𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍. ˢᵗᵉᵛᵉ ʰᵃʳʳⁱⁿᵍᵗᵒⁿ ¹

035

035. 𝗶 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁, 𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗯𝘀.

𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃, Lori still found herself tossing and turning in her bed that night. It was half-past three when she found herself lying awake, eyes wide open at her ceiling. Her mattress was suddenly too hard and her pillows were suddenly not soft enough, and all of a sudden, she wasn't even tired anymore. Not one bit. She could only think of but one reason: to her dismay, she hadn't even thought about how she'd feel once she was alone. She was too caught up in her emotions and the embrace and the relief of being home again that she didn't even have time to think about when the lights would go off. When it would be just her. All alone. In the dark. After all of that. She hadn't even imagined going to sleep after all of it.

So there she was, lying awake in the middle of her bed, unable to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, images of the demodogs flashed in her mind, flashbacks of the tunnels, the junkyard, and every image of danger plagued her mind when it got dark behind her eyelids. They were instantaneous— the flashes. She couldn't close her eyes for more than a minute without being startled so bad that they shot right back open. She was hot, as the memories of the burning tunnels drifted back into her mind, and then suddenly she was cold when she thought of being in the bus again. It was impossible to fall asleep. She was alone for the first time in two days, alone in the looming dark.

After the emotional reunion with her mom, Lori had looked back to see Steve already going into his own house. She was too teary-eyed to see that his driveway was empty except for his car, that he was alone in his big house. She was too consumed in her mother's worried questions that she didn't have time to go and see him, because Maureen was dragging her into the house, rubbing her arms comfortingly. She could've gone out to see him when Maureen left Lori's bedroom to go speak with Hopper— who'd gotten out of the vehicle— but she told herself that maybe he needed time alone. It'd been a long day. Besides, the next day was Saturday, she could go over and see him and talk about everything, and sit in his arms if he'd let her. They just had to get through the night.

But Lori couldn't get through the night. Not without him.

More than two days she'd spent with Steve at her side, always close — and now he wasn't there. She'd never felt so lonely. As she laid there staring at the ceiling, something caught her attention in her peripheral view. It was a light, coming from outside her window. Carefully, she pushed herself up on her elbows and squinted to see from her bed, her eyes landing on the aforementioned Steve's house. A light in the window across from her's flickered on, and she quickly assumed that it was a bathroom based on the frosted glass, and the shape of it.

Her back straightened. She knew it was Steve turning on the light, he was the only one home. He couldn't sleep too.

And then something peculiar started happening.

After a few moments, the bathroom light shut off. And she sort of relaxed a little bit, figuring he was going to bed and that maybe she should, too. But then a few moments later, it turned on again. But then it flickered off after a minute. And that sequence of things repeated many times— off and then on. Off and then on again. Off and on. Repeatedly. She sat up straighter with a huff, eyes narrowing in confusion. She watched the light flicker off, and paused as it remained off for a few long seconds, thinking that this time was the last. Right before she was about to lie back down again, it turned on.

She pushed herself off her bed. Her feet were cold against the hardwood floor as she tiptoed to the window, placing her hands along the sill. She stared at his bathroom window, light on. Biting hard onto her bottom lip, her eyes flickered down to the ladder still leaning against the side of her house. A particular pang hit her chest. The ladder Steve had used to sneak into her room, and the one they'd both used to sneak out of her room in the same night. An idea came to mind, quite an abstract one, and she bit harder on her lip in confliction. She turned her head and stared at her bedroom door.