an awkward family dinner

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

After cleaning all of the blood off their faces and attempting to help El recover from what she'd seen in the void, Alina, El, and Max, got on their bikes again, preparing themselves to rescue Heather. They didn't bring any weapons with them—Alina and El's abilities were definitely enough—but it still felt like a bad omen, anyways. Like they were going to find something not even their powers could defend them from.

El somehow knew where to go. Unlike Alina, seeing Heather in the bathtub embedded her with a sense of direction, and so it was her that shouted instructions over the rumbling of the storm, which had gotten worse. Now lightning struck nearly every moment, temporarily obstructing their view, and the thunder was loud and ominous. Alina knew it was unlikely they would be struck by lightning, but as she biked, it sort of felt like she was narrowly avoiding it. She kept her eyes peeled, though, for that white mailbox—one four three eight—and the door. After seeing what was behind it, she no longer thought of it as cherry red, but blood red instead. The blood of Heather's that was hopefully not staining anything.

We're coming, Alina thought desperately, pedalling faster, her heart beating to the time of her rapidly moving legs. The screams of Heather haunted her, and the ever-rumbling of the thunder morphed into it at some point as she squinted through the thicker sheets of rain. She was reminded of the dream she'd had a year ago, in waking up to find her room covered in blood. To think that it was her fault her dad had died, even though she knew it wasn't.

But Heather... they had a chance to save her. If she wasn't already gone, that was.

I'll stay strong for you, Alina thought, speaking to her dad. Sometimes, it felt like he was right beside her, always hovering over her shoulder, always smiling, always believing in her, like he always had. Sometimes she'd see him in public, in the white of a jacket that reminded her of his lab coat, in a balding head the same shade as his skin. After everything, she still was holding onto the faintest hope that he would come back.

It had been nearly two years since his death, and Alina was still hoping.

She would never tell anyone that, though. Not even Lucas, wherever he was now. Lucas... her heart gave a pang. If only he was here to comfort her. But he probably thought she was having a fun sleepover. He probably thought she was okay. But now everything had changed.

The bike in front of Alina stopped, and she hastened to do so as well, her own sliding a little on the slippery road. The parts of the house she could see through the rain were nice, not at all like the hellhole she'd expected, and a porchlight illuminated that bright red door. Just to make sure this was the right place, Alina checked the rain-drenched mailbox for the address. One four three eight.

"Is this it?" Max called, attempting to make her voice carry over the storm. Apprehension filled her voice.

"This is the place," Alina confirmed. She realized now she was shaking.

The three girls headed up to the front porch. Instead of knocking, which, of course, they wouldn't do, El simply used her abilities to unlock the door. As it creaked open, Alina, Max and El all hovered outside, shivering in their raincoats, reluctant to actually venture inside. But one by one, they summoned their courage, and headed inside to this house, pulling down their hoods as they did so. Alina's palms were warm, and she prepared to strike at any sudden movement, El seemed ready for the same, and Max's hands were clenched into fists.

None of them expected the interior of the house to be so... well-furnished. In fact, it was downright pleasant. It was warm, and bright, and Alina felt almost dirty for coming in here and dripping all over the polished wooden floor. She could hear light music coming from one of the rooms, which made this all the more terrifying. Her palms got warmer.

In the entrance hallway were pictures. Alina and Max both moved towards it and had to double-take. That was Heather, a bright smile on her face quite like the one on her lifeguard photo, leaning on a man's shoulder, who Alina assumed was her dad. Then she squinted, because she recognized that man. It was Tom Holloway, Jonathan's boss. He worked at the Hawkins Post. And, according to Nancy, was a humongous dickhead.

"This is her house," Max said, sounding confused. She kept staring at that picture.

"What?" El asked.

"Heather's house." Which Alina didn't understand. Had Heather been kidnapped in her own home? Had Billy broken in? What had made her scream so loudly, what made her desperately beg them for help?

Before any of them could say anything more, before they could try and discover what, exactly, this meant, they were all startled by the sound of booming laughter that echoed from down the hall. It wasn't scary laughter, either, like the one a serial killer in movies did before they slaughtered their victims. This was pleasant, dinner-table laughter. This was the sound of people having fun.

Curiosity drove Alina, Max and El forward to the source of the noise. The music got louder. And the three of them entered a delicately furnished dining room. The walls were covered in flowery wallpaper, red and yellow, a record player pumped the light music, and at the table, a somewhat extravagant meal was laid. A man and a woman—the ones from the photos—sat there, wine glasses in hand, their laughter loud and jubilant, and there, in the middle of the table, wearing a button-down shirt and charming the pants right off of them, was Billy Hargrove.

Billy. That was Billy. Sitting there like nothing was wrong, like Alina and El hadn't seen what they had seen. Billy, who'd beat up Steve and Lucas and knocked the wind out of her, who'd tried to run them over by a car. Billy, who Alina had expected to be found tying up some unconscious girl.

All three of the diners turned at the sound of Alina, Max and El's arrival, and although confusion immediately etched onto Tom and his wife's face, Billy's eyes lit up with recognition. He even smiled.

"Max," he said. His voice was filled with warmth. Unnatural warmth. For a boy whose tone had been rotten apples and maggots, this certainly was a change.

Max cleared her throat awkwardly. "We didn't mean to... barge in. We tried to knock, but... maybe you didn't hear us over the storm."

If Alina hadn't been so terrified and confused right now, she would've been embarrassed. There she was, in her raincoat, dripping water all over the floor, and here were three fancied up diners, who'd just been interrupted in the middle of a joke.

But she was terrified, and confused, and also, now, being so close to Billy, a little angry. She caught his eyes, tipping her chin up defiantly, and stared him down, letting him know she hadn't forgotten anything he'd done. Her hands, still sparking with energy, were safe in her pockets, but she longed to blow a fiery hole in his smug face.

