Chapter Eleven
The Tragedy of Chrissy Cunningham

"When his home didn't feel like home, he would go to the place that did."

Wayne was a fucking genius.

His theory had led Betty to one particular place, and it made total sense.

The treehouse.

Eddie used to go there almost religiously when they were younger. It could be found in the woods, taking a diversion from the main paths, just a few miles away from Betty's old house.

The treehouse was mostly a testament to the long standing friendship of Betty's father and Eddie's Uncle Wayne – although, much like the rotting wood the place was made from, their friendship wasn't quite as robust anymore.

As teenagers, the two boys had built it from their bare hands. The sentiment of the treehouse had stuck, their sanctuary soon being passed down to Betty and Eddie.

For a while, at least.

But even though their friendship had disintegrated too, the wooden house was particularly stubborn. It may have weathered over the years, but it stood the test of time.

In fact, aside from some rusting, and a couple of rungs from the ladder having disappeared, their makeshift home looked almost the same.

It was a bit harder to spot, shrouded more by the trees, which had grown larger over the years, branches spurting out and forcing the treehouse at a slight angle. Betty wasn't completely convinced it was safe to go up there. Though she supposed it hadn't been built too high from the ground to be life threatening or anything...

She hoped.

Betty stood at the bottom of the ladder and called out Eddie's name.

Nothing.

She tilted her head back, staring up at her destination, which seemed to be getting higher and higher now that she was stood directly underneath. Great.

Betty had no choice but to swallow her fear. She raised her arm and wrapped her hand around the first rung. The ladder was flimsy, barely held together by worn, thin pieces of string. She had terrible visions of getting halfway up there and it snapping.

Betty tried to shake the negative thoughts away. She tightened her fingers around the wooden rung. Once she had a stable enough grip, she hauled herself up, setting her foot on the lowest rung for balance.

Her weight caused the ladder to wobble. Betty swayed in the air. She grasped the ladder tighter and prayed. 

She took her time climbing, stopping at each few steps to ensure the ladder steadied itself and wasn't going to collapse. When she reached the top, she was feeling a little jittery, and very relieved to be on flat ground again.

She crawled on her hands and knees across the rough wood, ducking her head underneath the small doorway.

The first giveaway was that the place smelled exactly like Eddie. Whilst he did have a generally outdoorsy musk, the lingering stench of cigarette smoke seemed unnatural.

Betty's eyes scoured the interior for a cigarette left smoking or an ashtray. She could absolutely believe Eddie would be stupid enough to leave a lit one behind.

She shuffled further inside, searching underneath scraps of old, discarded magazines, tossing pillows out her way, lifting up the old tattered patch blanket Betty's mom had made for them.

That was when she found the second clue.

Her missing Madonna tape.

It was hidden beneath the blanket, wedged part way under a pillow. Betty scrambled to pull it out.

A piece of paper, which looked to have been ripped out a magazine, was attached to it. There was a note, scrawled in Eddie's messy handwriting.

Angel number 2121.

Betty read it once. Then twice. And again.

Fucking what?

She sat back on her knees, clutching the tape in both hands.

Clearly, he was leaving her a message. But in code? Surely he knew her better than that. Betty was never going to decipher fucking code.

She huffed, setting the cassette in her lap.

Angel – her name. That made sense.

Side note, how long had he been holding on to that Madonna tape? She'd been searching for that for ages. Stupid boys.

Anyway.

Angel. Her name. Yes.

Angel number?

Did that mean she needed to call a certain number? Was it 2121? But how would she know the rest of it? Fucks sake.

Betty chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting around the room for inspiration.

She landed on a Seventeen magazine dated several years back. Written in pink bubble writing were the words Angel numbers.

Oh! Maybe it was something to do with astrology.

Betty dived for the magazine, hurriedly flicking it open to page one. Nothing. Page two. Still nothing. Then page twenty one–

She set it back down.

Betty had hoped for a secret message scribbled in the corner or something. But it was empty.

She let out a defeated sigh, leaning back against the wall.

Angel numbers.

It could still be something astrological. Betty was intrigued by zodiac signs. When she was younger, she used to buy trashy magazines to read about them, matching her star signs with celebrities to see their compatibility.

