EIGHT THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE GIRL

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       ESME FELT HOLLOW, AS IF every emotion and every sensation had been carved out of her chest, leaving a vacuum in her ribcage. It felt like an essential part of her had been ripped away from her, taken somewhere where Esme couldn't reach it ... couldn't reach her. India. Something had happened to her, something terrible — Esme knew it. Esme felt it. She had felt it the moment it happened, like a hand wrapping its fingers around her heart and squeezing it, as hard as it could. And after that feeling had ebbed away, it left her as nothing more than a shell of a girl, sitting on the floor of the living room, like a discarded toy that just waited to be picked up and given a purpose.

       What was she supposed to do now?

       What had India been up to? Where did she go yesterday? What had been so important that she'd leave her family, her sisters, alone the day they needed her the most? Esme didn't know, she could hardly think straight. Her mind was in shambles, and she couldn't make sense of anything. Everything around her felt so far away... India felt so far away... Esme could hardly grasp her, could hardly feel her... She was still there, but so far away... Like she was in a place that Esme couldn't get to, a place completely out of her reach...

       Esme looked up at the gray ceiling that was laced with tiny cracks. She closed her eyes. What do I do? she prayed to God, gathering every bit of faith she had in her body, hoping for an answer, for some sort of guidance, a hint into the right direction... But that wasn't how it worked. God didn't give clear answers. You simply had to trust that whatever was happening was part of a plan, an ineffable plan. And, usually, Esme could accept that. But not now. Not when her sister was in trouble!

       And then a thought struck her, like a bolt of lightning, and her eyes snapped open. Anita. If Esme had felt this, then Anita did too. They were sisters, after all — they were connected.

       Esme pushed herself up from the floor, ignored the magazines lying around, and ran up the stairs. In front of Anita's door, she halted. She couldn't just storm in, could she? Anita would kill her. So, she knocked, praying that Anita would let her in this time, but there was no answer at all. Esme frowned. She knocked again. Nothing. No 'go away' or 'piss off' or anything along those lines. Why wasn't she answering? Worry settled in the pit of her stomach, and Esme turned the doorknob — it wasn't locked. Thank the Lord. She stepped into the room, only to be hit with a wave of cold air. What sent a shiver down her spine, though, was not the cold, but the fact that the room was empty.

       Her stomach turned as her eyes landed on the wide-open window and she realized: Anita had snuck out. ... Probably with Lucas and Dustin earlier. Esme put her hand against her forehead, distraught. How had she not seen that coming? How had she not noticed? She should have checked up on Anita, should have made sure that she was OK, but she had been too absorbed in her own grief that she completely forgot that Anita was suffering too, alone in her room! God, she was a terrible big sister! It was her job to take care of her little sister, and she hadn't even noticed that Anita had left hours ago.

       Esme sat down on Anita's bed and buried her face in her hands, and she couldn't help but think, India would've noticed. Tears pricked her eyes. She looked up at the window, her eyes scanning the darkness outside. Anxiety gnawed at her intestines, like thousands of tiny maggots on a decaying corpse. She didn't care that she was freezing, her whole body trembling from the frigid air flowing in.

       Over and over again, Esme would tell herself that Anita was fine, she was with Dustin and Lucas. She was fine. But it didn't ease her worries. Her muscles were taut to the utmost. Only when Anita finally showed up in front of the window did she relax, relief washing over her.

       Anita froze at the sight of Esme, her eyes widening to the size of saucers.

       Esme thought she'd get angry at Anita, angry that she just left, ran away, on a day like this, but as soon as she laid her eyes on her little sister, saw that she was fine, all she felt was incredible relief. A weight was lifted off of her shoulders, a few tears fell onto her cheeks.

       Anita climbed through the window, closed it, and then turned to her sister. "Esme—"

       "Where were you?" Esme cut her off, her voice rich with emotion. She shot up from the bed and walked over to Anita, cupping her cheeks with her hands.

       Anita just shook her head, though, freeing herself from her sister's grasp. "Did— Did you feel it?"

       Esme straightened, her body tensing. After a moment, she nodded. "Yeah."

       Anita looked up at Esme, her black eyes glistening, and she whispered, "Where is India?" Esme felt a lump forming in her throat. She could see the desperation on Anita's face, and she wished she could give her the answer she craved, but she couldn't. Esme didn't know. She didn't know where India was.

