chapter fourteen ♰ 'Tis the Damn Season

One month later...

  In Hawkins' barren cold, the snow glistened as it fell. The small town Sydney grew up in looked like it belonged in a child's snow-globe ━━ or on the picturesque front of a postcard. Visit Hawkins again soon! it'd say, promoting the American Dream fallacy of suburbia and nuclear families. As if not a month ago, it hadn't been ravaged by a predatory creature which killed Barb Holland, and very nearly Will Byers. As if there wasn't a lab on its border which experimented on children ━━ and one of those children hadn't sacrificed herself for her friends. All of that happened a month ago, yet everything seemed ... stagnant. Like everyone was holding in a breath of fumes. It didn't matter that Barb was gone, that Will was probably riddled with trauma, and almost everyone forgot about El ━━ maybe everyone was trying to move on. To bury it all. Get back to normal and do normal things ━━ like celebrating Christmas.

  1983 was Sydney's first year ever spending holidays with Matt ━━ well, the first she'd remember. He had desperately wanted it to be just them, now he was discharged from hospital ━━ just Father and Daughter in their shabby, little cabin by Lover's Lake. He had every intention of taking a chainsaw to some shrub of a tree, mounting it up in the living room and swathing it in cheap fairylights. But he was still limping around on crutches, and taking pills for the migraines, and definitely wasn't in any condition of making them both Christmas dinner.

  "We could just order pizza," he had joked ━━ at least, Sydney hoped it was a joke.

  Sydney had brought it up absentmindedly to Joyce when dropping Will off at home after picking him up from Mike's house on one of the days where Jonathan had a late shift, and Joyce had been all too zealous in inviting Sydney and Matt around for the holidays ━━ and, not fancying slaving away over the stove tending to a turkey, fresh vegetables, and potatoes, Sydney enthusiastically accepted it. Matt had been begrudging, at first. But he got along with Joyce ━━ especially after the unusual bonding experience of surviving an alternate dimension together ━━ and, he didn't want to upset Sydney.

  It wasn't like Sydney wasn't glad that it was all over. The monster was gone. Will was home. The lab and Hopper had come to some form of agreement that, as long as they all kept silent, they were safe from everything interdimensional and perilous. But Matt was getting better at noticing when his daughter wasn't OK ━━ and she hadn't been OK for a long time. Even the one dynamic in her life which Matt thought was indestructible had weakened. The tangled, hearty thread binding her Toby was becoming frayed. And all Matt could do was watch as Sydney waded through the drowning in her mind ━━ swallowed up by an abyss. He did nothing but despair silently as an anaesthetized, gaping wound split her open and raw. She'd bleed silently, too. Hurt alone.

  Sydney herself felt ━━ well, maybe that's issue. She felt so very little. Like a dying star had imploded in her chest, and just left a cavernous black hole.

  But she was trying.

  Trying for Matt, and for Toby ━━ even if she could tell, through the narrow lens of emptiness, that they weren't like they used to be ━━ and for Will. That's why she was in the passenger seat of Jonathan's car on Christmas Eve. She felt some inexplainable responsibility for Will. He had warmed up to her so quickly after they finally discharged him from the hospital ━━ his eyes always lit up excitedly when she came bounding down the rickety stairs to Mike's basement, ready to take him home. She didn't want to seem weak to him, when it was Will who went through the brunt of it.

  "Hey, are you OK?"

  Sydney tore her eyes away from the snowfall outside the window, blinking at Jonathan. "Yeah. Why?"

  Jonathan gave a shrug. "I dunno. You've seemed ━━ distant, recently."

  "Still processing everything, I think," she muttered.

  "Yeah," conceded Jonathan with a nod. "I get that. But ━━ we're all here to talk ... when you need it, Sydney."

  His compassion was a bittersweet pill to swallow. Her throat closed around it.

  Sydney looked down at her hand. Blood coagulated around the nailbed on her thumb, some of it had smeared and dried on her knuckle. She had been biting so maliciously onto her cuticle earlier that she nearly gnawed all the flesh off of her finger. What stung the most was that it didn't actually hurt.

  "I know that," said Sydney, voice brittle.

  "Good." Jonathan kept glancing at her as he drove. The window-wipers were frantically trying to get rid of the onslaught of snowflakes and the gaudy Christmas decorations of Maple Street were starting to blind him. "You know, Will really likes having you around."

