CHAPTER TWELVE
In the Pale Moonlight

☾

A SOCKET OF dread opened in Rhiannon's stomach as she sat in the car, watching the trees whirl by. She ran her fingers through Nyx's fur to calm herself.

There were many reasons to be suspicious of this situation. She morbidly remembered the last time she trusted a boy and went somewhere she'd never been before. Now, Steve was driving her to an unfamiliar house, where she was expected to follow him into a storm cellar, and he had a weapon sitting around in his trunk for god knows how long.

This reminded her of things she didn't want to be reminded of.

But she comforted herself with this: things were different now. She was more formidable. Besides, this was Steve she was talking about, the same Steve that lost a fight to Jonathan last year. Saying 'he wouldn't hurt a fly' didn't feel right. He could probably get into a fight with a fly, and the fly would win. There was no need for her fear.

"So..." Dustin poked his head between the gap in the front seats. "Are you like his girlfriend or something?"

Rhiannon probed her tongue against her cheek. "I guess you could say I'm like his girlfriend, yeah."

The boy's eyes flickered between them. "You're not fully his girlfriend?"

Steve made a face. "Why are you asking about this?"

"I'm just curious," Dustin said with a shrug.

"Yeah, well— anybody ever tell you being curious kills cats?" Steve muttered. He quickly grimaced when he realized his word choice, glancing at the animal curled on Rhiannon's lap. "Sorry, Nyx."

"I don't think that's how the saying goes?" Rhiannon fumbled with the radio dials, hoping to play some music over the radioactive awkwardness simmering in the air. "Besides, none of this matters. We're here for Dart."

Dustin unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned forward. "I don't understand how he's gotten so big."

"Put your seatbelt on. It's not safe to sit like that," Rhiannon reprimanded, gently nudging him back.

"It's like he keeps molting," Dustin blurted.

"Hey, she asked you to put your seat belt on so get back there and do it," Steve told him with a stern look. Dustin mumbled a small sorry at her before slouching back and securing himself into place. "I swear to god, man, it's just some lizard."

"It doesn't look like one. I saw it. Nyx did too," Rhiannon said, tickling her cat's chin. "Isn't that right, my little hunter?" 

"He more than saw it," Dustin said. "He tried to eat him, but then Dart was too big so he threw him up. It was disgusting."

Steve's eyebrows were high on his forehead. "Nyx tried to eat the lizard?"

"He's not a lizard!" Dustin exclaimed, hands shooting up in exasperation.

"How do you know?"

"Because his face opened up and he ate my cat!"

Horrified, Rhiannon's eyes widened as she slowly covered Nyx's ears. 

"You're telling me her cat ate that thing— and then that thing ate your cat?" Steve pried, trying to make sense of it.

Rhiannon gasped. "Ooh! An act of revenge maybe?"

The car peeled to a stop in Dustin's driveway. Outside, the town was cold and dark in the November chill. The remnants of fall settled over the streets, lulling suburbia into a peaceful silence as the streetlights glow yellow, reminiscent of candles. She scooped Nyx into her arms, waiting for Steve to get his baseball bat.

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Should I be concerned about why you have this?"

"For protection. But you can trust me— us," Steve quickly corrected, gesturing at Dustin.

Trust? This was the third time this week he'd asked her to trust him. But trust was a luxury. An impossible wish. She wasn't sure she'd trust a boy ever again, no matter how beautiful.

Take, for example, Nicholas Lynch. He was gorgeous, yet willing to kill her to strike a deal with the devil. Willing to end innocent lives for his greed. Willing to offer her body, which didn't belong to him in the first place, in exchange for fame and fortune. She'd been stupid enough to get attached to his syrupy, sugar-coated charm. It was because of him that instead of latching onto any of the band members, the demon, for whatever reason, latched onto her instead.

Just when you think you know a person, they stab you in the back. Literally. So no, never again would she trust someone.

"Knowledge, secrets. You keep lots of things in there," she teased, nodding at his head. "Anything else you're hiding?"

"Will you stop that?" Steve muttered, but his lips were lifted in an approximation of a smile. His laugh was subtle and, dare she say, maybe even cute?

No. Yes. No. What? She couldn't find his laugh cute. There was just no way. Her heartbeat shifted into a higher gear.

But that feeling went straight into remission as the guilt, the phantom in the back of her mind that took the shape of her best friend, crept back in. Lori's locket was burning her chest, festering into lichen against her heart. Rhiannon wasn't sure what would ruin her quicker — her guilt or her hunger.