       "I don't know." Esme sniffled. "I don't know."

       And then, something happened that Esme had not expected — Anita threw her arms around her, burying her face in Esme's pajama shirt. For a few seconds, Esme didn't react, too surprised, but she quickly gathered herself and wrapped her arms tightly around Anita, holding her close. Once again, Esme felt tears threatening to fall, but she fought against them. Anita needed her to be strong. So she would be strong. For her.

       Anita broke away from the hug first and took a deep breath before she spoke: "I think the Midnight Man took Will."

       Esme's breath hitched in her throat.

       "I know you saw him yesterday."

       "What?" Esme breathed.

       "I heard you and India talk, last night," Anita explained. "And I think — if he's back — it would make sense, right? And—" Anita stopped, her gaze suddenly becoming distant. Esme frowned, confused. "What if that's what happened to India?" Anita's voice lowered into a whisper. "What if the Midnight Man took her too?"

       Esme felt like she had been slapped in the face. How did she not think of that? Nervously, she started playing with the ends of her pajama sleeves. Her thoughts were racing, and her muscles tensed, fear creeping up her spine and into her veins. Memories resurfaced in her brain. Haunting memories of that night... She remembered a distant whisper tickling her ears, echoing in her mind; she remembered hearing Anita's ragged and scared breathing next to her — until she didn't; she remembered the panic she had felt when she realized that Anita was gone, that the Midnight Man had taken her, and Esme hadn't been able to stop it—

       "Esme?"

       Esme blinked, shoving those memories into the farthest corner of her brain, reminding herself that they were just memories, not weapons. She had to focus on the present, on India, because— Esme swallowed. Because India was missing. Just like Will. The Midnight Man took them.

       ... She had let him take one of her sisters again.

       "Um, we, uhh..." Esme couldn't think straight. She didn't know what to do.

       "We have to find her!" Anita said, pinning her sister with a firm look.

       Esme's gaze flickered between Anita's eyes, saw the determination in them, and Esme could feel the fog clouding her mind slowly lifting. Anita was right. They had to find India. She would do the same for them. So, she nodded. "I'll, um... I'll talk to Hopper tomorrow. OK? He'll know what to do."

       "Why not today?"

       "He won't be on duty anymore," Esme said. "And he's the only one who'd believe me."

       Anita pulled her brows together. A peculiar twinkle glistened in her eyes. Then she said, "Right... Tomorrow, then." But she sounded distant, and she wasn't even looking at Esme. It seemed like there was something else going on in Anita's brain, something she wasn't telling her. But just as Esme opened her mouth to ask her what she was thinking about, Anita cut her off, "I'm going to school tomorrow, by the way."

       That caught Esme off guard. "What?"

       "I want to go to school tomorrow," Anita repeated, looking Esme directly in the eye, showing her that she was serious about this.

       "But— You don't have to — If you need more time, then that's fine—"

       "No." Anita firmly shook her head. "I'm going."

       Esme stared at her, incredulous. She wanted to object, to tell Anita that that probably wasn't the best idea, that she needed to take her time and process what had happened with— with their dad. She wasn't ready to go to school yet. Esme wasn't either. No one would be in that sort of situation. But if Anita would go — and she would, she was too stubborn, Esme wouldn't be able to talk her out of it —, then Esme would go too, so she'd be close by, in case Anita needed her...

       Esme closed her eyes and sighed. "All right. Fine."

       (Kill her.)

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       ANXIETIES SWARMED HER MIND, AND her stomach was twisting and turning like a snake — Esme had the urge to vomit. She stood in front of the mirror in her room, frowning at her reflection. The circles under her eyes were dark, but you couldn't see the veins and artilleries shining through her skin anymore, and, honestly, Esme was relieved. One less thing for the people at school to make comments about. They would already be talking about what had happened to her family, to her dad. And they wouldn't give a shit that Esme could hear them, that those words would cut deeper than a knife edge.

       Once again, she heard her mom's words echoing in her brain, "He killed himself." Tears welled up in Esme's eyes, but she blinked them away. She wouldn't cry. Not now. And not in school. Definitely not in school. In front of everyone. They'd just laugh at her, because grieving your dad was something so ridiculous and embarrassing that you just had to make fun of it.

