FIFTEEN WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

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       INDIA HAD OFTEN SAID, "THE BEST place to hide something is in plain sight. People don't see what is right in front of them." Steve had laughed whenever she'd said that, thinking that India was just trying to be mysterious. But when he and Esme had been looking for the book, those words came to mind. If this book was as important as they'd thought it was, then India would make sure no one would suspect that it was important. People don't see what is right in front of them. And what was less suspicious than a book in a library?

       As he drove, Steve cast a glance to the passenger seat, to Esme, who was staring straight ahead with her hands hidden in her sleeves. She'd changed into blue jeans and an olive green sweater that was way too big on her, hanging loosely from her shoulders. And even though she'd stopped crying quite a while ago, she still didn't look like her usual self — her skin was pretty much gray, her eyes sunken, and she hadn't said a word since they left her home. He was worried she might pass out any second. He looked back at the road, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

       He wasn't sure when he'd started to care about her, to think about her as more than just his best friend's little sister who never even gave him a chance to prove that he wasn't as bad as she thought. Maybe it was that moment in the bakery, when she'd — for some reason — reassured him that she never thought of him as a cheater like his father. Maybe it was when she'd defended herself against Carol... He just knew that when, yesterday, he'd seen how much she was still suffering from what she'd gone through three years ago ... he'd wanted to help her. And earlier, when he'd seen her cry, he'd wanted to comfort her somehow. He didn't want to see her like that, so fragile and broken, when he knew that she was neither of those things.

       Music filled the silence between them, which Steve was grateful for. Until some weird French (was it French?) song came on. He reached forward to change the channel, but before his fingers could even touch it, Esme grabbed his arm, holding him back.

       "Don't change that," she said, her voice thick, which caused him to look over at her. Her eyes were pinned to the radio, and she was blinking rapidly as if trying to get rid of tears. Then his gaze fell to her hand still wrapped around his forearm, her words from earlier ringing through his head: I— I don't— don't like physical touch. He looked back at her, his eyes wide, and realized that she, too, was staring wide-eyed at her hand. Quickly, she let go. "Sorry."

       He shook his head, trying to seem nonchalant. "It's fine." He glanced at her again, seeing her brush a strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned back in her seat, her brows furrowed. He looked back at the road. "You like that song?" he asked.

       "Yeah, it, um... It was my parents' wedding song. La vie en rose." She swallowed loudly. Then, faintly, she added, "And my dad taught us how to dance to it."

       He gave her a quick look, seeing a sad smile on her lips, before focusing on driving again. "That sounds nice," he said, unsure how to react to that. How do you act when a girl mentions her dad that killed himself just a few days ago? He never thought he'd be in a situation like this.

       "It was," Esme said. "I think it's my favorite song just because of those memories."

       They listened to the song, and Steve could swear that he heard Esme hum along quietly.

       The song changed, and his thoughts began to wander as he drove down the streets of Hawkins. And — as his thoughts tended to do these days — they went to Nancy. She'd been acting weird when he had visited her earlier before he went to the Deverells' house. And he was worried about her. Her best friend, Barb, was missing, too. Steve knew what it felt like when your best friend just disappeared, the constant anxiety, the urge to get her back. When Nancy told him that Barb had disappeared, he didn't believe her at first (not his proudest moment). But now, with India missing, having been kidnapped by a shadow monster, he began to wonder if the same had happened to Barb...

       "Hey, uh..." he began. "Do you think Barb was kidnapped by the Midnight Man too—?"

       "Wh-What?" Esme sputtered, her gaze snapping toward him. "Barb?"

       OK, so, she didn't know about that.

       "Uh, yeah, she ... she's missing too," he said carefully, not wanting to freak her out.

       He heard her exhale shakily as he turned a corner. "I... I didn't know that." Her voice was merely a whisper. He cast a quick glance at her, seeing utter shock on her face; her eyes were unfocused, blinking rapidly. He turned back to the road. "I guess I was so focused on—on India, and my dad, and Will, that I ... didn't pay attention to anything else.

       "That's — totally understandable," he said.

       "What happened?" Esme asked.