  Sydney felt like a ghost.

  "Yeah, I... he's a good kid."

  They reached Maple Street and Sydney got out of the car and instantly was hit with the feeling that she was stood in freezing tundra. She had on 3 layers, including an aging leather jacket, and a sweater underneath ━━ Steve's sweater (did it even smell like him anymore?) ━━ but she felt the cold in her bones. Jonathan gave her a faint smile before knocking the Wheelers' front door.

  Catatonic, the only greeting Sydney could muster for Karen was a smile that definitely didn't meet her eyes, then hastened after Jonathan toward the basement before Karen could engage in any unwanted, honeyed small talk ━━ about Matt's recovery, or about Christine. Sydney tried boiling all of this ━━ the rot eating her up ━━ down to Chris not being around for Christmas. It was easy to blame mental torment on a dead mom ━━ it was like the perfect scapegoat. Toby would bite the bullet and ask what was wrong with her, why she was pulling away, and she'd just say, I miss Mom, and Pandora's box would clamp shut. It worked every time.

  And maybe that really was it. Maybe the grief had come out of remission. Cancer oozing through the cracks chiselled by the past month of harrow. That's what everything was, right? Mother and her malignance. Sydney was a haunted house, with a picket fence, and Chris was the phantom in the walls, feeding.

  Mike's basement smelt like an armpit. The air in there had been thickened by methane, teenage sweat and the stench of stale crisps, crushed into the fibres of a stained rug.

  "Jeez, what's that smell?" taunted Jonathan. "Have you guys been playing games all day ━━ or just farting?"

  The boys had been squabbling when they arrived, and Sydney had to put on her best smile for them as she came crashing down the staircase after Jonathan.

  "Oh, that's just Dustin," Lucas laughed. "He farted. Dustin farted ━━" He started blowing raspberries, singing a teasingly, "Dustin farted."

  "Very mature, Lucas," said Dustin dryly. He then saw Sydney poke out from behind Jonathan and he glared menacingly at Lucas as he continued to imitate farting noises. "Hey, not in front of the lady ━━"

  "The what ━━ Sydney!"

  Lucas flung himself up from the chair, and attached himself like a leach to Sydney. He collided with her so roughly that Sydney couldn't help but laugh. And it was genuine, too. Right from her belly, as Lucas flattened her ribcage with his brutal hug.

  "Hey, kids," she said weakly, looking over Lucas's head at the boys as they all started waving their hands and exclaiming their 'hellos'.

  In her periphery, Sydney saw the blemish of El in the corner of the basement. The haphazard den the boys had made for her to sleep in ━━ blankets still propped upright by the chairs, and cushions still clustered on the floor to soften the concrete under the carpet. Sydney's heart splintered. She looked at Mike, at his pinched brows when he looked at her ━━ as if he had caught her staring ━━ and his dejected smile. She wondered how badly it hurt him. How viscerally he missed the little girl in the sepulchre of his basement.

  "Sydney, you have to join in our next campaign!" enthused Lucas, reeling back but grabbing her wrists in earnest.

  "Yeah!" Dustin agreed zealously. "We miss you playing D & D with us."

  "Is that so?" mused Sydney. "Even you, Michael?"

  He narrowed his eyes at her a little, before softening. "I wouldn't mind ━━"

  "I'm honoured. I'll have to work around my very busy schedule, but I'm sure I can find time for my favourite boys," said Sydney, grinning.

  The 4 of them clamoured with boyish cheers and it made Sydney feel alive for the first time in a month. Like she wasn't in some kind of miserable purgatory of waiting for something bad to happen ━━ for a monster to emerge from the shadows, hungry for blood, and snatch away some kid.

  "C'mon, Will, Mom was about to put dinner on the table," said Jonathan, cocking his head to the door.

  The boys made their goodbyes and started to scatter. Jonathan ruffled Will's honey-blonde hair on the way up the stairs and now Sydney wasn't being scrutinised, she let face fall on her way back up to the house. It was kind of depressing, how easily she could fake that smile and pretend that she was OK ━━ even more appalling how easily everyone believed it without asking any questions. But Sydney guessed she preferred it like that. Being left to wallow. The loneliness almost made it easier. The pretending, the performance, the getting along with it, because what else was she meant to do? When you're in purgatory, you wait for heaven, or you wait for hell. You drown in the ichor of your fuckups and expiate your sins.