       Jesus, she wasn't ready for this. At all.

       Esme took another deep breath and tugged her gray oversized sweater into place. She ignored the fact that her eyes were still slightly red from crying so much yesterday. She had to put on a brave face, she had to pretend like she was ready for this, even though she really wasn't. Honestly, all Esme wanted to do was lock herself in her room and cry until it didn't hurt anymore, just like her mom. But she couldn't do that. She had to be strong. For Anita.

       (She wanted to vomit.)

       (She wasn't ready for this.)

       Just as she was about to leave her room, her gaze caught on something that made her stop in her tracks. India's ring. The golden ring with the green gemstone in the center. Again, she had to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. With a shaking hand she grabbed the ring, and, for a moment, she just held it to her chest, letting it give her the comfort she needed.

       "Where are you, India?" she whispered to herself.

       Then she slid the ring onto her index finger and left the room. She closed the door behind herself, then turned — and she came face to face with her mother's locked bedroom door.

       Esme's face darkened as the memory of what had happened yesterday resurfaced. Last night, after the conversation with Anita, she had tried to talk to her mom, to somehow get her out of her room, because they needed her, but all she got was, "I'm sorry, Esme, please, just leave me alone." And when she had told her that India was missing, she hadn't reacted at all, just stayed silent, like Esme hadn't said anything at all, like Opal hadn't just been told that her daughter was missing.

       Esme took a step toward the door and, taking a deep breath, knocked. "Mom?" Maybe she'd react today. Maybe she'd act like a mother again, and would help her daughters get through this nightmare that their lives had turned into (once again!).

       But nothing came back.

       Esme had to hold back a scoff.

       "Mom!" she called through the locked door. A mixture of worry and anger started brewing in the pit of her stomach as she — again — received no answer. "Jesus Christ, Mom, your daughter is missing!" she yelled. She couldn't believe that her mom just didn't care. "India's missing. Do you hear me? India is missing!"

       Again — nothing.

       Esme was close to tears. She was close to just breaking down and crying until there were no tears left to cry anymore, but she smothered that urge. Instead, she forced herself to breathe. In, and out. In. Out. She wouldn't cry. She couldn't let herself cry. Because she was afraid that if she started, she wouldn't be able to stop... That she would just break into a million little pieces, and she wouldn't be able to put herself back together, like an unsolvable puzzle. And that couldn't happen, Anita needed her.

       Especially because their mom refused to be there for them!

       "You're a shit mom!" Esme exclaimed, then immediately clasped a hand over her mouth. She didn't mean to say that. It just came out. What had gotten into her? "I'm— I'm sorry, I—"

       "Don't be sorry."

       Esme, startled, whirled around, her eyes as wide as saucers. Anita was standing in the doorway of her room, already fully dressed, her hair in a ponytail, looking more exhausted than Esme had ever seen her; the bags under her eyes were almost black, and she just looked ... worn out ... like she hadn't slept at all last night. Esme frowned, concerned. Did Anita sleep at all last night? Anita's expression, though, was dark and irritated, and it seemed as if she was ready to lash out any minute.

       "If she doesn't give a fuck about India then she is a shit mom."

       With that, Anita went downstairs, not giving Esme a chance to reply. She just stood there, unmoving, not sure what to make of Anita's words, before she gathered herself and went downstairs as well, walking into the kitchen, where she expected Anita to be, eating breakfast. But she wasn't there. No. She was already in the hall, putting on her combat boots.

       Esme frowned down at Anita. "Isn't it a little ... early to go to school?" she asked, hesitant; she didn't want Anita to snap at her.

       "I'll go to Mike's before school," Anita said, without looking at Esme. She simply put on her jacket and shouldered her school bag. She was about to leave when Esme stopped her, "Anita."

       Anita turned around, one eyebrow raised expectantly. Impatiently.

       "Just..." Esme sighed; she knew that she couldn't say anything that would make Anita stay and eat breakfast. "Are you taking your bike?" she asked instead, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

       Anita faltered, her steely expression softening for a moment. "Our bikes are in the garage, so..."

       "... Oh." Esme hadn't realized that... "The bus, then?"

       "I was gonna walk, actually... It's not that far."

       Esme nodded. "Just — be careful," she said, worry lacing her voice.

       Anita saluted her mockingly. "Always am." She left, slamming the door behind her.