       Steve sighed. "The night I had that party — the one where Jonathan took those pictures of us? — Barb disappeared from my backyard. Her car was still there the next day, but Barb wasn't. Nancy" — He scoffed, still not sure what to think about that —" Nancy broke into my backyard to look for her—"

       "What?" Esme exclaimed.

       "Yeah."

       "She broke into your backyard?"

       He glanced at her, feeling the urge to defend Nancy. "Like that's something you wouldn't do for India." Like that was something he wouldn't do for India.

       "I mean— yes, but... She could've asked you, is all."

       Well, that was true. "Anyway... She called the police after that — which, y'know, was the right thing to do because Barb went missing, but ... she told them there was alcohol at the party." Steve swallowed, remembering how rage had contorted his father's face after the police had told him. "I got into so much trouble."

       "With the police?" Esme asked softly.

       Steve chuckled bitterly. "No, no. With my dad." He pressed his lips together, debating whether he should keep talking or not. But a persistent voice in his head made him continue. "My dad... I'm pretty sure he hates me, y'know. No matter what I do, he's never happy with me. I'm a disappointment, that's what he always says. And he cheats on my mom." He shook his head, anger poisoning his thoughts. "I'm pretty sure the only reason why he hasn't left us yet is because a divorce would ruin his reputation of having the perfect family, the perfect life."

       He bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his anger at bay. He didn't want to look over at Esme, afraid of how she would look at him. She'd told him that she thought he was just like his father. He was scared she might be right...

       "Y'know what's even worse?" he went on, anxiously running a hand through his hair. "Sometimes I think I'm just like him. The way I reacted when Nance told me that she thought something happened to Barb, and when you told me that India's missing... I was a total dick." And, quietly, he added, "I apologized, though."

       He'd been an asshole to Esme — and so many others, too — for so long. But now that he got to know her, he felt guilty for all the mean things he'd ever said to her, for all the times he'd called her a witch. Sure, he'd tried to be friendly with her every time India arranged for them to meet, to finally get along with her for India's sake — her best friend and her little sister. But that had never worked out. Esme had always gotten annoyed with him, no matter what he said, and then he would get annoyed too, his temper getting the best of him, and he'd call her a witch.

       Esme had never given him a chance, but Steve had done nothing to deserve one in the first place.

       For a moment, silence engulfed them. Silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. Not even the music could thin it. Then: "Why are you telling me all this?" Esme's voice banished the silence, and what surprised Steve was that there was no judgment in it at all.

       Steve remembered how India had told him that Esme had a thing for fairness; the sisters had had a fight about ... something, Steve couldn't remember what, but Esme had gotten angry about India not playing fair — for some reason, that had stuck with him. He shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "You told me something personal, now I told you something personal. Like, a secret for a secret — that's only fair, right?"

       Esme didn't respond. Steve furrowed his brows, and, curious about her reaction, he turned to look at her. Her head was slightly lowered, and she was looking at her lap. And even though some of her hair hung in front of her face, almost like a curtain, he could see that the corners of her mouth were turned upward. She smiled. He had made her smile. And, a feeling of accomplishment rushing through him, that made him smile as well. He looked back at the road, feeling a little lighter.

       After a moment, Esme cleared her throat. "I—I guess it's possible," she said, "that Barb was kidnapped too." His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I just don't get why. Neither Will nor Barb has anything to do with the Midnight Man. India, Anita, and I played the game three years ago. Will and Barb... It's random. It doesn't make sense."

       Steve furrowed his brows, thinking. "I mean, maybe it doesn't have anything to do with the game."

       "But ... why did India leave us clues leading to the game, then?"

       Well, he didn't have an answer to that. But he did know that India always had a reason. He sighed. "I don't know." He parked the car in front of the library building, and he looked at Esme, a wry grin on his lips. "But maybe we'll find out now."

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       ESME ENTERED THE LIBRARY, HOLDING the door open for Steve to follow her. And as soon as the door closed behind them, she felt as if she was swallowed up by a sort of silence that only existed in libraries. On the one hand, it was comfortable — peaceful, with no distracting noises; but on the other hand, it was suffocating — it made her hyperaware of everything she did, restricted her in her own actions. She ignored that feeling, though, and instead walked straight up to the counter where a dark-haired woman with black-rimmed glasses sat.

