I take it from him, hiding it in the same hand that's on his shoulder.

"What are you kids still doing here?" He asks, not unfriendly.

"Oh, Peter just forgot his English homework," Archie covers for him, and we all smile awkwardly.

"Yeah, I just completely spaced it," Peter replies with a nervous giggle.

Mr. Hall nods and looks us all up and down with a skeptic eye, raising his brow at us. "I see. You're all a bit jumpy."

"The whole 'missing Cheryl' thing is just kind of a lot to process. We thought you were here to kidnap us," I tell him, giving him a sad face.

"I know it's hard," he says sympathetically. "But we all have to stay strong and watch our backs. You kids should get home before your folks get worried."

"Yessir," we all respond and watch him leave over our shoulders.

Once Mr. Hall is out of sight, we all exhale and I take my hand off of Peter's shoulder, revealing the lighter in my hand. Peter takes it back from me and opens the locker once more, pressing the flame to the tentacle of the death mass.

°•°•°•°
Jonathan's POV

I'm alone; all alone.

My mom went back to the police station to try and talk some "sense," as she called it, into Hopper and Keller. So I'm alone in my house, washing the dishes.

All alone...

Thoughts of Will and Cheryl enter my mind as I scrub the plates, mostly about my little brother. How could such a sweet, intelligent, and all around pure soul be taken so harshly. What wrong had he done in the world? Playing in his fort in the woods? Drawing fantastical features or playing Dungeons and Dragons with his best friends? Will didn't deserve this, and I can't say Cheryl did either, no matter my opinions on her.

It's like the world has turned upside down, everything in our usually comfortable home now seems cold and lifeless. I glance to the kitchen table and see the paper and crayons still strewn about on its wooden surface.

I sigh and continue to dry dishes, lost in my own fantasies about destroying this monster that took Will, when the light flickers above me. I look up, still drying my dish, and stroll beneath the still blinking light.

My face twists into a confused expression, my heart thumping in my chest. It stops flickering and stays on a constant light, though it's glowing brighter and brighter by the second. My eyes widen and I take a step back, still fixated on the light fixture on the ceiling.

Then the phone rings.

I startle and drop the plate in my hands, hearing it crash to the floor. I look up at the light, which is still shining unnaturally bright in the middle of the room. I step around the glass and approach the landline cautiously.

We have an old chorded landline that hangs on the wall beside the arch to the living room, and most days it goes untouched, hardly ever ringing.

I look at it closely for a minute, hearing its classic, rhythmic ring. My hand reaches for it before falling again. I inhale and hold my breath, reaching out for the phone a second time. I take the phone off the wall, holding it to my ear. On the other end is heavy breathing. I know my eyebrows and decide to speak, though my voice comes out weakly.

"Hello?" My voice cracks.

In response I hear a moment of heavy breathing before the person responds. My breath catches in my throat and I have to steady myself against the wall to keep upright on my now weakened legs. And not a good, relieved kind of weak; a terrified, unsure weak.

"Jonathan?"

I recognize the muffled voice immediately. It's my little brother. He sounds scared and lost, his heavy breathing now becoming more shaky.

"Will?" I ask in disbelief.

"Jonathan!" He replies more frantically, and my hand starts shaking.

"Will?" I say again, my pulse pounding in my head. "Will where are you?"

He breathes heavily again, not responding to my question. I wait for a minute, listening intently to the other end of the call, trying to hear anything: the atmosphere, people behind him, anything.

"H-help," Will chokes and then sounds more distant. "No...no please."

"Will, I can help you, you just need to tell me where you are so I-" I'm cut off by a loud malfunctioning sound, an electric shock hitting my ear. I stagger backward and drop the phone. When I look back at it dangles from the spiral chord and now has charred marks on the speaker and recieving part of the old phone. I stare at it for a minute in disbelief and shock.

Will is alive.

He's out there somewhere, with the demagorgan.

I hear his voice ringing in my head and I hold onto one of the wooden chairs behind me to steady myself. I stare for a moment, trying to figure out what's going on, how to stop this thing and get Will back.

I search my mind for people to ask for help. Not the police, they'll never believe me. Not mom, she'll say I'm overreacting.

Peter. Yes, Peter. He has to have at least something on the death mass by now right? Some observation on what it's made of and where it comes from?

I give another long look to the landline before my eyes turn to the front door, then back to the sink and the plate shattered on the floor. I realize that I may not be alone here, the demagorgan could very well be in my house, and that sends a prickle of goosebumps across the back of my neck.

After looking around my kitchen for a minute, I rush to the front door and throw it open, sprinting out of the house, the door slamming behind me.