       And Esme was left alone. She stared at the door for another minute, before she went into the kitchen and started brewing herself some coffee. While she waited, she couldn't help but think of school, and what would await her there. Tatum and Vinnie would be there, though, it would be fine. Esme felt her stomach twisting into knots. She took her favorite mug, the one with the stars, and filled it with hot coffee. Immediately, she took a sip, not caring that she burned her mouth in the process — the pain distracted her from her thoughts.

       She hissed, and tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought against them. With a glance at the clock, she realized that Hopper wouldn't be at the station yet, it was too early. So, she jumped up onto the kitchen counter and sat down next to the fridge. Usually, India would sit across from her at the counter, eating cereal or yogurt and sipping her own cup of coffee; Anita would sit next to her, eating toast with jam; then Opal would come in and tell them to hurry so they wouldn't be late for school; and, sometimes, her dad would be there, drinking coffee and telling Opal that they still had enough time...

       That will never happen again, she thought.

       She would never see her dad again.

       Before she could start to cry, Esme gulped down the whole cup of coffee in one go and jumped down from the counter. She placed the mug in the sink, got ready, and left the house. Maybe Hopper would be there already — if not, she'd just wait. The bus station was just down the street, and when she arrived, the bus did too.

       She stepped inside, and, immediately, every person in the vehicle (most of them were high school students) turned toward her, their eyes boring into Esme, scrutinizing her. She shrunk in on herself, wishing she could be invisible. This was exactly what she had been afraid of — the looks, the staring, and she could already hear people whispering about her, about what had happened to Usher Deverell, or rather, what he had done.

       Esme averted her gaze to the floor, her pin-straight hair falling into her face, hiding it. She slid into a seat and anxiously started picking at a loose thread of her sweater.

       Esme hated this. So much.

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       AS SOON AS ESME GOT OUT of the bus, and it drove off, she could breathe properly again. Freely. Inside that bus, with every person aware of her presence and whispers about her dad, it felt like there was a weight on her lungs, pressing down on them, preventing them from inflating and providing her with the oxygen she needed and craved. She inhaled deeply, the frigid air streaming down her trachea. Her throat went dry, aching from the cold, but she didn't care — this was better than not being able to breathe at all.

       She walked down the street toward the entrance of Hawkins Police, trying not to think about the fact that, two days ago, she had seen the Midnight Man right here. The street light had flickered, and there had been this terrible gnawing sensation clawing at her intestines that scared her to the core (but was also familiar) that told her it was the Midnight Man, that she was in danger, that her sisters were in danger.

       ... And yet she couldn't do anything to stop India from being taken.

       Esme quickened her pace and rushed inside the police station. Warmth slapped her in the face, heat rushing into her cheeks that would turn them blood red but, because it was anatomically impossible for her skin to change color (whyever), they stayed stark white. The door slammed shut behind her, and every person — every deputy and officer — turned in her direction. Esme stiffened while her gaze wandered from person to person. They all knew who she was, and what had happened... Esme hated that everyone knew.

       Pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, she walked up to the secretary, Flo, to tell her that she needed to talk to Hopper — now.

       "Hello, sweetheart," Flo said and gave her a smile. "How are you? How's your family?

       "They're fine," Esme answered quickly, dismissing the questions. There was a reason why she was here, and it really couldn't wait any longer — it was bad enough that she couldn't talk to Hopper yesterday. She once read that the first 24 hours were crucial when someone went missing. Though, she also knew that those norms didn't apply to the Midnight Man — or the sisters, for that matter. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I— I need to talk to the Chief."

       Flo studied her, the anxious but at the same time determined expression, the bloodshot eyes, the dark circles under her eyes. "Why do you need to talk to him?"

       "It's — about my sister. Please."

       A pause.

       Then, Flo nodded. "He's in his office."

       A sigh of relief escaped past Esme's lips. "Thank you," she said, earnestly, with a tiny smile, and walked to the entrance of Hopper's office. She knocked and waited for an answer.

       "Not now, Flo!" Hopper's gruff voice sounded through the door.

       Not sure what to do now, Esme turned back toward Flo.

       "Just go in!" she said.

       Esme raised an eyebrow at her, then shrugged and opened the door.

       Hopper groaned as he heard the door open. "I said—" The words died in his throat as he saw who entered his office. "Esme."