       As she saw Esme, she eyed her up and down, a scowl on her face that she tried to hide, but Esme noticed it, she always did — it was the look almost everyone in Hawkins gave her, her and her sisters. Esme's throat tightened and she tightly clutched the fabric of her sweater. When the librarian turned to Steve, she smiled politely, "Hello, how can I help you?"

       Steve frowned at the woman, and Esme wondered if he had noticed the way the woman had looked at her.

       "We're looking for the Occult section?" he said. "If you have something like that."

       "At the very back, the last shelf," the librarian answered, ignoring Esme altogether.

       Anger started bubbling in her stomach, overpowering the insecurity and shame. She tilted her head, aggravated, and sent the librarian a look only a couple notches down from piercing. Then she said with venom lacing her voice, "Thank you." The woman's eyes darted to her, and Esme could swear she flinched a little upon seeing the look on her face. Esme had to hide a satisfied smirk. She turned on her heel and walked away. Under her breath, she mumbled, "Bitch."

       "Wow!"

       Esme's gaze snapped toward Steve, who looked at her with raised eyebrows. "What? She is a bitch."

       "I mean— yes, the way she looked at you wasn't exactly subtle." A smirk appeared on his lips. "I've just never heard you say that word."

       Esme shrugged her shoulders. "I don't really like insulting people."

       "You called me an asshole before. Does that not count as insulting?"

       She looked at him — and this time it was she who was smirking. "Some people deserve it."

       With that, she quickened her pace so they wouldn't lose more time — Esme didn't want to think about it, but she knew that the more time they wasted, the slimmer India's chance of ... of surviving ... was getting. They made their way through the library to the back of the room. Her whole body felt electrified at the prospect of getting closer to finding her sister — she just prayed that whatever they would find here would give Esme the answers she craved so badly and finally lead them to India.

       She felt India's letter to her in her jeans pocket, reminding her of its presence with every step she took. It made her walk faster. When they reached the shelf, Esme stopped dead in her tracks. And the electrifying feeling dwindled to a shiver. The shelf in front of her was filled to the brim with books about various Occult topics — and almost all of them looked the same. Most of these books were bound in brown leather, looking exactly like how Esme remembered the book that contained the Midnight Game.

       Steve put his hands on his hips. "That's a lot of books on Occultism for a Christian small town." Esme glanced up at him, a frown on her face. "Y'know, since Christians have something against this kinda stuff," he elaborated when he saw her expression.

       Esme crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Not all Christians think like that. Some appreciate learning about other cultures and beliefs."

       Yes, Esme enjoyed learning new things, but the Occult had never interested her, especially not after that night. India, however... She'd always been fascinated by this sort of stuff, by legends and myths. She would look at them as if they were puzzles, as if they had to be dissected, solved, to get to the core of the story, to find that grain of truth hidden between the lines and words. It was how she had found the Midnight Game in the first place.

       Steve looked curiously at her.

       "I'm ... religious," Esme said. And, hearing herself say those words out loud made her more confident in their truth. She'd doubted God, doubted his actions, that there was a reason behind everything that happened. But the conversation she'd had with Pastor Charles today had helped her. The Lord couldn't stop bad things from happening, but he could help her through the dark times. If she believed she would get through this, she could. "It helps me."

       Steve's gaze softened.

       As she saw the expression on his face, Esme diverted her gaze to the many books in front of her. "Let's just start looking."

       "Alright," Steve said. "You start on the left, I start on the right?"

       Esme nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

       And they got to work.

       They examined one book after another, reading the titles, skimming through the pages to look for the Midnight Game. One hour passed, then two, three, and Esme was starting to lose hope, growing more desperate and impatient with every passing second. Steve grew more agitated and annoyed as well, she could tell. He put the books back on the shelves with more and more force, and he let out a loud sigh about every ten seconds.

       Steve closed the next book with a loud bang. "This is leading nowhere."