She'd talked about it a few times with Eddie, comparing their own zodiacs, trying to convince him to look at astrology in a more open-minded light than "that's bullshit." Like that night they'd sat underneath the stars at–

Lovers Lake.

Holy fuck.

Okay. Stay calm.

Betty pressed a hand against the wall, attempting to regulate her breathing.

What had happened that night?

Betty thought back, trying to squeeze out every possible detail.

It was August. Betty had been to The Hideout to watch Eddie's band Corroded Coffin. She'd waited for him after the show – practically pounced on him, mind you.

Then he'd driven them to Lovers Lake and parked alongside the water. Eddie had opened the van's sliding doors. He'd set the inside up with blankets and snacks, even some little decorative lights that Betty definitely remembered appreciating. They'd cuddled and smoked a bit and stared up at the sky and–

Wait.

Something happened before that.

Betty mentally rewound the visuals in her mind. Her thoughts drifted back to the place Eddie had taken them to. He'd apologised profusely for having to make a "brief business stop" at his drug supplier's house.

Reefer Rick.

Who lived near Lovers Lake.

At – Betty now remembered because it was an angel number – 2121 Lipton house. 

Suddenly, the pieces fell into place.

Hideout.

Lovers Lake.

House 2121.

Holy shit.

Betty knew where he was.

—

"Rick!" Betty hammered her fist against the renowned drug dealer's door. "Rick, open up!"

She took a step back, hands placed on her hips. The house certainly looked to have not been attended to for a while; the wooden panels were rotting, overgrown plants and weeds snaked along the front, moss lined the windowsills. The blinds weren't completely drawn inside, but the dirt splattered on the windows smeared most of the view.

Still, Betty pressed her forehead against the glass and peered into the room. She squinted, surveying the place for a sign of life. Aside from a pair of sneakers, which had made her heart leap before she realised there were no actual feet in them, Betty found nothing.

She smacked her palm against the window. "Rick!" Betty pounded on the glass. "Rick, it's Betty. I'm a friend of Eddie's." She stormed back to the door and pressed the bell repeatedly. "RICK!"

No answer.

She huffed, glancing at her surroundings. A lot of trees. The lake. And a whole load of nothing else.

Perhaps Betty had to consider the frustrating possibly that she'd deciphered the message wrong. Maybe it had all been wishful thinking and Eddie wasn't actually there.

There were no tire tracks other than her own. The house looked as if it hadn't been used in weeks. And even the boathouse–

–door was cracked open.

It wasn't earlier. Betty was sure of it.

Holy fuck.

"Eddie!" She called, rushing down the porch steps. Her foot slipped in a patch of mud. A strangled yelp caught in her throat as she went to yell his name again. "Fuck–" Betty just about managed to grasp onto the handle to steady herself. "Eddie!"

She raced across the drive until she reached the decrepit little blue shack in the corner. Betty was well aware she probably shouldn't have been shouting his name, but her rationality had entirely evaporated.

"Eddie!"

She flung open the rickety, wooden door with such a force that it was almost knocked off it's hinges. The door slammed back against the wall with a loud crash, prompting a figure to jolt at the sudden noise.

He was dressed in black, curled up in the shadowiest corner of the room, knees pressed to his chest, head buried in the crook of his arms.

The name slipped from her mouth in a breathy gasp. "Eddie."

He looked up, a pair of wide, terrified brown eyes meeting hers. Betty almost collapsed to the ground in relief.

"Eddie–" She started towards him, but he flinched back. Betty skidded across the floorboards as she stopped abruptly.

He shook his head rapidly. "Th–this isn't real, right? This isn't– it isn't you."

Betty didn't know what to say or do. She wanted to fling herself into his arms in relief, but Eddie seemed seriously frightened.

"It's me, Eddie," she reassured, inching the tiniest step closer. "You're okay. It's just me."

"I don't know what's real and what's not anymore," Eddie whispered, his voice wavering. He sniffled, face burrowing deeper into his arms as he wrapped them tighter around himself, rocking back and forth. "I don't. I just don't–"

Betty crept closer, floorboards creaking underneath her. His entire body was trembling. She crouched down. Eddie flinched back again. Her heart sank.