"If you guys are done doing whatever that was, can we get back to Dart please?" Dustin asked with an expression of disgust. "In case you couldn't tell, this is urgent."

"Hey, I don't appreciate that attitude," Steve admonished.

"I don't appreciate how long you're taking. Let's get moving," Dustin said, then led them through the garden gate.

The cobblestone path was dark, but she wasn't a stranger to the shadows; she'd learned to bend to their will just as they had welcomed her. Nyx was the same. He had practically mystified into a cloud of smoke in her arms. The only thing to remind them of his presence was the occasional meowing. Dustin guided them to his cellar, sealed tight by a lock and chain. Steve banged his bat against it.

There was nothing.

She listened closely. "I don't think he's in there at all."

"He has to be. There's nowhere else he could've gone," said Dustin, chewing his bottom lip anxiously.

"I don't hear shit though," said Steve.

Rhiannon's gaze sharpened into a glare. "You're not lying about this, are you?" she asked Dustin. "Do you know what happened to the boy who cried wolf? He died sad and alone, because he was a liar."

"Yeah, and because the wolf, like, ate him or something and nobody cared," Steve added in solidarity.

"I'm not lying! I don't wanna die!" cried Dustin.

"Well, if this is some sort of Halloween prank, you're dead," Steve threatened, flashing the light directly in Dustin's eyes.

"It's not. Get that out of my face." Dustin squinted his eyes, scowling. "Why would I lie? Better yet, why would I willingly bring the two of you to my house? It's not like I want to hang out."

Steve and Rhiannon shared an offended look. "Yeah, man, we got the memo," he muttered.

"Rude. I'm super fun to hang out with," she said, scoffing. "And if you're so sure he's there, let's go check."

"Actually, why don't I stay here? Keep watch in case he tries to... escape." Dustin gulped, shifting nervously on his feet. He clearly didn't want to throw himself into potential danger.

"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just give us the key."

After opening the padlock, the chain gave way. Steve yanked the rusted doors apart. Stone steps led into a rectangular storage space. She was half-expecting a monster to crawl out or lunge at them, but it didn't. Steve pointed his flashlight into the cellar, the darkness beyond deep and hungry-looking. A few solitary insects scurried away from the brightness, seeking refuge in cracks in the walls.

Rhiannon set Nyx down and went to descend the steps, but Steve's hand shot out, grazing her waist as he pulled her back. She felt a fire ignite beneath his grip, burning through her clothes and into her skin. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment too long. "I'll go first."

Though she didn't mean to, she snorted. "Whatever happened to ladies first? Don't tell me you lost your manners."

Steve sent her a scathing look that essentially translated into Not now, Rhiannon. This wasn't the time for her jokes. He'd be the sacrificial lamb led to the slaughterhouse in the name of saving others and he'd hear no protests about it.

With no room for argument, Steve padded into the cellar. He kept trying to nudge her behind him the whole time, and the fact that he wanted to keep her safe was nice, but she was five seconds away from telling him that she didn't need protecting. She didn't need a knight in shining armor. Not when she had herself. It had to be this way.

Girlhood had been lethal and monstrous for her. To be a girl meant to rot, to bleed, to crave in a way nobody else would understand, but she learned to get by just fine on her own because she didn't have a choice.

The lightbulb dangling from the ceiling pathetically flickered on once Steve tugged the cord. The room was filled with storage boxes and hardware supplies. Willowy spindles of cobwebs had been woven around corners and in the spaces between shelves.

No sign of Dart, though he left a souvenir. Her nose crinkled as Steve used his bat to pick up the lump of mangled skin the creature had shed off. It was covered in slime, carrying a sour smell reminiscent of decay and sewage. The second sign of his presence was the hole carved into the wall, revealing a serpentine tunnel that spread for miles ahead, reaching its shadowy fingers into the outside world. He had escaped, had dug his way out.

"Guys? What's going on?" Dustin called out, apprehension laced in his tone.

"Get down here," Steve demanded.

Dustin made his way to them. "Ah, shit." His eyes darted over the mess his pet made. Even in the thin light, she could see the color drain from his face. "This isn't good."

Rhiannon frowned. "If he's not a lizard, then what is he?"

The boys exchanged looks. As if they both knew something she didn't. Or, at the very least, they both had the same suspicion but hadn't told her. She was desperate to wrench it out of them.

"What was that look?" she pressed, wagging an accusatory finger.

Dustin emptied his throat, his voice raising an octave higher. "What look? There was no look."