       Esme didn't answer him; instead, she grabbed the next book, looking at the brown leather cover, the golden symbols engraved in it. India would probably be able to identify every single one of them, but Esme couldn't. Still, something about this book felt familiar. She opened it, leafed through it, looked at the rituals described in it — and then she froze. Her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes were fixated on the page, on the heading.

       The Midnight Game.

       This was it!

       "I found it!" she exclaimed, excited.

       "Shhhh!" someone said.

       Right — library.

       She glanced at Steve, who looked at her with shock.

       "Seriously?" he asked as he came to her side. When he caught sight of the heading, he grinned. "So? What's the clue?"

       "Let's see..."

       Esme focused on the pages, scanning the lines for something that India could've left there — nothing. She looked at the pages preceding the Midnight Game, then at the pages following the Midnight Game — nothing. The excitement she had just felt turned into panic. Her heart started hammering against her ribcage. She closed the book, studying the cover, the back, the spine — the cover, the back, the spine, the cover, the back, the spine — tears prickled in her eyes, her breathing grew rapid, sobs threatened to escape.

       "Esme," she heard Steve say, but he sounded so distant. "Esme, hey. Esme!" He ripped the book out of her hands. Her head snapped upward, and their eyes met. 

       "Nothing. There's—There's nothing. Th—There's—" A sob tore out of her throat, and Esme clasped a hand over her mouth, trying to silence it. Tears started falling onto her cheeks.

       Steve put the book back on the shelf before he turned toward her, a soft and ... helpless? ... look on his face. "Hey, it's OK—"

       "It's not OK!" Esme hissed. "This—This had to be it!" She dried her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. "W-W-We just spent — hours looking for this book, and it-it's a dead end! I was— I was wrong."

       "OK, so this is a dead end," Steve said. "But we can still find India, we just have to think about this again." Esme looked up at him, her eyes wide. He was right. This might be a dead end, but that didn't mean their search was over. They could still find her, find India. "OK?" Steve asked.

       Esme nodded. "OK." She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, taking a few deep breaths. "OK." She reached into her jeans pocket, taking out the letter India had hidden in the snow globe. "Maybe— Maybe we missed something in here." She folded the letter open, her eyes scanning India's pretty cursive handwriting, and they stopped at one sentence: But if you want to find me, start where it all began. This was about the Midnight Game, Esme knew that, but if it's not the book, then—

       "People don't see what is right in front of them," Steve muttered. Esme frowned at him, What? Then, he pointed at the word 'where'. "Why is that underlined?"

       Esme scratched her temple. "I don't know." Lord, why couldn't she think straight? Her mind was a mess!

       "Well..." Steve said. "Maybe India is actually talking about a place, not a thing."

       Esme's head started reeling, her thoughts spinning. It was a place, not a thing. A place that had something to do with the Midnight Game. A place, a place, a place— Come on, brain, work! She took a deep breath, thought back to that night, how they sat in a triangle around the utensils they had needed to perform the ritual— Oh! God, she was so dumb! How had she not realized this sooner?

       "My house," she said, looking at Steve. "We played the game in the living room."

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       EVERY PART OF ESME'S BODY felt alive. With every minute they drove, getting closer to her house, she felt more awake, jittery even, as if she had drunk a cup of coffee too much, the amount of caffeine in her blood making her nerves and muscles shake and buzz (which was a feeling she knew all too well). They were so close to finally figuring out what had happened to India, what she had been up to the day she disappeared, why she had left in the first place. Esme just hoped that this time, they got the clue right. That this was not another dead end.

       The car slowed to a stop in front of her house, and the porch light flashed on, detecting the movement, illuminating the patio. The sun was already setting, bathing the world in a colorless gray before darkness would take over for the night. Esme looked up at the light, at the front door, something making her hesitate. What if this was another dead end? No. She couldn't think like that. This was it, this was where India wanted them to be, this was where Esme would get answers.

       Steve stopped the engine. Esme looked over at him for a moment before she got out of the car, waiting for Steve to do the same.

       "Let's do this," she said, more to herself than to anyone else, and made her way to the front door.

       But before she could reach it, Steve stopped her, "Wait a sec!"

