Chapter 1

He didn't want to be afraid, but he couldn't help it. He was surrounded by a darkness that threatened to suffocate him. He knew panic was surging to free itself and he tried to cling on to something, anything, to stop it from engulfing him entirely.

He shifted and a pain exploded across his chest. He panted and felt the sweat soak his body, but at least the dark wasn't as terrifying now. He groaned, his agony consuming him.

He had always been brave, always been the one people looked to, but now he was alone and frightened. As his pain subsided, he felt the shame of his tears. He relaxed into the dark now, willing it to take his pain and his thoughts away.

Joyce stood outside Bauman's metal door. She hadn't seen him in over a month. She hesitated before knocking, but Bauman's voice suddenly reverberated around the courtyard; he had been waiting for her and watching.

"Are you going to just stand there Joyce, or would you like to come in?"

Joyce glanced at the camera that she knew was trained on her face. She sighed and nodded and pushed against the heavy door that yielded under her weight.

"Thanks for coming" he said as soon as she walked into his apartment. He looked nervous, but then Bauman always looked nervous. "Drink?" he asked walking to the kitchen with quick, jerky steps.

"It's a bit early for vodka isn't it?"

He looked at her as if she had mortally offended him. "Joyce" he said as if talking to a child. "It's never too early for vodka." He went to the freezer and took out a bottle and then he poured two shots. He pushed a glass towards Joyce, but she shook her head. "Fair enough" he said and drained both glasses before pouring another. He stared at her intently with dark eyes that liked to hide behind his glasses.

"Why am I here Murray?" Joyce asked.

"Sit." Bauman walked towards her and plonked himself down. In front of him on a coffee table was a square tin; he put his glass of vodka down on top of it. He sat back into his armchair. "Sit" he said again. "I don't bite Joyce."

Joyce sighed and perched on the edge of the sofa clutching her bag to her. She liked Bauman, but sometimes his strangeness was a little too intense and his intensity a little frightening.

"How are you?" he asked.

Joyce smiled and shrugged. "You know, the kids are doing well and I'm just doing my thing. I miss it here though." She laughed. "I can't believe I'm saying that." She released her handbag, putting it on to the couch beside her. "I had my babies in that house" she said quietly.

Bauman nodded. He didn't much like kids, but he understood the sentiment.

"You know things don't just go away because we run away."

Joyce frowned. "I wasn't running away Murray."

"You were a little bit." He leant forward and picked up his vodka taking a swig. "I mean I understand of course, what happened to Will and the others and then Hopper…"

"Why am I here?" Joyce asked again, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. She didn't want to talk about Hopper; couldn't talk about Hopper.

Bauman tapped his free hand on the edge of the sofa. Then he downed the rest of his vodka and placed it carefully back on top of the metal tin.

"What if I told you he was still alive?"

They had sat through lunch and it had been excruciating. All either of them wanted was to be alone. Finally, Mike's mum, who saw the way they looked at each other, and who, understandably, would rather chaperone them for the rest of the day, allowed them their freedom.

"Joyce will be back here around 5" she said to El. She smiled fondly, but the smile was for her son. It wasn't that she didn't like El, but trouble followed her around and she felt as if she was holding the fabric of her family together with her fingernails. Whenever El was around, things seemed to fall apart.

"Do you have any plans?" she asked. "I promised Joyce you wouldn't go far."

Mike looked at El. He didn't care where they went.

"Can we go downstairs for old time's sake Mike" El said quietly with a smile. "And maybe I can see the others too?"

Mike beamed and readily agreed. He knew his mum wouldn't be able to snoop if they were downstairs.

"Come on" he said tugging her hand.

Downstairs, the shadows sat in their corners and El and Mike settled into the comfort of the old sofa. It was a gloomy room, but comfortable. It was familiar and friendly and was a haven for all the kids. Of all the terrible things that had happened, that room, Mike's basement, seemed to be the only place untouched by the terror of the Upside Down and the horror of the world above their heads.

El's hand was still nestled in Mike's. He looked down at it. His mum and dad said he was too young to be in love, but he would do anything for El. He stroked her hand and looked at her. She was staring at him, but her eyes held so much pain. She rarely looked truly happy.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently suddenly fearful that she wanted to break up with him. He had been warned that long distance relationships never worked. She smiled though and leant towards him in answer. The moment their lips touched, nothing else seemed to matter. The weeks apart dissolved into nothing.

They kissed slowly, their bodies not touching, still unsure of themselves, but knowing they felt better in the other's arms and then El pulled away and rested her forehead against Mike's. He saw she had tears in her eyes.

'This is it' he thought. 'That was her goodbye kiss'. He swallowed and waited. He would try and take it like a man. She deserved to be happy and he wasn't going to ever stand in her way.

"I have something to tell you" she said softly. She wouldn't look at him, but he saw a tear snake down her cheek. She sighed and then sat back against the squishy sofa, but she kept hold of Mike's hand. He looked down again and saw that her knuckles had gone white.

