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Hawkins Laboratory
July 20, 1985
"Look, Billy... It's alright if I call you Billy, is it? I know you're in a bad place right now, but it's gonna get better. You just gotta tell me how you feel and we can find a way to help you. We have to find out if the shadow is still in your system."
"It's not."
"And how are you so sure about that?"
"Because I just do, okay? This is a waste of time. This shit is going nowhere."
"Billy..."
He hit his fist against the IV pole next to his bed. "Don't fucking call me Billy, alright?!"
The pole lost balance and fell to the floor with a deafening clatter.
Owens sighed. At least, the boy was starting to talk. Billy pierced the doctor's gaze with his own, teeth baring and nose flared. He made a fist trying to control himself because the stress in his muscles and the heavy breathing actually caused him pain. The devices attached to him went off slightly but made no alarming noises just yet.
But the stupid doctor in his stupid white coat gave no stupid reaction at all, apart from giving him this stupid, pitiful frown. Billy hated it, felt the urge to punch right into it. He had been in this hospital wing for over week now and still couldn't get used to people not budging when he got angry. The first few days, Billy fought and fought and fought with the staff but always got his wounds torn open again as a result. It hurt like hell.
Fighting always used to work, once, at a time where he wasn't fatally wounded and forced to stay in one room for ages. But given what he'd been through, how he'd behaved and what he'd witnessed, it was clear as day that these times were over. Fighting itself wasn't enough anymore. Fighting only made it worse.
Owens calmly got off his chair and picked up the IV pole along with the infusion bottle. Good thing it hadn't gotten ripped out of Billy's arm. After a few minutes, he calmed down, but was now staring into nothingness. The anger remained on his face.
Control yourself, he thought. Be a damn man.
"It's been over a week now since you woke up, Mr Hargrove." Owens then said patiently.
"We want to help you. I want to help you. But I can't do that if you don't talk to me."
"And how is talking gonna make it all better?" Billy asked. It was more a statement than a question.
His dear father always taught him to be strong, to not give in to feelings because those were for the weak, to not show your sadness, to never talk about your loneliness but instead deal with it like a man. And so he did; Or so he tried. How could Billy be expected to talk about his silly feelings to a complete stranger if he couldn't even open up to his own father without getting beaten for being a 'pussy'? How could he be expected to be anything else with so much violence surrounding him?
Neil Hargrove's voice rang in his ears.
Have I raised a pussy for a son?!
Billy shut his eyes tightly and lowered his head. Go away, go away, go away!
Thank god the asshole didn't know where he was. Then again, he doubted that his father would have the dignity to show up anyways. All he would do is blame him, threaten him when no one was looking. But Billy had understood on his first day here that someone was always looking. Nothing was ever unseen, no words were ever unheard.
"Because... then we know what we can do. We can treat your wounds, yes, and we are, but we don't fully understand the influence the shadow has had on you just yet. We just want to make sure, that, before we release you, you're not... well..."
"A threat?"
Finally, Billy looked at him again. Owens paused for a moment, sighed once more, and then nodded faintly.
Right then and there, the images flooded his mind again. The blood on his hands, the rats, the car accident. Him beating down Harrington, Sinclair, Max. Abducting Heather. Killing her parents. Thinking about killing Karen, too. Him grabbing that young girl's throat and choking her - that same girl who would appear in his head, both of them surrounded by complete darkness. Seven feet. Heather's screams echoed in his head and made it hurt again. Her begs and pleas to let her live crawled under his skin. Some of these things were done under the shadow's influence, some were way before then.
"I've always been a threat." Billy said. That's why the shadow chose me.
And then, there was silence. He knew Owens agreed with him. Maybe he should never be let out of here in the end. It's safer for everyone.
"Alright, listen, I'll tell you what... I have someone here who needs to take a look at you. You don't need to talk, so don't worry about that." Owens said after the deafening silence was about to become too much.
"Oh, so you've brought a specialist for me, huh? Isn't that lovely!"
"Not a specialist, no."
"How will that do anything?"
"He has been through the same as you, at least to some extent. Perhaps he can give us some more information about your state. There are still questions that need answering."
"What about my questions?" Billy snapped, his glare dangerous as ever.
"You lock me in here and don't tell my family, tie me to a fucking gurney for ages and question me every damn day about shit I have no clue about! Listen clearly, old man, because you don't seem to get it; I don't know why that happened to me! I don't know all the shit I've done yet, and I don't know how any of this crap is even possible! For all I know, I could just be fucking crazy! But these wounds are real, and I remember how this-- this thing bore its arms into me, but I don't know shit okay?! So, perhaps, you could just get these cables off of me and answer my questions, too!"
