Chapter 19: The Search
The compass went haywire at three different locations across Hawkins.
I drove the search grid methodically—starting from the crash site, spiraling outward, following the needle's erratic behavior. Twenty-four hours since Will vanished, and the town was mobilizing. Volunteers combing the woods. Police questioning everyone. Joyce Byers destroying her house looking for signs of her son.
And me, tracking dimensional residue invisible to everyone else.
Location One: Merrill's Pumpkin Patch
The compass dragged me here at 2 PM. I parked, walked the perimeter carrying it loosely at my side like a normal compass. The needle swung wildly, settled pointing at a spot near the irrigation ditch.
Dead pumpkins. Three dozen of them, rotted overnight in a perfect circle twenty feet across. The stench of decay so thick it burned my throat. And in the center—frost. In November Indiana afternoon warmth, frost crystallized across dead vines in patterns that looked almost organic.
I photographed everything. The circle's dimensions. The frost patterns. The way healthy pumpkins sat five feet outside the boundary, untouched.
Dimensional bleed. The Upside Down touching our world, leaving marks.
A farmer approached—Merrill himself, face lined with confusion and anger.
"Harrington kid? What're you doing here?"
"Heard about the blight. Wanted to see." I pocketed the camera. "Any idea what caused it?"
"Government's saying fungus. But fungus don't work this fast. Don't make geometric patterns." He spat. "Something from that lab, I bet. They're poisoning the land."
Close enough to the truth.
I left before he could ask more questions, compass already pulling me toward the next location.
Location Two: The Quarry
Cache One was here, hidden in the rocks. But the compass pointed deeper—toward the water itself.
The quarry's surface looked wrong. Oil-slick shimmer despite being freshwater. Dead fish floating belly-up near the shore. And the smell—copper and rot and something chemical that didn't belong.
I climbed down to the water's edge, tested the temperature. Ice cold. Twenty degrees colder than it should be. And when I touched the surface, my hand came away with gray residue. Ash. The same ash from the crash site.
Another bleed point. Smaller. But the boundary is thin here too.
I collected samples, photographed the dead fish, noted the water temperature. Then climbed back to my car and checked the compass again.
Northeast. Always northeast. Toward the lab.
But before I could pursue that, my radio crackled—Lucas, calling from the woods.
"Steve. Found something. You need to see this."
Location Three: The Forest Near Steve's House
Lucas waited at the tree line behind my property, notebook in hand and face pale.
"There's a deer," he said without preamble. "Dead. But not normal dead."
He led me fifty yards into the woods. The deer lay in a clearing, body intact but wrong. No visible wounds. No signs of predation. Just dead, eyes open, expression frozen in terror.
And it was rotting. Had been dead maybe twelve hours based on decomposition, but looked weeks old. Accelerated decay, flesh sliding off bones, insects swarming.
The compass needle pointed directly at the carcass.
"Something killed it," Lucas whispered. "Something from the dark dimension."
"Yeah." I circled the body, photographing from multiple angles. "The Demogorgon. Or something like it. Hunting."
"How many of these things are there?"
In the original timeline, just one initially. But this timeline's already different. Barb's fate changed. Multiple breach points instead of one. Maybe there's more than one monster now.
"Don't know. But we document everything, map the patterns, figure out hunting grounds."
Lucas added the location to his map—a hand-drawn grid of Hawkins with marks for every strange occurrence. He'd been thorough. Eight locations showing electromagnetic disturbances, temperature anomalies, or dead animals.
"They're spreading out from the crash site," he observed. "Like ripples. Whatever came through is expanding its territory."
Smart kid. Too smart.
"Keep mapping. But don't approach anything alone. These things are dangerous."
He nodded and headed back toward town. I stayed with the deer carcass, studying it.
The boundary between worlds wasn't sealed. It was permeable. Things could cross—both ways, potentially. The gate under the lab was the main breach, but these smaller bleed points were secondary contamination.
If this keeps spreading, eventually the whole town will be infected. The Upside Down will leak through until there's no boundary at all.
My radio crackled again. Different voice this time.
