the guilt of a killer

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

Strangely, Alina almost felt comforted with the blindfold over her eyes and El's hand slipped securely in hers. They were sitting in the living room, surrounded by everyone else, but there was no sound except for the quiet breaths of their friends and the buzz of the static from the TV. The induced darkness spread around her only made it easier for Alina's other senses, which had sprung into motion. She could smell the cereal and coffee from breakfast, hear the distant call of birds from outside, feel El's pulse through their joint hands. It was almost therapeutic—would be considered therapeutic if not for what Alina had to do. To find Billy Hargrove.

So you have to concentrate, she reminded herself. She took a steady breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Concentrate, Alina. Come on. It was harder than it seemed. Everything that had happened lately, even mundane things, were whirling back in her mind, a picture book of memories all tinged with melancholy. Gabe's confession. Gabe's injury. Lucas patching her up. The hospital. The smell of antiseptic. The chemicals. Heather's house. The blood. The sauna test.

And, again and again, almost like a movie, Alina saw herself shoot bolts of energy right at the flayed Tom Holloway as Jonathan plunged the scissors into his neck. She didn't know why this was the scene she kept seeing, only that it made it harder for her to concentrate on Billy's vile face.

Come on, she thought again. Your friends are depending on you. Just do this quickly.

She willed herself to form Billy's image in her mind. From his mullet to his sweat-greased chest, to his cold, dead eyes that now belonged to the Mind Flayer. She even pictured the black streaks crawling up his neck, and, just as she felt the blood beginning to trickle from her nose, her eyes opened. Not in the living room, but in the oppressive darkness of the void that stretched on forever.

She stood there, her feet sloshing in the watery ground. She felt normal, with her rainbow skirt and pink and blue shirt, but her nose—she put a hand up to it just to make sure—was no longer swollen. Her ribs felt almost brand-new, and as she took a tentative step forward, she found there was no shooting pain down her side. Her head no longer ached, and although her knee was bandaged, the white gauze sticking slightly out of Lucas's messy but functional work, it wasn't hurting either. Here, in the void, at least temporarily, Alina's wounds were healed.

Alina clenched her jaw. "Let's go," she told El, who nodded resolutely.

The two of them were a team, journeying through the void with their hands linked, preparing to leap at the defense of the other if anything went south (if anything could go south. Alina still didn't know how the void worked). Alina was glad she had El. She'd been glad for her ever since they first officially met in the treehouse, but since she'd burst her way through her door, hair slicked back and blood dripping from her nose, she'd gotten even gladder. El was a ghost. Or a zombie crawled up from the grave. But this zombie was on her side.

Alina had nightmares nearly every night; it was inevitable when one has gone through the trauma she had during her short life. And a lot of them were about El. Eleven, the nearly bald girl Alina had met almost two years ago, with the pink dress, the blue jacket, the blood vessels popping in her face. In these dreams, sometimes Dr. Brenner was there, cradling El in his arms, whispering words that sounded soothing until you actually listened to them. Then they were tinged with hatred. Sometimes she was in the treehouse, where Alina had instructed her to hide in, eating chips and with a blanket wrapped securely around her shoulders. And sometimes she was at Hawkins Middle, her face dirty and her eyes rimmed with red.

In these nightmares, El never spoke to her. She just gazed at Alina with her soulful eyes, reached out for her, and then disappeared, leaving only ash behind, the same flakes that had overcome her at the school. And every single time, Alina would wake up convinced that El was gone again, that she wasn't come back, and then she'd feel the slow thrum of the magnet in her stomach and settle back into the covers again.

Alina was whisked out of these grim memories and realized she'd evidently been walking, because here was Billy, sitting there, his muscles glistening with sweat and his eyes cold. He was waiting. Waiting for something. Like a call from the Mind Flayer.

Dormant. That was the word Will had used. He was waiting for instructions, because, for now, he had nothing to do. And he was too far gone to do anything else.

Billy's eyes narrowed as they watched, and then he looked up at them before disappearing. El gasped, taking a step back, but Alina didn't move. She just stood there, staring at the flakes Billy had left behind, anger curling through her. He must've known they were there. She could tell. And so they were no closer to finding the source.

It was a couple of minutes before Alina remembered to take off her blindfold.

Boom. She was back in the cabin, and a wave of pain immediately hit her so hard she felt a little dizzy. It wasn't new pain, just the old aches from the wounds she'd acquired at the hospital in the sauna. Wincing, Alina clutched her ribs and detached her sweaty hand from El's, and that was when Max spoke.

"What's he doing now?"

El didn't respond, so Alina took that as her cue to. "Sitting," she explained. "Sitting in his room. Waiting for something."

Nobody bothered to hide the disappointment on their faces, and at the heat searing into her back from her friends' eyes, Alina finally stood up. "I need some water."

El licked her lips. "Me too," she said, and led her to the glasses. Alina turned on the tap, letting the ice cold water swirl into her water glass, and imagined, for a fleeting moment, that it was blood instead. Thick, hot blood, available at the turn of the knob. And then she wondered why she'd imagined that.

Meanwhile, the other group was discussing this new development. Billy sitting in his room. Gabe didn't think it really warranted a discussion, but everyone else disagreed, so they were now talking about it.

"And that's not normal, right?" Nancy was asking Max. She, being his stepsister, obviously knew him best.