The devices went off again, this time with noise. Billy ripped the IV out of his arm and threw the tubing away with disgust and impatience. His hands grabbed the cables attached to his head and chest next, tearing them off. He was done, so done. Done with being locked up, being told nothing, being treated like a madman in a psych ward. The straps that had tied him to the bed had been removed days ago already, and yet, Billy couldn't get up and leave. He just sat there, legs dangling over the edge of the mattress, staring ahead and shivering while breathing as though he had just run a marathon. Blood ran down his arm where the IV had been before. He got pale, hands grasping the sheets.
"Billy, stop! Billy, you're getting angry again. Watch your heartrate. You need to calm your nerves." Owens warned, his arms reaching out to show that he had his personal space in mind. Security was about to barge through the glass door, but the doctor waved them off. They gave him a stupid look of confusion and concern. Billy paid no attention to them.
"Deep breath in, deep breath out, Billy..."
"Don't call me Billy," he groaned, exhausted, angry. He was trying, really trying.
"Calm down... I understand completely. We will give you these answers as soon as we can, alright?"
"And then what? You gonna release me?" He scoffed and laughed, shaking his head. "Right, I'll tell you where to stick that, old man..."
"Look, if you let my guest take a look at you, you can see Max. She's here."
Billy's gaze shot up. He stared at him with widened, piercing blue eyes.
"She's here? Why?!"
"Don't worry, your sister's not here as a patient or anything. She's alright."
"She's not my damn sister."
"She almost is."
"She's not!"
"So I take it you don't wanna see her? You seemed concerned a second ago."
Billy growled in exasperation and pain, running both his hands through his hair, not caring about the blood getting everywhere. Then, he sighed. For fuck's sake. He was so tired of this bullshit. His hands started trembling a little.
"Nurse!" Owens called. It merely took two seconds for one to arrive, but Owens raised his hand to signalise her to wait a moment.
"Mr Hargrove, is it alright if the nurse takes care of your arm?"
"Jesus, I don't care," he snarled.
Owens nodded at the nurse. She promptly got some supplies from the first aid kit hanging on the wall, but swallowed nervously before getting to work. With care and patience, she put a small pressure bandage on the wound and cleaned the blood off his arm. All the while, Billy just sat there, saying and doing nothing apart from staring into nothingness, fantasizing about punching every single one of these assholes in the face.
"New IV?" the nurse asked Owens.
"No, I think he'll be fine for a bit. The trembling is just from the nerves."
Yeah no fucking shit, Billy thought. When he looked at the nurse, he noticed how visibly shaken up and overly careful she was with him, as if she feared him lashing out at her any second. Perhaps for the better. Who knew what else he was capable of doing to innocent people if not even Billy knew, himself? Just the thought that he almost hurt Karen...
It was quiet for a while. He breathed and forced himself to keep calm, not knowing how much time had passed until Owens started talking to him again. The doctor took a seat in front of him.
"We will give you answers. I swear to it. But first... talk to us to help us answer those questions. Or talk to anyone else. The sooner we can help you, and the sooner you can leave."
Billy glanced at him tiredly. Only then, he noticed that the nurse was gone and wondered when she had left. How far gone was he, really?
"I can't just... talk. I can't..." he uttered, voice shaking in his throat.
"Then let my guest look at you, first," Owens pleaded again. "If he gives us green light, you can see Max. Talk when you're ready. Or write it down. Don't force yourself. And when you're stable, perhaps it's only days until you can leave."
Deep breath in, deep breath out. He wanted nothing more than to just go away, but what would he do, then? Risk a beating from his father even if these lab people told him why he was gone for so long without a word? Would he get back to work, meet up with friends and party like nothing ever happened? Would he just keep running away from himself and this stupid excuse of a life?
No. Enough running. He knew that wasn't an option. Everything about how he had lead his life wasn't an option. Nothing was the same anymore. After hours and hours of trying to fight this situation with bone and blood, he soon realised that there was no way out if he only dealt with everything the way he usually would. Screaming, punching, fighting, bullying. After many years of doing nothing else but that, it felt so hard to move on from that. No, it felt impossible.
Seven feet.
His eyes closed as he remembered that night. Max' friend lying on the ground, destined to be taken by the shadow, then Billy regaining control over the shadow's influence on his soul and fighting back. Just because of two words. Seven feet.
He had faced the shadow creature, screamed at it, held back its terrifying, spiked arms to protect her from the harm he had caused. The creature grabbed him by the sides, stabbed him, held him up high, ready to kill him. Then, there were explosions. More fireworks. More light, more colours. A painful thud on the ground, the monster screaming through the halls. Max shouting his name, running to him, fighting to keep him awake. Then, nothing. Blackness. Cold.
However, he made it somehow. He was here now. Alive. Not well, but alive. Another chance presented itself on a silver platter; But this second chance was as appetising as a bowl full of worms.
But he was hungry. So, so hungry. Was the pain all for nothing? If Billy was meant to die that night after all the terrible things he had done, why did he survive? Was all the fighting in vain after all?
He knew he couldn't allow that.
Billy swallowed, and finally nodded at Owens.
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