"What's happened El?" he said. She looked at him.

"He's alive" she whispered. She took a deep breath. She had been holding onto this for a long time. She had thought she must be wrong at first, but now she was certain, as certain as she could be and Mike was the only person she could tell who wouldn't think she was mad. She squeezed his hand even harder than before. "He's alive" she said again and this time her voice broke and her face crumpled. "He's in so much pain" she said gasping for breath. "They've done terrible things to him and he's alone and it's dark and…" She stopped and let her tears flow freely. "We have to save him Mike" she said. And with the power of love and friendship bolstering his heart, Mike nodded emphatically. Hopper had given up everything for El and as much as he had scared Mike with his blusterous ways, she loved him and that was good enough for Mike.

"Just tell me what you've seen" he said and El told him, and in the corners, the dark shadows stirred.

"Don't do this to me Murray" Joyce said. Ever since Hopper had died, she had felt the cold, consuming weight of guilt and remorse. It was festering away inside her, giving her no peace. She tried not to look back, to wonder 'what if', but every night, alone in her bed, the thoughts crept into her mind like relentless vines. She blamed herself for Hopper's death and she blamed herself for not giving them both a chance of happiness before he had died.

She blinked back tears. "Please" she said. "I can't do this." She reached for her handbag and stood up.

Bauman stared ahead. He sat there, still and silent for a moment, but then quite slowly, he reached out and took hold of the tin box that had been sitting on the table. Then he looked at her and Joyce saw something in his eyes that made her heart lurch. She sat back down.

"In this box" he said. "There are three things and I want you to have them." Joyce went to speak, but Bauman put up a hand. "There is money in here, a lot, and it's for you, because if you're going to do this, you'll need it." He smiled. "The Russians are easily bribed."

"Russians?"

Bauman nodded. "That's right, the Russians. They have him."

Joyce shook her head. "Murray, no. He died. I saw him."

Bauman smiled and then, quite suddenly, laughed. He put the box down again and then swooped over to his small kitchen, his dressing gown flapped behind him like a cape.

"Are you sure I can't tempt you?" he asked pouring himself another vodka. Joyce shook her head and watched as he drank thirstily and then poured another. He sighed. "In case you've ever noticed Joyce, I'm not one for displaying emotions or even speaking, really, unless it's absolutely necessary. I don't have the capacity to enjoy friendships like most people. Actually, I don't like most people." He grinned at her morosely. "But I like you, and your weird kids, and I liked Hopper. Correction" He put up a thin finger. "I like Hopper" He swigged his vodka down and shivered as he finally felt the fiery liquid travel through his veins.

"He's alive" he said and poured yet another shot. "You have money and you can help him, but they're watching me and when you leave here today, I am going to disappear."

Joyce stood up and walked over to him.

"Do you realise what you're saying to me Murray? I mean, do you have any idea of the agony of the past few weeks?" Joyce felt the heat of tears, but she blinked them away. "I am trying to rebuild my life; those kids need stability now and you're telling me he's alive?" She shook her head. "I saw him Murray. I said goodbye, I saw him die…" Her voice broke and her tears spilled over. She brushed them away impatiently.

"Look in the tin Joyce" Bauman said.

For a moment they stared at each other, then Joyce sighed and walked back to the table. She picked up the tin and opened it. Inside was a wad of money, a scrap of paper with a name on she didn't recognise and a cassette tape.

"Proof" he said. He stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to make a decision, but she stood immobile, too afraid to believe, too afraid to walk away. It was enough for him. He walked over to Joyce and gently took the tape from her and then he walked across the room, his bare feet merging with the cream, threadbare carpet. Joyce watched him when she wanted to just run. She watched him and waited as he turned her world upside down.

Murray Bauman, purveyor of conspiracy theories, suspicious of everyone, friend of no one, but a warrior of injustice, put the tape into his cassette player and pressed down the black button that said 'play'. He stared at the machine as white noise filled the room.

Joyce realised she wasn't breathing. She slowly let a breath trickle out and swallowed as the white noise continued and then it stopped suddenly, and a man's voice filled the room. An angry, aggressive voice. There was another voice too, but they were speaking in another language. Joyce only spoke English, but she recognised the thick Russian accent. She looked at Bauman for translation, but he continued staring at the cassette player. The first Russian man began shouting and there was another noise, a noise that made Joyce's blood run cold. She held her breath again and closed her eyes.

"Please don't be him, please don't be him" she prayed quietly to herself as the sound of a man beating another man reverberated around Bauman's enclosed apartment. And then she heard him:

"Stop…" and then the sound of a body being pummelled mercilessly. "I don't know what you want, just tell me what you want…"

Bauman looked at Joyce and pressed the little button that said 'stop'. The room was plunged into silence.

"Can I have a vodka?" Joyce asked.