"I'm real," Betty said gently. He continued shaking his head, a whimper escaping his lips. "Eddie, you're safe. I promise you."

Cautiously, she held a hand out and gradually reached for his shoulder. Eddie jerked away from her. Defeated, she pulled back.

"I'm scared." He glanced up, eyes brimming with tears. "I'm scared."

"I know," Betty said quietly. "I am too."

"I didn't do this," he insisted. "I swear–"

"I know."

"I swear, Betty, I didn't."

"I know, Eds," she assured softly. "I know." Betty moved onto her knees, carefully taking his trembling hand between hers. "It's okay."

His forehead creased, eyes looking up at her unsurely. "You– you believe me?"

Betty nodded, lightly squeezing his hand. "I believe you."

"You believe me." Eddie let out a shaky breath. His shoulders slumped, body relaxing into her touch. "You came. You got my message."

"I got your message," Betty confirmed. Eddie squeezed her hand in reply. Once. Then twice. As if he was still testing out she was really there. "Have you been here all night?"

"Went to the treehouse first," he told her. "Figured it would be too obvious. Came here early this morning."

"Wayne figured you might have gone there."

"You've spoken to him?" Eddie asked. "Is he..."

"He's okay," she assured. "He knows this wasn't you. Don't think he believed it for a second. Just can't work out what happened..." Betty trailed. Eddie bit at his fingernails. "Could you...could you tell me?"

His terrified eyes flashed across to hers. "You're gonna think I'm crazy."

Betty offered him a small smile in response. "Eddie." She reached out, cupping the side of his face. "I always think you're crazy."

"Super fucking crazy."

Her arm lowered back to her side. "Just start at the beginning," she encouraged. "It's okay."

Eddie nodded. Betty readjusted her position. She pulled her legs towards her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her chin rested on her knees.

"So, uh, Chrissy wanted– she came to me because..." Eddie hesitated.

Betty frowned, wondering he was going. Were they...shit, we're they sleeping together? Woah. That thought shouldn't have even crossed her mind, let alone caused the deep pang of jealousy in her chest.

"Chrissy wanted drugs."

Oh.

Holy shit. Chrissy Cunningham secret pot head?

"But like, not just the usual stuff," Eddie clarified. He met her stare for about half a second and grimaced. "Fuck. You're gonna hate me for this, but I really needed a sale. And just so you know, I had your voice in my head warning me the whole time. I was even preparing to back out of it but when– when I–" Eddie faltered, eyes downcast. He started to fiddle with the rings on his fingers. "When I came back, it was like– I don't know, like she was possessed or something."

"Possessed?"

"Yeah. Like something straight out of a horror movie. She was standing in the main room, just completely still," Eddie continued. "Her eyes had, like, rolled to the back of her head, but they were moving so fast, as if she was under some sort of spell. And then she–" He paused, looking at Betty sympathetically. "I don't know how much of this you want to hear."

"I need to know," Betty insisted. "Please."

Eddie took a deep breath, pressing his hands together. "She, uh, started levitating. I know that sounds insane but–" He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. "Then her bones..."

Eddie rubbed a hand over his mouth. His eyes began to water. Betty braced herself for the information she was about to learn, arms huddling closer around her body. 

"Her bones started snapping."

Betty screwed her eyes shut, tried to rid to horrific visuals that sprung to her mind.

"And then her eyes...It was like there was something inside her head, pulling." Eddie sniffed, chewing on his bottom lip. "I tried. I swear, Betty, I tried. There was nothing...a-a-and I was scared. I just...I ran."

Betty felt the familiar lump in her throat building again. She was silent for a few moments, gathering her thoughts.

Eddie's retelling made no logical sense. But that didn't mean it wasn't true. She just couldn't figure it out. And, seemingly, he couldn't either.

"It's okay," Betty said quietly, perhaps a little unconvincingly. That wasn't her intention.

Eddie shook his head. "It's not." He pressed his fist against his mouth, turning away. "I know it's not."

"Eddie–"

"It's not okay," he snapped. "I should have stayed. I left her there. Alone."

