Chapter 22: The Sensory Deprivation Tank
Morning came with the surveillance van still positioned across the street.
I woke El early, guided her through the house in darkness. "We're going to Hopper's cabin. Back route, through the woods. They can't follow where we're going."
"The bad men are watching."
"Yeah. But they're watching the front. We leave through the basement emergency exit."
I'd built the exit tunnel last summer—fifteen-foot passage leading from the bunker to a hidden door in the woods behind my property. Emergency escape route that was about to prove its worth.
El, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas followed me through the narrow tunnel. We emerged two hundred yards from the house, completely hidden from surveillance.
"That's so cool," Dustin breathed. "You have a literal escape tunnel."
"Prepared for everything, remember?" I led them to my car, parked at Robin's house as planned. "Let's move."
Hopper's cabin smelled like coffee and isolation.
He'd cleared the main room for our planning session—maps on every surface, radio equipment, weapons laid out with clinical precision.
Joyce Byers sat at the table, face drawn and exhausted. She'd aged a decade in three days.
"You're the kids helping search for Will," she said, voice hoarse. "Mike, Dustin, Lucas. And you must be—"
"El," Eleven supplied quietly.
"El." Joyce's eyes went to the girl's shaved head, the hospital gown visible beneath borrowed clothes, and something clicked. "You're from the lab. The one they're looking for."
"I didn't mean to open the gate," El said quickly. "Papa made me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"
Joyce crossed the room, pulled El into a fierce hug. "Baby, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault. You're helping us find Will. That's all that matters."
El's eyes went wide—first genuine maternal affection she'd probably experienced. She stood frozen for a moment, then tentatively hugged back.
Mike looked like he might cry. Dustin smiled. Lucas nodded approval.
Good. Joyce sees El as victim, not threat. Makes this easier.
"Alright," Hopper said, pulling everyone's attention. "Steve, you said you have a way to locate Will and Barbara precisely. Explain."
I gestured at El. "She can find them psychically. But it drains her—nearly killed her yesterday maintaining a psychic shield for thirty minutes. We need to boost her range without exhausting her."
"How?"
"Sensory deprivation tank. Removes external stimuli, lets her consciousness expand without fighting environmental noise. I have one at my house."
Everyone stared.
"You have a sensory deprivation tank," Hopper repeated flatly. "In your house."
"In my basement. Built it for meditation training."
Built it because I knew Eleven would need it. Because the show revealed that's how she boosted her range. Because I've been preparing for this exact moment.
"Of course you did." Hopper rubbed his face. "Can we move it?"
"No need. The surveillance team doesn't have basement access—they're watching the house exterior. We use the escape tunnel, get El to the tank, do the session, extract her before they know we were there."
"That's risky."
"Everything's risky. But this gives us precise locations for Will and Barb. Without that intel, we're going in blind."
Joyce grabbed my arm. "Can she really find Will? Really talk to him?"
"She contacted him yesterday through radio. He's hiding in Castle Byers—the Upside Down version. Scared but alive."
Joyce's face crumpled. "My baby. My baby's in that place alone."
"Not for much longer." I turned to El. "Are you willing to try the tank? It'll be uncomfortable, disorienting. But it should let you reach Will without hurting yourself."
She nodded. "For Will. For Barb. I'll try."
The Harrington House - 2 PM
We entered through the escape tunnel, sealed the door behind us, moved through the basement in careful silence.
The isolation tank sat in the corner room I'd converted last year—eight feet long, four feet wide, filled with salt water heated to skin temperature. Radio equipment nearby. Blackout conditions.
"Holy shit," Mike breathed. "You actually built this."
"Told you I prepared." I checked the water temperature, salt concentration. "It's ready. El, you'll need to change."
Chrissy had provided a bathing suit that morning—one-piece, practical. El changed in the bathroom while I explained the process.
"You float in the salt water. Removes gravity, external sensations. Your consciousness expands into what you call the Void—the space between dimensions. From there, you can reach into the Upside Down without fully entering it."
"You've done this before?" Dustin asked.
No. I watched it on TV. But I can't say that.
"Research. Theoretical understanding." I helped El into the tank, positioned the goggles to protect her eyes. "Breathe normally. Don't panic when you lose external sensation. Your mind will reach out naturally. Find Will first, then Barb. Note their locations precisely. Can you do that?"
"Yes." She settled into the water, immediately buoyant from the salt. "Will... I'm coming."
I sealed the tank, killed the lights. Radio static filled the space—white noise to help her focus.
Through the connection we now shared, I felt her consciousness expand. Reaching. Searching.
El - The Void
The world went dark and infinite.
No up or down. No light or sound. Just consciousness untethered.
El floated in the Void—the space between everything and nothing. Here, the boundaries between dimensions grew thin. She could perceive both worlds simultaneously.
Will. Where are you?
She reached toward the Upside Down, her consciousness brushing against its wrongness. Decay and ash and things that hunted in the dark.
There—
Will Byers sat in Castle Byers, singing softly to himself. The fort was rotting, covered in vines, but structurally intact. He looked thin, terrified, exhausted. But alive.
"Will," El called.
He looked up, somehow perceiving her. "Who's there? Mike? Is that Mike?"
"Friend. Mike's friend. El. I'm helping find you."