"I'm sorry," said Tom, looking at them strangely, "who is this dripping all over my living room right now?"

Billy let out a chuckle. "I'm sorry," he said. "Janet, Tom, this... is my sister Maxine."

"She prefers Max, actually," Alina murmured, but nobody seemed to hear her. Terror was filling her up, up, up, and she knew that soon, she was going to snap. Knew she was going to let her abilities loose.

"Oh!" the woman—Janet—said, giving Max a kind smile. She, at least, seemed nice. And for a moment, Alina almost forgot who they were here for.

Billy stood up, making his way towards them. It was casual, but Alina's nerves automatically jumpstarted, and she found herself taking a step back, away from him. It was ridiculous, but her fear of Billy Hargrove was one of the fears she just couldn't make herself conquer. Even though she held power in her hands. Even though she was so much more than he thought she was. She was still afraid.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Billy asked, in the tone of an exasperated older brother who was just fed up with his little sister's antics. In the tone of the brother he should've been to Max. In a tone Jonathan might've used. His face sobered. "Is something wrong?"

"We just wanted to make sure everything was okay," Max explained.

"Okay?" Billy repeated. "Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"Where is she?" El spoke for the first time since entering the dining room, bravely taking the situation by its horns. Because they were here for Heather, not for Billy to play mind games with them, or whatever it was that he was doing. They were here to save her.

"I'm sorry. Where is who?"

"Well, they're a little burnt, I'm sorry—" said a new voice, and Alina's jaw dropped as Heather walked into the room, carrying a tray of cookies. She was all dressed up, like not even an hour ago she hadn't been screaming, sobbing, pleading Alina and El to help her, to save her. Dressed up like everything was normal.

What was happening?

Alina looked to El, who looked just as confused as she felt. Had she and El been wrong? Had they seen a different Heather? Had it just been a dream? She was even more frightened now, more frightened than she would've been if she saw Heather bound and tortured. This wasn't normal.

"Heather!" Billy said cheerily. "This is my sister, Maxine. And," he looked directly at El and Alina, who took yet another step back, getting further away from him, "I'm sorry, I did not quite catch your names."

"We've met before," said Alina coldly. She wouldn't let him play dumb. Her palms got itchier.

Billy assumed a look of confusion. "Have we? I don't quite recall."

"Huh, that's weird," Alina cocked her head. Two could play at this game. "I know for sure that we met at my house. You didn't say much to me, then. Oh! I know what will jog your memory. I think you know my boyfriend, Lucas. Lucas Sinclair."

She put as much anger into his name as she could muster, and she could've sworn she saw Billy's eyes darken at the reminder. But after a millisecond, they returned to this false cheeriness. "Oh, yes!" he said, slapping his head. "Silly me. You're Alina Fairgrieves, right? I've seen you hanging around Max before."

Alina hated the fact that he knew her name—well, not quite. He'd gotten something wrong. But still, hearing Alina and Fairgrieves on his tongue made her recoil.

"It's Fairgrieves-Byers, actually," she corrected nonetheless. "I was adopted by them last year."

"Right, right, sorry." Alina was feeling like she'd been hit by him again, even as he drew his eyes away from her and onto El. "And you... what's your name?"

"El." She stared Billy down coldly. Although she hadn't been there during everything that had happened last year, Alina had told her everything. She didn't seem to like Billy any more than Alina did.

"El," Billy repeated. "Now, what is it you were saying, El? You were looking for somebody?"

El suddenly seemed unsure. She glanced at Heather again. "We—we saw... we saw—"

"—your manager," Max finished. "At the pool. He said you guys didn't come into work today, so we got worried." It was a good excuse. A little truth sprinkled in with the lie.

"Heather wasn't feeling so hot today," Billy began, "so we thought we'd take the day off to nurse her back to health. But you're feeling just fine right now, aren't you, Heather?" Maybe Alina was imagining it, but she thought she heard a warning in his voice.

"I'm feeling so much better," said Heather. And then: "Do you girls want a cookie?" she held out the tray. "They're fresh out of the oven."

"Sure, thanks." Ignoring El's warning look, Alina stepped forward, taking a cookie off the tray. Stepping closer to Heather gave Alina the opportunity to scrutinize her, looking for any sign of danger. But Heather truly looked okay. There was no panic in her eyes, no pleading for help. Her cheeks were rosy and a bright smile was plastered on her face.

Thinking fast, Alina said, "I'm glad you're feeling better, Heather. Did you have a fever or something? There was a bit of ice in Max's tub."

"Yes, actually," said Billy, and his voice seemed to have lost its charm. "But now you know everything's okay, so you three can head on home now, right?"

"Of course," said Alina. "Thanks for the cookie," she added.

"No problem," said Heather, and she smiled even wider.

Alina, Max, and El all made their way back outside into the storm. Alina stowed the cookie in her pocket. Her breath was surprisingly even.

"You're not going to eat that, are you?" El asked, her tone filled with worry as they mounted their bikes.

"I'm going to test something," said Alina, clenching her jaw. "Something wasn't right about that dinner, and I'm going to find out what."

And perhaps it was because she was already so uneasy, but Alina didn't question the feeling that soon rose up inside her. The dropping of the stomach. The chill down her spine. The deep, unmatched fear that surged up inside of her. Because, after all, this whole day she'd been afraid. Why was this any different?

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

a/n: this chapter was so fun to write ngl. like alina really doesn't let any of billy's bullshit slide lmfaoo, and idk there was an underlying creepiness of everything being too perfect that was really cool. i'm not a horror writer, but these kinds of things are still fun :)

'till next time!