Betty couldn't help it. She started to cry.

The thought of how horrific and gruesome Chrissy's death was. The sheer pain she had suffered. How terrified she must have been.

Eddie cried too.

And that made Betty fall apart even more.

She could see that he blamed himself. He would carry the nightmare of that night and the lingering guilt forever. And to make matters worse, the whole entire town were already pointing the finger at him too.

Betty uncrossed her limbs and crawled towards Eddie. She wrapped her arms around his middle, weight pushing them further back against the wall. Betty buried her head against his chest, listening to his fast heart rate.

"It's not your fault," she whispered. "Please don't blame yourself."

Eddie held onto her tightly. "I'm sorry." He pressed his face against her shoulder, the action muffling his words. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Betty repeated. "It's not your fault."

There wasn't an explanation for it, but Betty believed what Eddie had told her. His guilt was real. His fear was palpable. But it hadn't brought her any closer to solving who, or what, was to blame for Chrissy's death.

Betty was determined to find out.

—

When she arrived home that evening, it was almost ten. But the Angel family were waiting for her in the lounge.

Donna was on her feet immediately. "Where have you been? We've been worried sick."

Bran was missing, no doubt in bed or – oh god, perhaps still with the basketball team? Thankfully, Bonnie was curled up on the couch beside their dad, eyelids heavy and half shut. He had a comforting arm wrapped around her shoulders. Betty was surprised to see her awake so late. She really must have worried them.

It was hard to walk into a house of people that were also grieving the loss of Chrissy Cunningham. She hadn't just been a part of Betty's life, she was in her family's too.

"I needed to clear my head," Betty said, voice hoarse from the cry home in the car. "Sorry for worrying you."

Donna came over and hugged her tightly.

"Is it true?" Bonnie spoke up in a small voice. "About Chrissy?"

Shit. Betty couldn't fucking bear it. Her sister loved Chrissy. Adored her. Idolised her.

Chrissy always had that affect on people. She couldn't meet anyone without them complimenting what a wonderful girl she was.

It wasn't fair. Chrissy had her whole life ahead of her; graduation, college...She was actually gonna be something. Someone. People cared.

Betty would swap places in a heartbeat.

She stepped out of her mother's embrace and moved further into the lounge.

The room felt so cold.

She had so many memories there with Chrissy; all the sleepovers, curled up in sleeping bags on the couch, squashed together watching a movie with a bowl of popcorn between them.

Or the lazy evenings after school when they were kids, coming home to watch cartoons before they got on with their homework.

The times where they'd sat with a box of tissues, wiping the other's tears whenever their heart had been broken.

The small parties when Betty's parents were away; all the truth or dares, spin the bottles, giddy laughter, whispered secrets and shared bottles of alcohol stolen from under the cupboards.

Or the big parties, like the one where Chrissy lost spectacularly at beer pong and ended up sick all over the couch – Betty had to blame it on the cat.

Everything came flooding back.

She blinked back tears as she knelt down in front of her sister. Bonnie was staring at her with those big, round, innocent eyes and it was absolutely breaking Betty's heart.

"It's true," she whispered. "Chrissy's gone."

It almost felt like, if Betty spoke quietly enough, it wouldn't be so real.

Didn't work.

Bonnie let out a choked cry.

George moved to comfort his youngest. Donna placed a hand on Betty's shoulder.

"Did you find out what happened?" Her mother asked quietly.

Betty wiped hastily underneath her eyes, clambering to her feet.

She had spent the entire drive home wondering how to answer that question.

Truth was, whilst the police might have an answer – Eddie Munson the murderer  – there was no actual, rational explanation for what happened, and certainly not one her parents would understand.

Betty was having a hard enough time coming round to the whole "possession" thing herself.

"They don't know," she settled on.

"And Eddie?"

It must have been something in the way Betty stiffened. She felt so on edge about him, so defensive and even protective. It was impossible not to react.

Eddie was innocent. She knew that, wholeheartedly believed it. But everybody else had already branded him a murderer.

"Have you seen him?" Donna questioned, but she already knew the answer. Always so perceptive. Either that or Betty was a terrible liar.