"Steve? It's Dustin. At the library. Found something in the mythology section. Parallel worlds, doors between realities—there's precedent. People have theorized about this for centuries."
"Good. Document everything. Focus on how people close the doors in the myths."
"Most of them involve sacrifice or sealing rituals. Some mention guardians—people who can walk between worlds. Do you think—"
"Later. Keep researching."
I left the deer to rot and drove back toward town, mind cataloging the evidence. Three bleed points. Accelerated decay. Dead animals. Dimensional contamination spreading.
And somewhere in all this, Will Byers was hiding in a mirror version of Hawkins, trying to survive.
The call about Barb came at 6 PM.
I was at Hopper's office, reviewing search grids, when Nancy Wheeler burst through the station doors. Face tear-streaked, voice high with panic.
"My friend is missing! Barb Holland—she never came home. She was supposed to stay over at my house for studying but she left and now she's gone and—"
Hopper stood, guided her to a chair. "Slow down. When did you last see her?"
"Yesterday afternoon. Around 4 PM. She left my house to go home but she never arrived and her parents are freaking out and something's wrong—"
My blood went cold.
Barb. The Demogorgon got Barb too.
But the timing was wrong. In the original timeline, Barb died at Nancy's pool party—later, after Eleven appeared. This was earlier. Different.
The timeline is fracturing. My changes are causing ripples I didn't predict.
"Where exactly did she disappear?" Hopper asked, pulling out a notepad.
"Between my house and hers. She would've walked past Lover's Lake, through the back woods. It's only a mile but—" Nancy's voice broke. "Will Byers is missing. Now Barb. Something's taking people."
Hopper glanced at me. I could see the calculation in his eyes. Two missing kids. Both disappeared after leaving safe locations. Both vanished without witnesses.
"We'll find her," Hopper said, but his tone suggested he didn't believe it.
Nancy noticed me for the first time. "Steve. You found Will's bike. Did you see anything? Anything strange?"
Burned ground. Dimensional ash. Reality tearing open.
"Just the bike," I said. "But I'll help search for Barb. Where exactly was she headed?"
Nancy gave me the route. I memorized it, already planning to check for dimensional traces along that path.
Two taken now. The Demogorgon is hunting more actively than it should be. What else changed?
Lover's Lake - 7 PM
The compass led me to the shore.
Another bleed point. Smaller than the others but present. The water near the dock showed the same oil-slick shimmer. Temperature drop. Dead fish.
And on the dock itself—blood.
Not much. A smear on the wooden planking. Fresh, maybe twelve hours old. Barb's blood.
She was here. The Demogorgon found her here.
I photographed the evidence, collected samples of the blood, noted the dimensional contamination in the water. Then I sat on the dock and tried to think through the implications.
In the original timeline, Barb died at the pool party. But there was no pool party this time—I'd changed too much, positioned myself differently, and events had shifted. So the Demogorgon found her elsewhere. Maybe it was hunting more actively. Maybe the gate was larger. Maybe my interference had made things worse.
Or maybe she survives this time. Maybe the different location means different outcome.
But I couldn't know. Couldn't rely on the show's knowledge anymore. The timeline was in flux.
My phone rang. Mike, voice tight with urgency.
"Steve. You need to come to my house. Right now."
"What's wrong?"
"There's a girl. In the woods. She's... strange. Bald, wearing a hospital gown, barely talks. But she knows something about Will. She keeps saying 'bad men' and pointing toward the lab."
My heart rate spiked.
Eleven. Right on schedule. Almost.
"Don't let her leave. Don't let anyone else see her. I'm coming."
"Should we—"
"Mike. Lock your basement door. Keep her warm and quiet. I'll be there in ten minutes."
I hung up and drove toward the Wheeler house, mind racing.
Eleven escaped. She's with the kids. This is the moment everything accelerates.
Wheeler House - 7:30 PM
Mike met me at the basement door, face pale and scared.
"She's terrified. Won't talk to Mom or Dad. Lucas wanted to turn her over to the cops but Dustin thinks she's connected to Will somehow. They're all arguing."