Max jutted her head forward incredulously. "Billy staying in his room on the Fourth of July?" she asked. "No, that's not normal."

"Wait, what?" Gabe's voice slipped out before he could catch it. "It's the... it's the Fourth of July? July Fourth, 1985?"

"Uh, yeah, that's what she just said," said Nancy, a little confused, and looking even more so when she noticed Gabe lean back, his eyes wide. His mind immediately began to whirl.

July Fourth. His birthday. He hadn't... he hadn't known. The days had gone by in a blur, seeming meaningless, because each one was just another step closer to the end. But... this was his birthday. He was fourteen now. And he was supposed to be celebrating today. Celebrating his first birthday party, with all of his friends. They were supposed to go swimming and eat cake and watch the fireworks and go to the fair the Mayor was supposedly setting up. Not... not this. Not saving the world.

It's my birthday, Gabe thought dully. He'd never gotten a single good birthday in his life. Not with George, and not with Linda. And although he knew he shouldn't have been upset, because there were worse things to worry about, but for some reason the fact that he wasn't getting a proper birthday tugged at him. Like a fishing hook had caught into his heart.

"What's wrong?" Jonathan asked, briefly stopping the conversation at Gabe's worried face. And it was then Gabe noticed the way everyone was eyeing him, because of course, he'd displayed his emotions on his face. With his heart pounding, Gabe managed to contort his features into an expression of neutrality and replied simply with "Nothing."

"It's his birthday," Will blurted. Gabe's eyes swiveled to his. He hadn't thought anyone would remember. "He's fourteen now. That's why he's upset."

"Oh, shit," Lucas murmured, giving Gabe a sympathetic look.

Nancy and Jonathan exchanged a glance. "What a shitty birthday," Nancy said eventually. "I'm sorry, Gabe. Sorry that we can't do much today. But, I promise, when this is over, we'll throw you a real party."

Gabe's face grew hot. "No—no, you don't have to," he said. He didn't mention that he thought that there would never be an "over." He instead said, "It doesn't really matter at this point. So, anyway, what were we saying about Billy?"

"Gabe—" Mike started.

"Forget it, okay? Everything's fine."

Will pursed his lips, but he seemed to know that Gabe did not want to discuss his unfortunate birthday in front of everyone. So he continued on the conversation with what he knew to be true. "He wants us to find him. Billy, I mean."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," said Nancy, similarly catching on. Because, no matter how much this sucked, they did have bigger things to worry about. "If we go to Billy, then the rest of the flayed know where we are."

"It's a trap, I agree," said Mike. "We'll be ambushed."

"We won't be surprised," said Lucas. "We'll know that they're coming, and we will kick their flayed butts."

"You mean El and Alina will kick their butts," Max corrected.

"Hey, you know, that's not entirely true," Gabe mused, because he, too, wanted to distract himself from his birthday troubles. "I mean, Lucas actually landed a pretty significant hit on Billy in the sauna with his wrist rocket, and so did Nancy and Jonathan in the hospital. You know, with the scissors and the fire extinguisher and all of that. And I suppose I did a little to hurt Billy in the sauna with my Swiss Army Knife. The flayed are more vulnerable in human form."

"Yeah, but how do we even know they'll be in human form?"

As the conversation carried on, Alina Fairgrieves-Byers was feeling like she was in a fog. A cold weight seemed to be hanging on her shoulders. A dark storm cloud hanging over her. Maybe it was the effect of what happened last night, but Alina found herself continuing to think about death. Her dad's death. Bob's death. El's fake death. Her own near-death experience. The doctors in the hospital. The flayed Tom Holloway. The unnamed scientists in the lab. She pictured a Demodog sinking its teeth into one such scientist's neck and closed her eyes.

What's wrong with me?

Alina focused, trying to find out what had caused it. And when she watched herself fling Tom across the room again with the power of her energy, she thought she realized what it was. It was guilt. The guilt of a killer.

But I didn't kill Tom, she reminded herself. He turned into one of those slime creatures. And besides, he wasn't himself. He was possessed.

Which makes it all the worse that you tried to kill him. He may have been a dick, but it wasn't his fault that he hurt you, Nancy and Jonathan. That was the Mind Flayer. And what if there was a chance he could've come back before you killed him? What if, now that he is that slime, he'll never be able to come back?

You basically killed him, Alina.

Alina Fairgrieves-Byers had fought many a foe in these years of the Upside Down, but she'd never killed anyone. No, that had been El, with the crashed van and the blood coming out of the scientist's eyes. That had never been her, even though, secretly, she'd always thought she'd be able to kill if it came to it. But now, when she'd actually gone through with it, she found that she couldn't kill. Because just the thought of doing it again made bile boil up in her stomach.

Desperate to distract herself, Alina turned to El, who seemed in a sort of funk herself. She'd picked up a box of Lucky Charms, staring at the rainbow box blankly, like she wasn't really there. And then, after a second, she snapped out of it, setting the box down and turning to Alina.

"Are you okay?" she asked her friend, putting the empty water glasses in the sink.

"I have an idea," was all El said, before turning to the others, who were locked in conversation about the Mind Flayer and where a possible source would be. "Billy knows it," she said aloud. "Billy's been there. To the source."

"Yeah," began Mike, "but—"

"It's a trap. I know. We can't go to Billy, but I think there's another way. A way for us to see where he's been." She turned to Alina. "I'm going to need your help again."

And this was the beginning of the end.

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