  "Hey, boys, Sydney," said Mrs Wheeler sweetly.

  She was embellishing a cake with stemless cherries and a garnish of whipped cream. Not even a speck of flour was on her apron. She nursed her glass of champagne in the same way Christine used to.

  "Hey, wish your mom a merry Christmas for me, OK?" she said, feigning sternness for Jonathan and Will. As they murmured their 'yeahs', Karen looked at Sydney and gave a little pout. "And how's your dad, Sydney? Any better?"

  Sydney stared wretchedly after Jonathan and Will as they left her to fend for herself, the boys rushing to leave.

  "Uhhhh, yeah, much better, thanks," she said, wincing. "We're spending the holidays with the Byers."

  "Oh, how sweet!" Karen gushed.

  Sydney shuffled uncomfortably. "Yeah, I guess ━━"

  "Nicks?"

  Startled, Sydney jolted and almost twisted her ankle turning on the gold-veined marble of the kitchen floor to confront the amorphous mass of a Christmas sweater and perfect hair stood in the doorway behind her. Heart leaping somewhere to her throat, Sydney wished she never came ━━ wished she would've just bit the bullet and made dinner herself back at home. Or, at the very least, just declined Jonathan's invitation to tag along to pick Will up.

  "Handsome, isn't he?" whispered Karen. She was leaning over the granite countertop and giving Sydney a charming wink. "I keep telling Nancy ━━ she best latch onto him tight and never let him go, a boy like that."

  Sydney felt dizzy. She could hear her pulse.

  It was like Steve was holding her head underwater and she could hear the echo of her own heart in her eardrums, and God ━━ that jumper had to be the most ostentatious thing she had ever seen; with its reindeers and cableknit wool.

  "Sydney, can we ━━" He wrung his hands together over his middle. "Can we talk?"

  Could they? They hadn't in a month.

  Sydney pursed her lips. This was devouring. Dismembering.

  "Go on, honey," coaxed Karen with a nod. "I'll tell Jonathan and Will you'll only be a minute."

  Inhaling deeply, Sydney have a fragile nod. Relief broke out across Steve's face like the sunrise splitting across the sky in an incandescence of tangerine and marigold. He was a bit like if yellow was a person.

  (Sydney now hated yellow).

  He subtly angled his head to the side and Sydney slumped after him, posture so bad her spine protested against it, but she didn't have the energy to put her shoulders back. She followed him into the hallway leading to the backdoor, and basically didn't breathe the entire time. It was like he had a dagger to her jugular. He didn't even have to speak and she felt vulnerable.

  Steve finally stopped walking, and his head started to crane about vehemently ━━ he was checking for eavesdroppers. It almost made Sydney scoff. His hands were still wringing together, and she could wager that, despite the barren cold, sweat as beading his palms. His eyes had fleeted across every crevice of the hallway, every little detail ━━ the money spider weaving a web in the corner of the ceiling, and Holly Wheeler's sparkly pink wellingtons dripping melted droplets of snowflakes onto the welcoming mat ━━ but Sydney.

  "So ━━ how've you been?"

  Completely without meaning to, Sydney snorted. "How've I been?"

  Steve blanched in alarm. "It's just ━━ we haven't spoke. I go to talk to you at school, and before I can blink, you're going in the opposite direction."

  "And who's fault is that?" sneered Sydney hotly.

  "Nicks ━━"

  Even his pretty boy, wretched frown couldn't suture this wound. Even that nickname.

  "Don't call me that," she snapped. "Ever again. You ━━ I thought ━━" Sydney tongued the inside of her cheek and smirked humourlessly, head shaking with a sour scoff. "I'm a fucking idiot."

  Steve started panicking. "No, you're not ━━"

  "Fine, then you are," she seethed. "Does she know?"

  He faltered. "Well, no, but ━━"

  "Then why are we even talking right now?"

  "Nicks, you gotta hear me out," he said desperately. Like he might cry. Good, Sydney thought bitterly, let him. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen ━━ it's ... it's complicated, OK? I meant everything I said."

  Sydney's glare was dull. "Yeah? To who? To me, or Nancy?"

  As if punched, Steve staggered back a bit. "You're being unfair."