"No."

Yeah, Betty was a terrible liar.

"You have, haven't you?" Donna accused. Betty said nothing. "Honey, this is serious. If you know where he is, you have to tell the police."

The air was becoming suffocating. Betty didn't know how to answer her interrogation, so she decided to leave the room instead.

"Betty–"

"I don't know where he is."

Donna trailed after her. "No matter what you think, he's still a suspect in a murder investigation. You could get in big trouble."

Okay. Betty snapped.

She whirled around. "Mom, he's innocent."

"Betty..."

"He didn't do this."

"You don't know–"

"I do know!" She exclaimed. "Christ, what fucking motive do you even think he has? Is it really just because he's a Munson?"

"Of course not."

She threw her arms out exasperatedly. "Then what?!"

"Betty," George warned.

"No. Both of you have known him since he was a kid. You really think he's capable of doing something like this?"

Donna lowered her voice. "She was found in his trailer. No matter whether he did it or not, that's– that's hard to explain."

Betty threw her head back with a groan. She didn't want it to come out like this, especially not in front of Bonnie – setting a good example to her younger sister and what not – but her defences of Eddie just kept tumbling out.

"Chrissy was buying drugs!"

"What?"

"You heard me. Hate to shatter the whole golden girl image but she was buying fucking drugs. That's why she was there. He didn't lure her or whatever crap the news is making up. Chrissy went there herself."

"Then..." Donna trailed, brows furrowing.

"How did she end up dead?" Betty filled in. "You're having a hard enough time believing that Eddie could be innocent, never mind what the actual truth is."

Donna sighed. "Don't do this. We know Eddie and we care about him. But we cared about Chrissy too, so, so much. I could never imagine him doing something like this, but the evidence–"

"What fucking evidence?!" Betty's voice raised. "She was found in his home, that's it–"

"The investigation–"

"Is bullshit!" Betty shouted. "They don't know how to explain it. It's easier to pin everything on the troubled, poor kid with a criminal fucking record just to appease everybody rather than do a proper investigation – because if they actually did their jobs, probably half the shit that's happened in this town wouldn't have!"

Silence.

"What's that supposed to mean?" George asked.

Betty had been referring to one thing in particular. He knew exactly what. Both her parents did.

But there was also something else, this kind of strange, intuitive feeling that some of the terrible incidences in Hawkins went beyond a so called "bad luck" or a "curse."

The tragedy of Chrissy's death carried a similar weight. And Betty knew she wasn't the only person who felt that way.

"Nothing," she shut down quickly. "I just– You really think I'd defend him if I thought he did this? Chrissy was my best friend."

"We know that," Donna assured. She reached out to touch her arm, but Betty pulled back.

Fuck that. Her mom had just been stood there practically accusing Eddie of murder.

"I'm going to bed," Betty stated.

"Honey, wait a second."

But Betty never responded to, or even acknowledged, either of her parents' attempts to get her to stay.

She had nothing left to give. She was drained.

Halfway up the stairs, Betty started to unravel. Her eyes stung. Her bottom lip quivered. She dug her fingernails into her palms and took a long, deep breath to stifle the building cries.

Once the bedroom door had swung shut behind her, Betty stood in the middle of the room, completely still. The crumpled cheerleading skirt on the floor stared back at her.

And then her chest fucking caved in.

Betty dropped to the floor. Her knees grazed the carpet. She flung out both hands and pressed them against her mouth, burying the heaving sobs that she could no longer contain.

It felt as if a rope had snaked around her neck, pulled tighter and tighter, constricting her lungs until she was left gasping for air.

The grief was visceral. She could feel it pressing against her chest. In her stomach. In her bones.

The door creaked open. Betty barely heard anybody creep inside until a pair of small arms wrapped around her frame.

She cried in her little sister's arms.

Betty knew it should have been the other way round. She was the older one. She should have been comforting her.

"I believe you," Bonnie whispered. "I don't think Eddie did this."

"He didn't," Betty sniffled. "He didn't. I swear."

"You've seen him?"

Betty nodded in response.

"Is he okay?" Bonnie asked.

"He's okay."