       Esme gave a small wave. "Hi."

       He sighed, having an inkling why she was here. "Come in. And close the door behind you, will ya." Esme did as she was told. "Sit down." Esme did. "Listen. I think I know why you're here..." Esme frowned. He did? "... but nothing indicates that your father's death wasn't a suicide—"

       "That's not why I'm here," Esme interrupted him, her voice thick. A lump had formed in her throat at the mention of her dad and his ... suicide. Honestly, she hadn't thought much about the possibility that it hadn't been a suicide, she was more occupied with the fact that she would never see him again. But, Hopper had planted the seed in her head now, and nothing could stop it from blossoming...

       "Oh." Hopper frowned, his eyes searching her face. Before he could ask why she was here, though, Esme said, "I'm here because of my sister."

       "Which one?"

       Esme huffed. "India. She didn't come home yesterday."

       Hopper shrugged. "OK...?"

       "She's missing," Esme said.

       Hopper sighed. "Just because she didn't come home, doesn't mean she's missing."

       Esme narrowed her eyes at him. "Why else wouldn't she come home? I think something happened to her, maybe the same thing that happened to Will—"

       "OK, time out," Hopper raised his hand in a 'shut up' sort of way. Esme raised her eyebrows, thinking, excuse me. "Listen. Your sister is seventeen and she just lost her father. She probably just needed a break—"

       "She did not need a break!" Esme exclaimed. "My sister is in danger!"

       "Calm down—"

       "No!" Her eyes started stinging with unshed tears. She wouldn't let them fall. "India wouldn't just leave! OK? She wouldn't. Something happened to her. I—I know it!" Anger was bubbling in her stomach, and her blood started to boil. (Was this how Anita felt all the time? Trying to grasp control, but it was always just out of her reach? Because that was how Esme felt right now. If Hopper would say anything along the lines of "You're delusional because you're grieving," Esme would snap. She didn't like that feeling.)

       "How do you know that?" He sounded almost tired, which made Esme's irritation only grow — her control was slipping farther and farther away from her. "Well...?" He urged when she didn't answer.

       And Esme hit a crossroads. Either she could try to convince him that she just knew that something had happened to India, that India wouldn't just leave them to grieve on her own or some shit like that — or she could tell him about that overwhelming feeling that had punched her in the gut, knocked the air right out of her lungs, and made her heart forget how to beat, telling her that India was in danger, that the Midnight Man had taken her; she could tell him that there was a strange connection between the sisters, a bond tying their hearts together, sewing them into one single organ.

       He already knew that there was something off about the sisters, about their disappearance. You could see it at the first glance — there was nothing normal about the Deverell sisters. The chance that he would believe that was higher than if she tried to convince him that India just wouldn't leave.

       Esme chewed on her bottom lip, thinking about her next words.

       "Spit it out, Esme," Hopper said. "I haven't got all day."

       She leaned slightly forward, shuffling her feet. "But you really have to listen," Esme said, her eyes wide as she looked at him.

       Hopper furrowed his brows at her, observing her body language and facial expression. "All right, I promise I'll listen."

       Esme breathed out, nodding. "OK..." With shaking hands, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I— I felt that something happened to her..." She avoided eye contact now; she knew exactly how that sounded — delusional, like wishful thinking, as if she was grasping at straws, trying everything to make him believe her.

       "You ... felt it?" Hopper asked, skeptic.

       "I know how it sounds, but... Since we — came back, three years ago, there's this ... connection between us. We can feel when one of us is hurt, or scared, or in danger. And yesterday..." She thought back to that sense of dread she had felt. "It's never been worse." She looked at Hopper, who eyed her closely. Esme couldn't tell if he believed her or not. "It was like a hand wrapped around my heart and squeezed it."

       For a few moments, neither of them said anything, silence enveloping them, suffocating them.

       Then: "Esme... Don't get me wrong... But, do you think it's possible that you maybe had a— a panic attack? You've gone through a lot, so—"

       Esme jumped up, the chair scratching across the floor, almost falling over. "That was not a panick attack!" Tears started running down her face. Hopper tried to calm her down, but Esme didn't listen. "You—You know that we're different, that we're strange, and that there was nothing normal about our disappearance!" She took a strained inhale and used her sleeve to wipe her face, drying her tears. "Hopper, I'm telling you — it's happening again. What happened then, to us — it's happening again."