  "Unfair?" said Sydney scathingly, filling the chasm between them with an angry step forward. "Unfair? You're the one who caused all this, Harrington! Has no one ever told you that if you chase two girls, you lose the one?"

  "I've ━━ I've lost you?" he stammered hoarsely.

  She tasted blood in her mouth. And him.

  "You did the minute you went back to Nancy."

  Trying to kept it blunt and severe, Sydney didn't dare look at him when his face fell. No matter how angry at him she was, she couldn't stomach seeing his face twist up. The scars that she had cleaned had healed now. And the lovebite he left on her throat had faded. There really wasn't anything left to do for them.

  "Nicks, you don't get it," said Steve frantically. "This ━━ it all got fucked up, OK? I didn't mean for ━━ I tried. I was gonna do it right, but I can't ━━ I can't do anything fucking right, but I tried, and I'm so, so sorry."

  This was a migraine. The hunger had been satiated. Sydney didn't have an appetite anymore. Just a headache.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Steve, just leave it. It's done. It's over."

  His head started to shake fervidly, strands of his hair falling out of place. He kept muttering 'no, no, no, it's not, no' and made a fluid stride forward. Steve put his hand delicately on the juncture of her jaw and she shivered ━━ he kissed her there. He touched the debris of his dwindled high and tried to get her look into his eyes, but she wouldn't, because she didn't want to fold like a piece of origami in his hands and give in. He was murmuring her name like a prayer, and the altar was desecrated. It was all so unholy.

  "Sydney, look at me."

  "No."

  "Sydney, look at me."

  It was an act of love and a ministration of torture all in one.

  His eyes were like black moons ━━ hazy with tears. He looked so sad. Part of Sydney ━━ the feral, unimbued rage ━━ thought he didn't deserve to be sad. Not after what he did to them. The other part never wanted to see him so broken again. To cradle together all these shards of glass and glue them back together, until her hands were all torn up and bleeding at this very homicidal altar.

  "There we go," said Steve lightheartedly. When it didn't make her smile, his hold on her jaw got subliminally tighter like he was afraid she'd slip away. "C'mon, what will it take for you to forgive me?"

  "I don't think I ever will forgive you for this."

  Steve's other hand came to cup her jaw, holding her like water in his hands. "Don't say that ━━ I told you I'd do this right, didn't I?"

  Fracturing down the middle, Sydney eyes fluttered shut. "I didn't think that meant this."

  Wanting fell over her like muslin. Did she want too much? Ask for too much from him? Was she not reasonable ━━ was she not clear? It was him she wanted. Not a half of him in the hallways of his girlfriend's house. Desire encased two, skeletal hands around her neck ━━ it was relentless and irreverent.

  "I'm working on it," he promised sacredly.

  His mouth grazed her forehead, featherlight and insidious. He could take her to the slaughterhouse ━━ Steve was the butcher and Sydney was a lamb.

  The kisses festered. Soon tracing every fading blemish on her face. One lightly brushed against each sensitive eyelid and it was like he was trying to kiss some kind of life back into her. Lips sweetly pressing to the end of her nose and the gaunt slope of her cheekbones ━━ frowning against her skin when he noticed they had gotten more sunken since last month. She was thinner, too.

  Was she eating? Was she OK? He kissed away a tear that had fallen through her eyelashes. It tasted like salt and guilt.

  "Please, stop," she whimpered. "This isn't fair ━━ you're being ... you're being mean."

  Trying to writhe out of his hands, Steve tightened them, getting frantic again. "I'm figuring it out, I'm fixing it."

  "You should've done that a month ago."

  Why was the anatomy of them always kissing away hurt in darkness? Wounds and ribs that didn't touch and hearts that tried to, and hunger, and ache, and sins. Nancy was right down the hall, in the living room, waiting for him. It didn't recede. It didn't heal. This would never fucking heal.

  "It was one thing after another," implored Steve. "Barb, Mike missing Eleven, and then I was invited round for Christmas, and my parents are on some fucking trip, so ━━"

  Abstaining, Sydney shook her head. "You could've stayed with us."

  Steve crumpled. "What?"

  "You, me, my dad ━━ it would've been awkward and stupid, but you could've spent the holidays with us, he wouldn't have minded." She absently grabbed fistfuls of his stupid reindeer jumper, and was mean with it as he gave him a rough shake. "I wouldn't have minded."