       Surprised, she whirled around. He jogged up to her, coming to a stop in front of her. His eyes didn't meet hers, though, no, they were fixated on the house behind her. Was he nervous? Esme thought. He swallowed, his larynx bobbing, before he finally looked at her. And there was something in his eyes that Esme didn't recognize, something unsure... He almost looked ... shameful? Confusion washed over her, a frown on her face. "What's going on?"

       Steve stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I just..." He let out a breath of air. Then he said something that Esme never expected to hear from Steve Harrington: "I wanted to apologize."

       She blinked, taken aback. "What?"

       "I, uhh..." Steve ran a hand through his hair, clearly anxious. "I'm sorry ... for how I treated you."

       Esme's breath hitched in her throat. She hadn't expected that — she didn't know what she had expected but definitely not that. Not from him. Steve Harrington, the King of Hawkins High. She felt as if the world had shifted. Hearing those words was ... surreal. She couldn't process it — not the words, not the meaning behind them. They echoed in her head over and over again, but they didn't make sense to her.

       She could see Steve's expression change, becoming insecure and frantic. "I know you have no reason to believe me, I mean, I was an asshole to you, for— for years. And I can probably never make that up to you, and— and you don't have to let me make that up to you, but I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. It wasn't fair. You didn't deserve any of it. You don't deserve any of it." His eyes met hers again. "I'm sorry. For everything."

       Esme felt tears prickling in her eyes as she looked up into Steve's brown eyes, at the sincerity in them. A lump had formed in her throat as she had listened to Steve, to his apology. And the honesty in his voice took her breath away. She had never thought that this would ever happen, that he would apologize for being mean to her. She had never even expected that they would get along. But, somehow, they did. Somehow, Esme trusted him — with her secrets, with her grief. "I..." Her voice caught in her throat; she didn't know what to say.

       "You don't have to say anything," Steve said, so incredibly soft that it took her breath away once more. And that small smile on his lips, this sad and understanding smile, didn't help her regain her voice. "How about we finally figure out what India was up to, hm?" He walked past her.

       But before he could reach the front door, Esme stopped him, "Steve, wait."

       Steve stopped dead in his tracks. For a moment, he just stood there, his back facing her. Then, slowly, he turned around, a shocked look on his face. "That's the first time you've called me Steve," he said.

       A smile tugged at her lips and she looked at the floor to hide it. But when she looked up again, the smile was still there. "I just..." She pulled her sleeves over her hands, clutching the fabric. "Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

       His lips stretched into a smile, a happy one. And Esme could feel her own smile growing. (Why were his smiles so infectious?)

       After a few seconds, Esme cleared her throat. "Now let's go find out what India was up to."

       She walked up to the front door, Steve right beside her, fetched her keys from her jacket pocket, and unlocked the door. She could feel the excited buzz returning, electrifying her whole body. This was the moment she would finally get the answers she craved, she would finally know what had happened to her sister, what India had been doing. Maybe she would even find out why the Midnight Man was back, why she was stuck in this never-ending nightmare.

       "Hey, uh... Is it OK if I use the front door?" Steve asked quietly as she opened the door and stepped inside. Esme frowned. "Y'know, because your mom can't stand me."

       Esme huffed. "She'll have to suck it up."

       And she won't remember anyway, Esme thought, as drunk as she was when I left earlier.

       She stepped further into the hall so Steve could come in as well. He looked at her for a moment, an inscrutable look in his eyes, before he finally entered. He closed the door behind himself while Esme slipped out of her shoes and hung her jacket on one of the hangers. Steve followed suit, putting his Nike sneakers neatly into a corner and hanging his dark blue jacket on the free hook right next to Esme's.

       "OK, so, we played the game in the living room, so let's check there first," Esme said. Steve nodded, following her deeper into the house, past the stairs, into the living room.

       Esme stopped walking as her gaze fell on the coffee table that stood right in front of the sofa. Two empty wine bottles stood there, an empty glass with a lipstick stain, and— She swallowed, tears welling up in her eyes. And the photo album. It was open, a picture of the three sisters grinning, all tanned from the sun, their brown eyes looking into the camera, stared back at Esme as she approached the album. This photo had been taken before that night, before her life had become living hell.

