The creature was too fast; Powell and Chief Hopper ultimately lost its trail. The last place the slime had appeared was a crack in the ground oozing crimson light, and the fissure was closing like a living wound.
'They're learning,' Chief Hopper muttered, brow furrowed at the sight.
He'd heard how Richard and the others had sealed the gate last time—sloshing gasoline straight into the opening and setting it alight so the flames roared from our world all the way into The Upside Down. Apparently taking that lesson to heart, the cunning beasts had finally picked up the habit of 'closing the door' behind them.
That was bad news; it forced Hopper to admit he'd underestimated the intelligence of these Reverse World Creatures. He'd assumed they were simple animals, yet here they were, learning.
'Chief, you need to see this.' Powell's call pulled Hopper away from the closing fissure. Hopper walked over and looked down; his eyes narrowed. He snapped on a glove, lifted the blood-and-mud-soaked rag. 'This is... human fabric?'
'The blood's still fresh.' Powell rubbed his white glove, the stain blooming across it. 'Looks like while we were a step behind, someone was attacked—by that... whatever-it-is.'
Hopper's stomach turned to lead.
The victim had just been taken; even if they started checking missing-persons reports now, it would be a frustrating, blind search. Defeated, the two small-town cops drifted home.
When Hopper reached his house, he didn't even notice at first that Richard was the one opening the door.
'What happened, Hopper?' the younger man asked, watching the burly chief shuffle in like a zombie.
At the kitchen table, Eleven—fork poised over a waffle—glanced up. Seeing Hopper's haggard face, she lost her appetite and lowered the fork.
Only Richard's voice snapped Hopper back. He looked around blankly, remembered he was home, then frowned at Richard. 'What are you doing here?'
'Why not explain why you're so late? If I weren't here, Eleven would have gone hungry.' Richard folded his arms, turning the accusation around and glossing over his own unscheduled visit.
Hopper hesitated, met Eleven's innocent stare, and felt a pang of guilt. He rubbed his brow. 'Sorry, Eleven. Work ran late. And... thanks, Richard, for coming by, making dinner. I won't bust you for breaking the rules this time.'
'Hmph.' Richard looked away, scratching his cheek. 'So what happened—something on shift?'
Hopper didn't hide it; he laid out the night's grim events.
He trusted Richard because, in his experience, the kid was reliable. Sly, even brutal when facing foes or monsters, but decent to his own—and Eleven clearly adored him.
'I see. So that's how it is.' Richard nodded, calm. He wasn't worried; he knew the victim couldn't be Will. The boy's legendary bad luck had once made Richard pity him while watching the show—those writers had singled out one kid to torment.
How could he be sure? Simple. To make sure the four kids had gone straight home, he'd called their families—especially Will and Mike. Will was drawing in his bedroom; Mike was in the basement staring at a Luke Skywalker figure. All safe.
'You really feel nothing?' Chief Hopper asked, frowning at Richard's indifference.
Richard shrugged. 'I don't waste emotion on strangers, no matter how important they are. If it had been Robin, Steve, or Will, I'd care.'
An orphan with a rough childhood, Richard looked normal but carried hidden psychological scars no one noticed.
Hopper, remembering the boy's past, started to speak, but Richard cut in: 'No need to panic. If you want to know who was dragged into The Upside Down—and whether they're still alive—we can use Eleven's power.'
'Eleven's power?' Chief Hopper blinked. 'She can do that?'
'It's called extrasensory perception.' Richard nodded, then turned to her. 'Can you manage it, Eleven?'
Eleven nodded. "I'll try," she said simply.
Then she sat cross-legged, closed her eyes, shut down her ordinary senses, and let her mind expand. Her consciousness slipped into the dark mental landscape once more.
This time the target felt close. In the shadows she saw a boy darting between the trees—twelve, maybe thirteen, taller than Mike and the others, caked in mud and panic. Somewhere nearby the Demogorgon's guttural growl echoed through the forest.
"I see… a boy," Eleven reported, describing the image to the two men.
Chief Hopper's face blanched. "Is he okay?" he demanded.
"Scared. Terrified. Monster… hunting him. But safe—still safe." She searched her thin vocabulary for the right words.
A moment later Eleven cried out and clutched Hopper's large hand. Feeling the small fingers tremble, Hopper enclosed them in both of his. "Easy, easy. I'm here. Tell me—what else do you see?"
"Another boy… but he's dead… the monster is dragging—ugh!" Unable to bear the brutality, Eleven broke the vision and hurled herself back into reality, sobbing against Hopper's chest.
Hopper hesitated only a second before folding her tight, murmuring comforts Richard had never heard him use. When her shaking finally stopped, he eased his hold. The next morning Hawkins Police confirmed two children were missing—both students at Hawkins Middle School: Troy and Tag.
Both families were wealthy; frantic, they offered ten-thousand-dollar rewards for each child's safe return.
The bounty forged a spirit of "unity" the town had never seen. At least a third of Hawkins—hundreds of searchers—thronged the woods, dwarfing even the search parties Richard remembered from the original story.
Richard figured any monster spotting that crowd at dusk would bolt in the opposite direction—far too many people.
Lunchtime at Hawkins Middle School. Mike stabbed listlessly at his mashed potatoes, then glanced at his equally glum friends. "Come on, eat."
"You actually have an appetite?" Lucas muttered. Mike fell silent.
Will swallowed hard. "It's because of yesterday, isn't it? When we—"
"Shhh!" His three friends clamped hands over his mouth.
Once sure no one had noticed, Mike whispered, "We can't talk about it. They'll think we're involved."
"We didn't do anything—we're victims too," Dustin whispered. "Still, Troy and Tag are jerks. Sometimes you wish they'd just… disappear." He mouthed the last two words.
"They brought it on themselves," Lucas said, wiping sweat from his brow. "If anyone's to blame, it's The Lab."
"Exactly!" the others chorused, nodding hard.
Yet guilt gnawed at them. After school the four cut over to the high-school wing and slipped into Eddie's band-club room.
Eddie read their faces, dismissed the rest of the club with a nod, and closed the door so they could unburden themselves.
He'd already heard about the missing boys and had checked with Richard and Jonathan to be sure Mike and the others were safe. Learning they were fine had eased his mind—until now.
Not great at comfort, Eddie simply pulled their heads under one arm. "No moping. When life sucks, you roll some hot-blooded D&D. Speaking of which, Richard dropped a brand-new module on me this morning. Guess he was thinking of you guys."
At the mention of the black-haired youth who'd been so cold yesterday, Mike and the others felt their eyes sting, tears threatening to spill.