  "You would've ━━ we could've ━━"

  Using his sweater as leverage, Sydney shoved him off. His hands fell helplessly as he stumbled back. Steve looked anguished. And distressed. He was torn between carding his fingers deplorably through his hair and reaching out for again, but she was out of reach. Right there, so tangible, but his hands would slip through her. Like a ghost, or water. Something stagnant and no longer palpable.

  "I never want you to meet my dad." It was a petulant snarl, and a spiteful attack, but she meant it. It was probably the worst thing Steve had ever said ━━ maddeningly eating him inside out. "I never want you talk to me again, actually."

  Steve wanted to cry. Maybe he was.

  "You don't mean that."

  "I do." She looked to the other end of the hallway. Through the glass of the front door, she could see Jonathan's headlights amidst the glistening snowfall. Knife twisting, Sydney looked at Steve ━━ through him. He was muttering to himself, tearfully. Sydney didn't care. (She did ━━ lethally). "Merry Christmas, Steve."

  Sydney left. And Steve was alone ━━ how it had always been, and how it probably always will be now, now.

  The storm in his ribcage was tumultuous. Something ugly and monstrous as peeling his heart open like it was a clementine ━━ ripping it into sectors. A rotten slice for his mother and father. A sweet wedge of it for Nancy. And the rest was for Sydney ━━ sour and acerbic and saccharine.

  It look something godly to get him to finally leave the hallway and return to the living room. The Christmas lights scintillated across the walls, and made Nancy look ethereal where she sat on the couch. The delicate necklace around her throat sparkled ━━ two, dainty ballet slippers, blinding him as he slipped back into the plush cushions of the sofa, making his grave. Nancy nestled into his side, legs curling up underneath her.

  "Did you give Jonathan the camera?" he asked numbly.

  Nancy smiled, soft and good. "Yeah. And what about you? Did you give Sydney the vinyl?"

  Steve's pulse spoke words. It cried Nicks, Nicks, Nicks.

  He thought about the badly wrapped gift in the backseat of his car out front ━━ a tormenting parasite now. He had scavenged everywhere for it ━━ Fleetwood Mac's new album, Mirage. Ever since finding it, and spending an obscene amount of money on a copy that was signed by Lindsey Buckingham and Mick Fleetwood, all Steve had been able to think about was how happy she'd be with it ━━ she'd throw her arms round his shoulders, and he'd twirl her around, and he'd get to hold her like that again. Religiously. He was pretty sure this was sacrilege, or something ━━ fashioning a God out of someone. But he didn't care.

  "Yeah. Yeah, she loved it," he lied, voice thick and from somewhere guttural.

"Jonathan, if you put that fucking camera in my face one more time ━━"

  "Language," Matt interjected sternly.

  They were back at the Byers bungalow. The crater in the drywall had been fixed, and the only Christmas lights were the ones draped effortlessly around the tree nestled gauchely in the corner. Will was knelt excitedly before his presents, rattling the boxes and trying to guess what was inside. Joyce had been cooking all afternoon ━━ the place pervaded with the delicious smell of roasted turkey and cranberries and the cinnamon candles she had pinched from her last shift at Melvald's. Matt was limping around, trying to be helpful, but he was still a bit inept on his crutches and kept knocking into furniture. Jonathan hadn't detached himself from his new camera ever since Nancy gave it him, wrapped up all prettily. He kept taking flashing photos, and it was starting to piss Sydney off. She had been pretty silent ever since returning ━━ thinking about Steve. How she wanted to murder him, castrate him, and love him till he was sick of it.

  "Hey, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" beseeched Jonathan in surrender, removing his hands from the camera.

  Sydney glared at him. "You nearly blinded me, asshole."

  "Language!" Matt reprimanded again.

  "Dad, he's blinding me with that stupid flash ━━"

  "I don't care," he chastised. "No swearing in front of Will."

  The boy turned around, aggressively rattling another one of his presents. "I don't mind."

  Matt leaned slightly off his place on the armchair to ruffle Will's bowl-cut. "I'm sure you don't, little man."

  "Dinner's ready!" Joyce called out from the dining room.

  "Here, I'll help you up," Will offered to Matt as he went to grab his crutches.