"You two are hiding something." She narrowed her eyes at them, seeing if they'd crack under the pressure of her gaze. Steve maintained eye contact, not afraid to back down from the challenge, but Dustin squirmed. There it is. The easy target. He'd be the one to crack. "Go on. Spill."

As expected, Dustin caved. "I think he's a baby Demogorgon."

"A Demo-what?"

Why couldn't these children ever speak in simple truths? Why must they be so vague?

"It's an interdimensional creature." When she raised her eyebrows to spur an explanation out of him, Dustin elaborated, "Looks a lot like Dart, but bigger and taller— and it walks on two feet. It's basically an adult Dart... And now we need to find him before he tries eating someone."

She stared between them, and then let out a breathy laugh. "You're getting really creative. How'd you come up with that?"

"Why are you laughing? It's not a joke. It's a hundred percent real. Steve, tell her."

"Kid's right. I fought one of those things last year with this," Steve chimed in, lifting his bat and flicking the skin off. It splattered against the wall, slowly sliding down until it formed a pile of sludge on the floor.

"You're being serious?" Her smile wavered. "Oh. Okay. Lovely."

"You're handling this surprisingly well," Dustin said.

Was anything that surprising when she had fangs, among other things? This was nothing. "Believe it or not, I've been through worse."

"Right... Ritual sacrifice. That's crazy," Dustin said, his lack of tact earning a scolding nod on the head from Steve. Dustin mouthed back, What, dude?

Rhiannon considered the news, crossing her arms over her chest. "So this Demogorgon— where'd he come from?"

"We call it the Upside Down."

The words sank into her like poison, dissolving her skin. That was what Will called it at the lab. Her voice was brittle. "You've been there before?"

"Not us, but Will has. It's a lot like the Vale of Shadows from D&D— an alternate dark dimension that's a reflection of our world. A place filled with death and monsters."

It sounded frighteningly familiar. She thought of the moving tendrils in the middle school. The carrion flowers. The smell of earth and rotting flesh.

"I've been there," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Dustin's eyes bulged. "What? When?"

Rhiannon fidgeted with a loose string in the sleeve of her sweater. "I'm pretty sure that's where I went after I died."

Dustin and Steve sent her similar expressions of bewilderment, their voices overlapping. "You— huh?" Steve said at the same time that Dustin went, "Did you say died?"

At her silence, Dustin waved his arms around. "Care to elaborate, please?"

"The incident. I don't remember a lot... but after I was stabbed, I blacked out for a few minutes. I think I might've died. And then, suddenly, I was somewhere cold. Dark. It was like, a halfway place— everything was half dead, half alive. I thought it was limbo or something..." Rhiannon trailed off. She hadn't told anyone else about that wasteland. Not Dr. Owens. Not even Hopper.

"You were there. In the Upside Down." Steve's face splintered her heart into pieces. She never liked the looks she got from people after the incident, whether it was looks of pity or fear. His was just mournful. She'd gotten a lot of looks and somehow, his meant the most.

"How'd you get there?" Dustin mused. "How'd you come back?"

"No idea." She dropped her gaze to her feet. "I can't remember anything."

On the bright side, they believed her. Which brought her to another issue: should she also tell them she was possessed by a blood-thirsty demon and now her teen angst bullshit had a body count? That there was something inherently wrong with her and she could feel it — something rotting and ravenous on the inside?

Maybe admitting it wasn't a good idea. Because, what if they thought of her differently? What if they saw her for what she really was?

She thought of the look on Steve's face and her chest tightened. Whatever courage to admit the rest of the truth died at her throat.

☾

Steve had been through a lot of shit in his life — having parents that made him feel like a stranger in his too-empty house with more rooms than they really needed, seeing a monster viciously out for his blood baring its teeth at him as he swung at it with his bat, and getting dumped by his girlfriend for Jonathan Byers, to name a few. He'd put on a brave face though; nobody would ever see him upset. He'd make sure of it.

But if someone told him he'd be fake dating a dead girl his senior year, he wasn't sure he'd believe them.

He was trying to wrap his head around it because she didn't exactly look dead to him. Or like she had died. He had a clear concept of what the dead looked like — cold, pale skin and a thicket of blue veins; skeletons buried six feet under in coffins — but Rhiannon didn't fit the description. He'd touched her before, felt her face against the ridges of his palm, the warmth of her touch. A prickle of electricity. A spark that was very much filled with life.

But she was sure about it.

