“Ready.”
The ride is longer than usual, since Mr. Blackwood’s property is farther from the small shopping strip than the inn is. No one seemed to mind when Bobby offered to drop me off. I give them each a hug, Bobby’s mom getting an extra long one, before hopping out of his truck, then wave until they’re past the gate, away from view.
Slowly, I turn around to face the house. A wave of uneasiness runs through me, leaving my body heavy and clammy. It doesn’t feel right, being here. It’s too empty. Too quiet. I know he left the place to me, but this is my first time at his door since my strike. I’m not even sure why I had them drop me off here today. Maybe for closure. Maybe so I won’t feel so alone. I shake my head, forcing my stiff fingers to untuck the key from my pocket and unlock the door.
Plates of stale food greet me when I walk in. Three empty glasses sit around the Three Ships Whiskey centerpiece on the coffee table. Papers are littered over the couch and bookshelf.
I have to lean one hand on the sofa for support as I take in the moment of déjà vu. It looks just like it did the first day I ever stepped inside. And just like that first day, I’m walking on eggshells.
I don’t let myself stare for long before I’m up the stairs, not stopping until I’m standing in the doorway of his bedroom. His bed isn’t made. The comforter is pulled back in one corner, and a coffee mug sits on the nightstand. It’s like he just stepped away and is coming right back.
The whole feel of the room is drab and dark, no thanks to the thick curtains he always kept pulled shut. So gloomy and depressing. Where’s the sunlight? Where’s the sign of another day? Eyes on the curtains, I march across the room, determination in every step. I grab ahold of the material with both hands and shove it to the side until light pours inside. It’s not sunny today, but the daylight casts a faint stream over the room, just right. Gives the place a little life. Much better.
I turn back to the window for a final glance, and a piece of land with dried up grass and wild weeds catches my eye. I recognize it immediately.
The house isn’t there anymore, just a pile of logs and barren land, but still, somehow I know. Maybe it’s from trudging along the same dirt when it became mud as I carried little Tommy to the neighboring shed. Maybe it’s from the old photo of the monster sitting in a chair on that very dirt as he eyed the camera, not a care in the world. Whatever the reason, I know.
That’s the Hawkins land. And Mr. Blackwood’s house, up on the lone hill, is the only one with a clear view of it.
I take a step back, but not before grabbing the curtains and yanking them shut again. So this is why he bought this place? A house too big for him, with rooms that went unused, and stairs he had to climb with his limp. I shake my head, trying to understand. Had he been reminiscing or punishing himself? The fact he’d made sure to keep the land out of sight, locked up tight behind these curtains, makes me willing to bet on the latter.
I whirl around, striding toward the hallway and closing the door firmly behind me. He may have been sardonic about it, but I’m not. I’ve only ever seen the place in my dreams, and even that’s enough to keep me from ever wanting to see it again.
I make my way down the steps, and I’m about to rush out the front door when I stop. I flick my gaze to my right, where the crinkled pieces of paper rest. Before I can stop myself, I pluck one up and open it. It’s a sketch of our little town, and lines and dots are blanketed over it with terms too brainy for me to understand. Then I grab another one, smoothing out the wrinkles. This one is a note.
Two lines.
Seven words.
I’m so sorry.
I’ll never give up.
My hand comes up over my chest as I reread the scribbled letters, then glance at the freshly scattered papers around me.He lied to me. He never stopped trying. Never lost faith. Until the day he died, he fought for a way to save Enzo.
I carefully set the note down on the table, fingers already trembling again as the realization seeps into my bones. My heart. My soul.
No, he never gave up.
And I never will either.
The knife loomsover Tommy’s stomach, just about to make its mark. Not today, you son of a bitch.
Hands still bound to the chair, I lean forward and spin around, then lunge backward until I feel the solid force of impact. The monster roars as one of the chair legs digs into him, and I’m frantic as I look back at Tommy. I don’t know how much time I can buy for him.
“Run! Take the damn chair with you for all I care. Just RUN!”
Tommy’s hazel eyes go wide, but after a shell-shocked pause, he mimics me, leaning forward until the chair bound to his arms lifts off the ground. He’s wobbling toward the front door, quick as his legs will take him, but I don’t get to see how far he makes it before I’m yanked back, crashing against the ground. I cry out with the snap of my shoulder popping out of place, the weight of the chair pulling against bone.
The monster leers at me, then makes for the exit. For Tommy.
I lunge again, this time knocking him down with the force of my head against his back, and we both go tumbling. Something else snaps, but the pain’s taken over so much of my body that I can’t pinpoint where the sound comes from this time. My hands get back to work behind me, tugging hard against the rope.
A grunt sounds from beside me. I turn to see the monster pulling himself back to his feet. “So that’s how you wanna do this? You really think you can fight me and win?”
I’m still lying sideways on the floor, limbs twisted awkwardly around the chair. The taste of metal swirls in my mouth, around my teeth, and I spit out a mouthful of blood. Then I lift my chin to look him straight in the eyes. “Any day, Pops. Any fuckin’ day.”
His face twists, turning beet red.