  Sydney watched with a brittle fondness as Will let himself become a human crutch for her father. They were laughing about something together, Will struggling to hold his weight and Matt doing everything he could to make it easier for him. It was sweet. It was thorn dipped in sugar.

  "It looks great, Mom," praised Jonathan, snapping a photo of the bowls and plates before it was all devoured.

  Joyce cringed in embarrassment. "No, this is just so overcooked," she complained, gesturing weakly at the turkey ━━ which looked perfect. She then grabbed a spoonful of the potatoes, and emptied it back into the bowl ━━ viscous, white gloop falling off. "And the potatoes are runny."

  "You should see my dad's cooking, Joyce," joked Sydney, slipping into one of the chairs.

  Matt poked her ankle with his crutch, clumsily easing into the seat next to her. "Don't be a bitch."

  "You said don't swear ━━"

  "Yeah, you. I'm an adult," said Matt arrogantly.

  "It's definitely an Atari!" Will exclaimed, settling down next to Jonathan at the table.

  "An a-what-i?" mused Joyce.

  "The green present," said Will, beaming. "It's an Atari." Joyce feigned a look of surprise, smiling wryly at Jonathan. "It felt Dustin's today, and it's the same exact weight."

  "Really?" said Joyce, looking incandescently happy to be sat with her boys other side of her. "Well... we'll have to see, won't we?"

  Will's smile withered a bit, and he abruptly got up from the table, instantly triggering cortisol to course through Sydney's veins.

  "Hey, no more snooping!" Joyce chastised.

  Will was already rushing out of the room. "No, I forgot to wash my hands, I'll be right back."

  Then, he was gone, and Sydney exchanged a wary glance with Matt. He just shrugged his shoulders and started to spoon some of the liquidised potatoes onto his plate. Sydney looked at all the food ━━ not quite knowing what to do.

  "You should try the cranberry sauce," encouraged Matt, nodding at the ceramic bowl of mutilated cranberries and their mushy blood.

  Sydney frowned. "Why?"

  "'Cause I made it."

  Snorting derisively, Sydney looked at Jonathan from across the table. "Don't touch the cranberry sauce."

  "Hey!" scowled Matt, jutting an elbow into her rib. "You're being mean today."

  "He's washing his hands," Joyce muttered in disbelief.

  Jonathan just laughed. "Never cared about hygiene before."

  Will finally back into the dining room and Sydney's stomach was in knots. He hadn't looked the archetype of health since he came back ━━ he had always been a scrawny, lithe kid, but now he was worryingly skeletal, and practically jaundiced in his pasty complexion. His movements were methodical and bit zombified as he stiffly regained his seat. Will gave the impression of someone who had just emptied their guts in the toilet and now was feeling the ache of emptiness, and a sore throat from stomach acid abrading at its flesh.

  "Hey, are you OK?" asked Joyce warmly, frowning in concern.

  "Yeah, I'm OK!" Will chirped.

  Sydney nudged his foot under the table. "You sure, Will?"

  Will smiled at her. "Yeah, I'm sure."

  "Mom, this is delicious," raved Jonathan around a mouthful of turkey.

  "Amazing, Joyce," Matt concurred, muffled by a roasted parsnip.

  Sydney's plate was hollow.

  "Hey, Mom, did Will tell you about the game?"

  "Oh, yeah!" said Will exuberantly. "I threw a fireball at him, and ━━ poof! Dead."

  Joyce feigned astonishment. "What, what is... You mean, this is the, uh ━━"

  "Dungeons & Dragons," asserted Will, grinning toothily.

  The 4 of them chatted animatedly over dinner. Complimenting Joyce's cooking, chewing over Will's D & D campaign and Matt bellyaching over how he was dreading going back to work when his doctor's slip was no longer a valid enough excuse to not go into the station. Sydney ate some parsnips and lathered a bread roll with some of Matt's cranberry sauce, and it didn't taste half as bad as she expected. She tried, for the sake of them all ━━ because Sydney cared about them enough to let herself bleed internally as to not worry, or stain them with it ━━ to join in on the merriment and eat and ignore it all.

  Steve.

  Christine.

  The grandfather clock tucked into the corner of the dining room, ticking.

  Ticking, ticking, ticking.

  Sydney Sommers was never good at ignoring things.

END OF ACT ONE