In turn, they told her about everything. A shadow crossed Rhiannon's face when they mentioned Eleven, and for a moment she looked like she wanted to say something, but decided not to. She listened in silence the entire time. Never once asked questions. They weren't used to this kind of reaction, this quiet calm like they were sharing the latest update on the weather instead of world-shattering news. Steve couldn't say his reaction was anything like that when he first found out. 

"My mom said she'd be gone all night looking for Mews." Dustin led them down the narrow hall, opening the door at the end. They didn't want to leave the kid alone tonight, not with a monster running loose, so they figured they should stay. "You can sleep in the guest room if you want."

A canopy bed sat in the center of the room, which was small but cozy, and beside that was a large wooden wardrobe. There were flowers painted on the pink wallpaper. Dustin's mom was, apparently, a big fan of anything floral patterned: the bedsheets, the armchair in the corner, the framed pictures on the wall, the pillows with little mantras embroidered on them. Even the tiles in the guest bathroom housed small carvings of petals. Nyx pounced on the chair, kneading at the pillow until he settled down.

Growing nervous, Steve ran his hand through his hair. "There's, uh, there's only one bed."

"It shouldn't be a problem, right?" Dustin asked. "Aren't you guys together?"

"We are," Rhiannon said quickly. "It'll be like a sleepover."

"Great, but no funny business," Dustin warned with narrowed eyes. "And be ready to report for duty at eight a.m. sharp tomorrow."

"We'll set the trap first thing in the morning," Steve said, leaning against the door, his hand splayed out on the frame.

"Dustin, stop doing that," Rhiannon chastised. The curly-haired boy kept pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth and making purring noises at her cat. Whenever Nyx glared, it seemed like an all-too-human expression. Right now he was seconds away from tearing the kid's face apart with his claws.

"Sorry," Dustin muttered sheepishly. "I'm heading to bed to get a good night's rest. Good night, Rhia."

"Good night," Rhiannon drawled in a singsong voice as Dustin dragged his feet down the hall. She was then moving toward the window and turning the latch, tugging the glass up by a few inches. Steve thought maybe it was because she wanted the breeze to drift in, but he soon realized it was to create a small enough opening where Nyx could crawl through if he wanted to, so he was free to roam around.

"You're not gonna tell me good night, Henderson?" Steve called out. "What kind of host are you?"

Dustin's voice came back a disgruntled groan, "Oh, shut up."

"Good night to you too!" Steve shut the door. He nudged his thumb behind him, shaking his head in disapproval. "Can you believe him? That little shithead."

But Rhiannon was busy staring at the piece of furniture in front of them. She had a troubled look sprawled across her face. Suddenly Steve felt the gravity of being alone in a room with her.

Rhiannon bounced on the heels of her feet and tucked some stray white strands of her hair behind her ear. "How do you wanna do this?"

"You can take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor," Steve suggested.

"King Steve couldn't possibly sleep on the floor. We couldn't allow that," Rhiannon crooned, waving her hand about theatrically.

"This is what I get for trying to be nice? Really?"

"I mean, I'd be happy to have the bed to myself. If you want to be on the floor that badly, be my guest." She arched her brow when he stayed still. "I swear I don't have cooties."

Steve parted his mouth to protest, though he realized he had nothing to say so he just let out a sigh. He shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the armchair, and kicked away his shoes.

"This wasn't exactly in the contract," he muttered, lying beneath the floral patchwork quilt. He switched off the lamp and they were submerged in the dark — the moon beam streaming in from the curtains acting as their only light source.

"Neither was helping a kid find his pet Demogorgon but here we are," Rhiannon huffed as she took apart her braid, letting her fall over her shoulders in loose curls. "Let's get one thing straight, if I so much as feel anything—"

"Liu, get on the bed," Steve ordered, "and while you're at it, get over yourself."

"You better stay on your side. Or else I'll send you to the floor, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear." He thought he'd have some peaceful rest, but Rhiannon kept aggressively shuffling around, twisting this way and that. He wasn't sure if she was trying to find a comfortable position or if she was wrestling with the mattress. "Will you stop moving?"

"You're hoarding the blanket." She pulled the blanket — leaving his arm exposed — and in retaliation, so did he. It happened again. She pulled. He pulled. Again and again they played a game of tug of war until they were both satisfied.

Silence descended. He was left with nothing but his thoughts as he stared at the ceiling. Rhiannon was all he thought about lately. The weight her smile left in his chest, the magnetic pull he felt every time he'd see her. And then there was Nancy. The things she said the night of the party, the way her face would light up whenever Jonathan's name was mentioned. It kept him up at night sometimes. Then it switched back to Rhiannon. Nancy, Rhiannon. Rhiannon, Nancy. They circulated around his brain like a whirlwind.