They pulled back, arms untangling. A tear slipped down Bonnie's cheek. Betty instinctively reached out and brushed it away.

Her sister spared a glance back at the door, closed firmly shut. Betty double checked too.

"Are you going to see him again?" Bonnie whispered.

"Tomorrow morning," Betty answered.

"Can I come?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry."

"Please."

"It's too dangerous."

"Please."

"I'll tell him," Betty promised. "I'll tell him you wanted to be there."

Bonnie's bottom lip wobbled. "Will you give him a hug from me?"

Betty reached for hand. "I will."

"And a hug from you. He likes your hugs."

She smiled softly. "I know he does."

Interrupting them, light knocks sounded at the door. Betty immediately knew who it was.

George stepped inside the room cautiously, expression softening when he saw his daughters curled up together on the floor. "Hey Bonnie, can you give your sister and I a moment please?"

Bonnie must have sensed the importance, because she instantly complied. George ruffled her hair affectionately as she scurried past.

Once she left the room, he carefully pushed the door shut until it clicked behind him. George took a seat on the edge of the bed. Betty remained on the floor, sitting fully upright to rest her back against the wardrobe.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Yeah," Betty mumbled. "A lot of that going around."

"I need to ask you something, and I want you to be totally honest with me," George began. She spared a glance away, already guessing where his line of questioning was going. "Whatever is said won't leave this room, I promise."

"Fine."

"Is this...is this connected to the mall fire?"

Oh. She hadn't been expecting that.

Betty's eyes narrowed. "The mall fire? What do you...what do you know about that?"

"I know that it wasn't a fire," George replied. "And Hawkins lost a good man because of it."

Jim Hopper.

George had been devastated. The whole community had. He and Jim were friends from school. Their work had kept them in each other's lives for years.

Betty had always been under the assumption that Hopper had died the hero of an accident.

"I know there's something strange about this town," George continued. "Things that are hard to explain. Is– is Chrissy's death one of those?"

Betty knew it.

She knew she wasn't the only one.

She wasn't going insane. This town was fucked up.

Her eyes snapped up to his. "Yeah. I don't know exactly what it was, but this wasn't Eddie, I swear to you."

"I understand," George nodded. Betty was relieved. "Is Eddie okay?"

"He's not safe," Betty told him. "People are gonna come after him. The rumours started spreading at Forest Hills this morning. Marnie's furious, she wants to go after him. Jason probably too. Oh shit. Is Bran still with the basketball team?"

"As far as I know," George replied.

"Crap."

"They wouldn't hurt Eddie, would they?"

Betty met his eyes, voice lowering with sincerity. "You don't know them like I do."

"I'll call your brother, get him to come home," George said. "You should try speak to Marnie, talk some sense into her."

Slight problem – sense and Marnie weren't exactly something that went hand in hand, but Betty would give it a shot.

"What about the police?" She asked. "Are they searching already?"

"I'll speak to the Chief," George assured. "I'll do what I can to delay the arrest. I promise you."

Betty sighed, hands sliding over her face. "Dad what if they find him..."

George's firm eyes met hers. He shook his head. "I won't let that happen."

She appreciated his conviction, his willingness to help. Because having to defend Eddie so fiercely had made Betty realise something.

There was absolutely nothing she wouldn't do to keep him safe.

Even if it meant going against people she loved.

A/N

Betty in her protective era we love to see it.

I did rough estimates of timings but I put this at Betty literally just missing when the Hawkins group find Eddie. Wanted to purposely keep her in the dark a bit longer about Vecna, especially to show that, amidst all the confusion and conflicting feelings, Betty still wholeheartedly believes Eddie.

Purposely positioning the Angel family a little against each other because it's fun. Also there's a *teeny* bit of unresolved conflict between them & surrounding Eddie from last year, which the flashbacks will gradually reveal.

Bran and Marnie being with Jason is gonna be a huge obstacle that I am very excited about. Also George definitely knows a littleeee more about Hawkins than he lets on 👀

Betty meets the group in the next chapter and finds out more - if you've already read Head Over Heels you know how this interaction goes 😂 Spoiler: Dustin is a big fan.