"Let me handle it."
I descended the stairs. The basement recreation room had become a standoff—three twelve-year-old boys surrounding a small girl who looked ready to fight or flee.
Eleven.
She was exactly as the show depicted—shaved head, hospital gown under a too-large coat, eyes wide and defensive and exhausted. But seeing her in person, seeing the terror and determination mixed in her expression, hit differently than watching a screen.
This is a child. A traumatized, weaponized child.
She tensed when she spotted me—new adult, potential threat. Her hand raised slightly, ready to use powers.
"It's okay," I said, keeping my voice soft and low. Crouched down to her level, making myself smaller. "I'm Steve. These guys' friend. Nobody here is going to hurt you."
"Bad men," she whispered. "Bad men looking."
"Bad men from the lab?"
She nodded frantically.
"They won't find you here. I promise." I turned to Mike. "How long since you found her?"
"Twenty minutes. We were biking back from the search party and she just... appeared. In the woods. Running."
She escaped, ran blind, found the first people who seemed safe. Just like the show.
"Okay. Here's what we're doing. We're taking her to my house. Not here—if the lab searches, they'll check here because of your connection to Will. My house, they have no reason to look."
"Your house?" Lucas protested. "We don't even know who she is!"
"She's from the lab. She escaped. And she knows something about Will—you said so yourself." I looked at Eleven. "Do you know where Will is?"
She nodded slowly.
"Can you show us? Help us find him?"
Another nod. Then, haltingly: "Will... hiding. Scared. Dark place."
Mike grabbed my arm. "She knows. Steve, she actually knows where Will is."
"Yeah. Which means we protect her from the bad men so she can help us." I stood. "Everyone, grab your bikes. We're going to my place. Quiet, through the back routes. If anyone asks, we're having a study session."
"What about her?" Dustin gestured at Eleven's hospital gown. "She stands out."
I pulled off my jacket, wrapped it around her small frame. It hung comically large but covered the gown. "Better?"
She clutched the jacket, nodded.
"Good. Let's move."
Harrington House - 8:30 PM
The house was ready.
I'd prepared for this moment since yesterday—stocked the freezer with Eggos, set up a quiet corner in the basement with blankets and pillows, staged medical supplies in case she was injured.
The Party filed in through the garage. Eleven moved like a trapped animal—quick, wary, checking corners. She noticed the space, the emptiness, the lack of adult supervision.
"Where are your parents?" Mike asked.
"London. Business trip. Won't be back for three weeks."
"So we have the house?"
"We have the house."
I led them to the basement, showed Eleven the safe corner I'd prepared. "This is yours. Nobody will bother you here. There's a bathroom through that door, clean clothes I can get from upstairs, and—" I opened the freezer. "—these."
Eggo waffles. Box of twelve.
Eleven's eyes went wide. She looked at the Eggos, at me, at the Eggos again. Then reached out tentatively, like they might disappear.
"They're yours," I said. "All of them. Whenever you're hungry."
She grabbed a box, held it to her chest protectively. First sign of trust.
"Steve." Mike pulled me aside while Dustin showed Eleven how to use the toaster. "What are we doing? This is insane. We're hiding a girl from the government in your basement."
"We're protecting someone who can help us find Will. And keeping her safe from people who did bad things to her." I kept my voice low. "Mike, this is what we trained for. Unexpected situations requiring quick decisions. You trust me?"
"Yeah. But—"
"Then trust that I know what I'm doing."
I hope I know what I'm doing.
Eleven ate three Eggos toasted, one frozen. Watched us the entire time with those guarded eyes. Testing. Evaluating.
Lucas still looked skeptical. Dustin fascinated. Mike protective in a way that made me realize the romantic subplot was already beginning.
And I had to figure out how to integrate a lab-escaped psychic into our operation while keeping her hidden from Brenner's people.
Just another day in the life of a time-traveling teenager.
"Alright," I said once Eleven finished eating. "Let's talk about what you know. And what we need to know. Starting with: where is Will Byers?"
She looked at me for a long moment. Then spoke the words that confirmed everything.
"Upside Down."
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