"Tell my mom I'm okay. Tell her I'm trying to come home. But the monster—it keeps hunting—"
"We're coming. Hold on. Just hold on a little longer."
She withdrew, marking his location in her mind. Castle Byers, Upside Down. Exact position logged.
Now Barb.
El reached toward Lover's Lake. The water there was toxic, wrong. And hiding beneath an overturned boat—
Barbara Holland, barely conscious, covered in blood and vines. She'd been hurt. Taken later than Will. The Demogorgon had fed on her, but incompletely.
She was dying.
"Barb," El called. "Can you hear me?"
No response. Too far gone.
But alive. For now. Maybe forty-eight hours before the vines consumed her or the Demogorgon returned.
El withdrew from the Void, consciousness snapping back to her body. She broke the surface of the tank, gasping.
Steve
I opened the tank immediately. El emerged shaking, nose bleeding, but conscious.
"Found them," she said. "Both. Will in his fort. Barb at the lake, under boat. But Barb—she's hurt bad. Dying. Not much time."
Joyce grabbed her shoulders. "Will's okay? Really okay?"
"Scared. Tired. But alive. Singing to stay brave."
Joyce sobbed with relief.
Hopper pulled out maps. "Mark the locations. Exactly."
El pointed at Castle Byers on the normal map. "Will here."
"And Barb?"
She marked Lover's Lake, northeastern shore. "Under boat. Hiding from monster."
I calculated distances, timing. "They're two miles apart. Can't reach both simultaneously from a single entry point."
"Then we split up," Hopper said. "Two teams, two extractions, synchronized."
"That's suicide," Lucas protested. "You're dividing forces against unknown threats."
"We don't have a choice. Barb's dying. Will's vulnerable. If we wait to save them sequentially, one will die."
The room went silent as that reality settled.
Finally, Joyce spoke: "Then we split up. I get Will. Someone else gets Barb."
"I'll go for Barb," I said. "I know the location, have the equipment. Nancy deserves to have her friend back."
"You can't go alone," Mike protested.
"I won't. Hopper comes with me. Joyce takes Jonathan and—" I paused. "—whoever else she trusts to enter hell and bring back her son."
"El comes with me," Joyce said firmly. "She can sense Will, guide us directly."
"No," Hopper objected. "El needs to stay safe. If the lab finds her—"
"They won't," I interrupted. "Because while we're extracting Will and Barb, someone's leaking our operation to the lab. Deliberately. Drawing their attention away from El."
Everyone stared.
"That's insane," Dustin said.
"That's strategy. The lab wants El back. Give them a target—someone they think has information about her location. Lead them on a chase while the real operation happens elsewhere."
"Who's the target?" Robin asked from the doorway. She'd arrived mid-session, listening quietly.
"Me," I said. "I 'accidentally' let slip that I know where El is. Lead them on a wild goose chase while you all execute the rescue. By the time they realize I played them, both kids are safe."
Hopper shook his head. "You're talking about making yourself bait for dangerous people."
"I'm talking about using resources strategically. I can handle myself. And if it means Will and Barb come home safe? Worth it."
The room erupted in argument—Mike insisting it was too dangerous, Lucas calculating odds, Dustin proposing modifications, Joyce torn between gratitude and horror.
I let them argue, then raised my hand for silence.
"We can't do this alone," I said firmly. "Not anymore. This requires adults, resources, coordination. Hopper, Joyce—you're in command now. I've prepared everyone I can. Given every advantage possible. But the actual execution? That's yours."
Hopper studied me. "You're eighteen. Legally an adult. But you're still a kid. You've been carrying this operation like a general."
"Someone had to. But now it's bigger than me. So I'm asking: will you help? Will you coordinate the rescue?"
Joyce and Hopper exchanged glances. Some unspoken communication passed between them.
"We'll help," Joyce said. "We'll plan the extraction. But Steve—you're not bait. We find another way."
"There isn't—"
"We find another way," Hopper repeated. "Because if you get caught by the lab, they'll take you apart to find out how you know what you know. And we can't risk that."
He's right. If Brenner gets his hands on me, questions about my knowledge lead to answers I can't give.
"Fine. Alternative plans only. No bait scenarios."
"Good." Hopper spread maps across the table. "Then let's plan this properly. Two teams. Simultaneous extraction. Equipment lists. Contingencies. We go in prepared or we don't go in at all."
The planning session lasted four hours.
By the end, we had a strategy. Dangerous, complex, relying on split-second timing and a dozen things going right. But possible.
Team Will: Joyce, Jonathan, Nancy (for emotional support), El (to guide them).
Team Barb: Hopper, Steve (me), Lucas (tactical support).
Entry point: The gate under Hawkins Lab.
Timeline: Forty-eight hours to gather final supplies and intelligence.
Execution: November 11, 1983. Two days away.
Two days until I enter hell to rescue kids from a flower-faced monster. Two days to make sure everyone has the equipment and training to survive.
Please let this work. Please let preparation be enough.
El touched my hand as everyone dispersed. Through our connection, I felt her determination mixed with fear.
"We're going to save them," she said quietly.
"Yeah. We are."
Or die trying. But I don't say that part.
The surveillance van was still watching when we escaped through the tunnel at dusk. The agents had no idea the planning session had happened right under their noses.
Advantage: ours.
For now.
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