       A tear dropped onto her cheek.

       "Esme?"

       Steve's voice yanked her back into reality. She blinked rapidly, wiping away the tear with her sleeve. She hurriedly closed the photo album. "I'm fine." She left the album on the table and walked around the sofa to the place where they had sat on the floor that night, India explaining what the Midnight Game was, where they had pricked their fingers with a needle, had written their names on a piece of paper and signed it with their blood.

       Where they had unknowingly made a deal with the devil.

       There was nothing Esme regretted more in her life.

       "We sat here," she said to Steve as she kneeled on the floor.

       Steve squatted down beside her. "Do you know what we're looking for?"

       "Nope."

       "Great."

       Esme sighed. "Let's just ... look for anything unusual," she said, looking at him, their gazes locking for a second.

       Steve nodded. "Unusual. Alright."

       Esme's eyes scanned the wooden floorboards one by one, not sure what she was actually trying to find. She just hoped she would know when she saw it — whatever it was. India had really gone out of her way to come up with clues and to plant them in their designated places. It made Esme wonder for how long she had planned all of this... The thought made her stomach twist. She inspected the next floorboard, and— Oh, my God.

       "Steve," she said.

       He joined her side. "Oh."

       There, carved into the wood, right in the middle of a board, was a small star. Unnoticeable when you were simply walking through the room. But when you were looking for something specific, it was hard to miss. And it looked relatively new, too. This had to be what they were looking for, what India had left behind for them. Esme tried to move the board side to side, checking if it was loose — it was. A hopeful expression formed on her face and she shared a look with Steve before she dug her nails into the joint between the individual floorboards, lifting it up, and taking it out.

       She looked at what the floorboard revealed.

       Her heart sank.

       Nothing.

       "What? No, there—"

       "Hey, look," Steve interrupted her, pointing at the underside of the floorboard she's just taken out. She followed his finger, spotting a slip of paper taped to it. She raised her eyebrows as she laid the board in front of them so they could both read what was written on them. "Is that a riddle?" Steve asked, frowning.

       Esme nodded. "Yeah..."

       A question never answered.
       A puzzle never solved.
       A door never opened.

       Steve grumbled. "India is really getting on my nerves."

       Esme huffed, amused. "Yeah, try living with her."

       Riddles were India's favorite thing in the entire world. And almost every day, India would come up with another riddle, another mystery, that Esme or Anita would have to solve. They both had gotten pretty good at it. "Three sisters, one mind," Anita always said.

       "A question never answered," Esme read aloud, tasting the words on her tongue, analyzing them. "A puzzle never solved. A door never opened." Her thoughts were spinning. And after a few seconds, the penny dropped. Her body started to buzz with excitement. "A door never opened!" She turned to Steve, who returned her look with a clueless expression. "My dad's study."

       "What?" Steve asked, incredulous.

       "My dad's study," she repeated. "A door never opened — we were never allowed in there, but India's always been obsessed with finding out what's inside. It's the one puzzle India's never managed to solve and the one question she's never gotten an answer to."

       Slowly, Steve nodded. He stood up from the floor. "Then let's go check it out."

       Esme rose from the ground as well, putting her hands on her hips. She shook her head. "It's always locked. And no one except my dad has a key."

       A groan escaped Steve. "Of course, it's locked," he complained.

       The sound of someone coughing made them both whirl around, startled. Her body had gone rigid at the noise, her mind immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario: that someone came to hurt her, to kidnap her, the Midnight finally making his move to claim another victim. But as she saw who had entered the living room, leaving a trail of dirt behind from her muddy boots, relief washed over her. It was not the Midnight Man. It was Anita. For a moment, her gaze wandered from Steve to the loose floorboard with the riddle taped onto it, and to Esme.

       A Cheshire cat smile appeared on her lips.

       "Then it's a good thing I can pick a lock."

sjhdfhsdjg stesme has my heart !!!

aaaaand they're getting closer to finally solving this mystery!! also anita is here now yayy!

soo, i hope you enjoyed! let me know what you thought!