"I've been thinking about what you said," he spoke up. "It sort of changes everything I thought I knew. I thought whenever people... you know, when they're gone— they're gone."

"If I knew how it happened, I'd tell you," she replied glumly, turning her head on the pillow to look at him. "All I can say is I got lucky."

"But there's gotta be some explanation."

"You want answers I don't have. The reason you're the first person to know is because I don't like talking about it."

"Right." He frowned, feeling guilty. "You must be sick of hearing it, but I'm sorry for what happened."

"You don't have to be," she said, her voice thin. "It wasn't your fault."

The silence returned. He went back to tracing patterns on the ceiling. A stretch of time passed, maybe half an hour but he couldn't be sure, and he was on the brink of sleep, wading through the haze between dreams and consciousness with drooping eyelids, when he heard the mumbling.

"Did you say something?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

At first, he thought he might've been hallucinating, but there it was again. The mumbling. And something else, too. It was a quiet and strained sob. The sounds tangled together — until the messy rambling took the shape of words.

"Lori," Rhiannon whispered. "No. Don't go in there. Come back. Lori."

Steve propped himself up on one elbow. He leaned to the side until he was hovering over her. Rhiannon was asleep but her brows were pinched, her lips tugged into a frown. It didn't take a genius to assume what nightmare she was reliving. He put his hand on her arm to rouse her out of it.

Doing this, he came to learn, was a huge mistake. Rhiannon lurched awake, her hand shooting up and gripping his neck with an almost inhuman strength and speed. She straddled him within seconds, shoving him down against the pillow.

"Rhiannon," Steve tried with futile attempts to escape her vice grip, but she wouldn't budge.

Her eyes were black craters, empty. Glossed over. The beams of moonlight trickling in illuminated half her face in a bluish glow, almost gunmetal gray, the other half in the shadows.

"Rhi— Rhiannon," Steve muttered, the air being crushed from his windpipe. "It's just me."

It must've struck something within her because she snapped out of the daze. She nearly fell forward into him so his hands came up and gripped her hips to stabilize her. "Steve? Oh my god."

"It's okay. Just— let go."

"Sorry. Shit. I'm so sorry," she said, hovering over him as her hand went limp and her muscles relaxed. She subconsciously slumped into him, her other arm pushing against the mattress for support.

"It was getting a little hard to breathe," Steve whispered. She was close to his face. The proximity was distracting.

"I didn't mean to do that. I don't know what got over me."

"Bad dream I'm guessing?"

"Yeah," Rhiannon breathed out, shutting her eyes. "This is real, right? I'm not still dreaming?"

"No, you're not."

"Okay. Just making sure."

There was a sudden increase in temperature where the room was once cold. Steve's eyes drifted down to her position, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Does something like this usually happen in your dreams?"

A scoff slewed between Rhiannon's mouth. "Don't make me choke you again."

"Now I'm starting to think that's a kink of yours or something."

"Hey. No funny business, remember?"

"At least you're on me this time. So, we're even."

"What do you mean?"

"Back in the gym, when I fell on you. Plus, the meatloaf thing. Does this make us even now?"

This time, she did laugh, the sound as nice as a songbird in his ears. "I don't know if it works that way."

"Uh, yeah? I'm pretty sure that's how it works. I fall on you, you almost kill me, and so on."

"Fine. We're even. I'm sure this isn't very comfortable."

"Me? No, I'm pretty comfortable," Steve said, eyes flitting across hers, almost daring her to look at his mouth instead. He wanted her to. He wanted to look at hers.

"Are you now?" she said, and they stayed still for a second. He could hear her breathing and he was sure she could hear his but he didn't mind. There was something so dreamlike about this whole thing. Like it might be a vision he made up in his half-conscious head and he'd blink and she'd disappear before his eyes, leaving only the pale moonlight in her wake.

Was he the one dreaming? The lack of sleep must've been getting to him.

Suddenly she placed her hands against his chest, then sat upright and climbed off. His shirt had ridden up and exposed his lower stomach, the trail of dark hair leading from his navel and then disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. The absence of warmth was jarring, like a cold wave had washed over him.

"I'm going back to sleep," Rhiannon said, burrowing herself under the blanket. "Night, Harrington."

Steve muttered back a response, distracted. The breeze that poured in from the window had lifted the bed's curtains, shifting the white fabric, and it almost looked like phantoms dancing in the air. He tried falling asleep again but couldn't.

Not when all he could think about was her.