       Hopper stared at her, his gaze calculating. After a while, he heaved a deep sigh and leaned forward, propping his elbows up on the table and folding his hands. "You're right. There was nothing normal about your disappearance. And I still have no fuckin' clue what happened to you and your sisters. So, if you're so sure about this, about it happenin' again, then I'll look into it."

       A wave of relief washed over Esme, and she fell back into her seat. He believed her. He really believed her. A few tears rolled down her cheeks and Esme shut her eyes. She took a deep breath trying to calm down, but that was easier said than done. She felt like there was this big weight being lifted off her shoulders because she told someone about India, and he believed her, and he'd look for her. But the worry was still there, the fear that something would happen to India and that Esme couldn't do anything about it... God, she really was a wreck.

       "Hey, I said I'll look into it," Hopper said with a soft voice, trying to comfort her.

       Esme nodded. "I know, I know." She wiped away the tears with her already damp sleeve. "It's just—" She swallowed, then looked at Hopper. "Thank you for believing me."

       Hopper smiled and nodded in a 'you're welcome' sort of way.

       Esme looked down at her hands, pulled her sleeves over them, and clutched the fabric. "I'm scared." Hopper eyed her, concerned. "I can't lose my sister, too." Her voice broke at the word 'sister'.

       "You won't. All right? You won't." Hopper stood up and walked around the table, then kneeled down in front of her. He didn't try to take her hand or something like that, he'd spent enough time with her to know that she didn't like that — not even from her parents. "I won't let it happen. I promise."

       Esme looked him in his eyes, in his religiously sincere eyes, that vowed that he would do anything to keep his promise, to bring India home safely.

       A small smile crept up on her lips, the first smile in days that she really meant. "Thank you."

       "'Course." He nodded. "Can I, uh, drop you off at home?"

       "Um, I was gonna go to school actually," she chuckled dryly.

       Hopper looked at her in disbelief. "You want to go to school? Already?"

       "Anita wanted to go... And I wanna be close by, in case she needs anything..."

       Hopper sighed. "All right. School it is, then, come on." He got up from the floor and grabbed his jacket before he left his office. Esme followed him outside to his truck and got into the passenger seat. The drive was completely silent, but Esme didn't mind. She tried to prepare herself for what would await her at school — the looks, the whispers. She didn't want to go through any of that today, but she didn't have a choice, not if she wanted to be there for Anita, to be a good sister. She would endure it. For her.

       Hopper pulled up in front of the school. Esme thanked him for giving her a ride and was about to get out of the car when a thought popped up in her head. A thought that had been planted there not long ago, but it had already grown roots. She turned back toward Hopper. "What you said ... about my dad—"

       "Listen, Esme—"

       "— I don't think he did it himself. He loved us, he wouldn't have done that."

       Esme didn't look at him. She was sure that she must seem like this fragile little girl, that would break at any second, but she didn't care — she had to get this off her chest. She had to say it out loud or else it would eat her up from the inside.

       Hopper sighed. "I can look into it" — Esme's gaze snapped toward him, shocked — "but Will and India are my priority now. You understand that, right?"

       "I— Yeah. Yes." Esme hadn't expected him to take her seriously on this, honestly. "Thank you."

       "Yeah, yeah, now get outta here," he said, acting as if he wanted to get rid of her as soon as possible, but Esme could see the smile on his face.

       She got out of the car, gave Hopper a small wave, and watched him drive off. Then, she turned around, the entrance of the school glaring back at her, menacing, with fletched teeth, like a Hellmouth waiting to chew her up and spit her out. She buried her hands in her pockets and was about to cross the parking lot when she caught someone's gaze. And Esme locked eyes with Steve Harrington. He was leaning against his car, Tommy and Carol standing in front of him but with their backs facing Esme. He looked at Esme with an expression that she couldn't read, but it wasn't malicious — at least she didn't think it was...

       All of a sudden, the air was knocked out of her lungs, and her body went rigid. A quiet gasp escaped her. And, as if something had whispered it into her ear, she knew that he had seen India yesterday, before she went missing.

       Esme could feel it.

enter: steve Harrington. yay.

AND merry christmas to those who celebrate!! and happy holidays!! ✨

hope you enjoyed! let me know what you thought!