AN: When writing the full story of Mike's search, there were a few details - the timeline in particular - that got altered from the original framework of these one-shots. This last chapter, I think, bridges the gap between the two. While it follows the flow, and a few details, of the proceeding chapters, the timeline and outcome is canon with the other story (I Will Find You). Hopefully not too confusing, and an enjoyable bow on this series of one-shots, and the whole Long Search Universe.

Indianapolis Star - November 13, 2005

Signing Off

By Steven Jackson

"Hi El. It's Me. Today is day number..."

For twenty years, the calls came like clockwork. Every night, a new message. Every night, a number added to the count. Desperate radio calls into the void, a young man desperately searching for his lost love. Twenty years of deepening mystery, and then...silence.

Early listeners began taking notice of the calls in early 1984, originating from the somewhere near the sleepy town of Hawkins. The caller, then a young boy, sent his pleas out into the unforgiving darkness, searching for the one he lost. One by one, listeners discovered the calls and found each other, dubbing themselves the "Listeners of Eleven," named for the Citizens-Band channel the broadcasts went out on. Meeting on occasion, they cataloged, speculated, and generally wrapped a little piece of their lives around the plight of a boy who called himself 'Me' and the girl he lost, identified only as 'El'. While the theories varied wildly about how the separation occurred, there was a universal agreement that the mysterious caller would stop at nothing to bring her back. The love evident in his messages went beyond what most could ever dream of, and they could only hope the mysterious 'El' was hearing him.

The story went cold a little over a year ago, culminating with a final message sent on the morning of June 15, 2004, Day 7520. It proceeded like so many others - the mysterious messenger relating another lead he was about to follow - and listeners braced themselves for his return, reporting either a joyous success or another heartbreaking failure. Instead, the airwaves simply remained quiet, leaving everyone to wait and to wonder. Speculations ranged from the hopeful, believing he had at last found his true love, to the pessimistic, assuming by the silence he had given into desperation and taken his own life, believing he would find her in the great beyond.

While many had given up hope on ever getting a satisfying answer, there have been those rare listeners who still switch the radio on each evening, holding out for the chance he would return. Their patience was finally rewarded on the evening of November 1st, when that familiar voice once again took to the airwaves. For 11 nights, a recorded message was broadcast, simply stating "November 12th. Seven PM" three times, before going silent again. Needless to say, the "Listeners of Eleven" were out in force last night, anxiously counting down the minutes until the mysterious 'Me' returned, hopefully to explain where he has been.

As the clock struck seven, radios across central Indiana crackled to life once more:

ME: Hello. It's me. Today is day 8035. This message goes out tonight, to those who call themselves the "Listeners of Eleven." While I was aware, in an offhand fashion, that others might have been listening all these years, it is only in the last year that I've come to understand just how deeply invested many of you were in my long search. I also understand that means my abrupt silence has left you with questions. For the sake of safety, I can't address them all, but I can shed a little light on a few.

To begin with, since I've heard the question has divided many of you; the name I was calling out to was El. E-L. I can't say what it was short for, just as I can't tell you my own name, but it was a nickname from the day I met her. We had only known each other a short time, but when she was gone, I knew my life would never be complete without her. Terrible things had torn us away from one another and I knew I couldn't rest until I found her again. So I searched. For 7520 days, I reached out to find her, following up on the most tenuous of leads and walking through nightmares until I could reach my El. Again, I wish I could tell you more.

Now, the big question, and the real reason I'm sure you are all listening tonight. Where have I been? Why the silence after 7520 days of nearly unbroken calls? I'm happy to report, I stopped calling out to El, because I found her - we found each other - and she's home now.

EL: Hello

ME: She's back with me, we are together, and happier than either of us ever thought possible. I wish we could tell you more, about where she has been and the circumstances around her disappearance, and maybe someday there will be an opportunity. For now, though, just know we are both okay, safe, healthy and happy.

We'd also like to say thank you, to all of you, simply for caring enough to listen all these years.

EL: Thank you, for holding out the hope we would be together again. It truly means a lot that you cared enough about two strangers you've never met, and probably never will.

ME: So, for the final time. This is Me.

EL: And this is El.

ME: Signing off.

It was a brief message, to be sure, but the answer so many had been hoping for; he had actually found her. What some had thought impossible had come pass.

While the "Listeners" had spent twenty years keeping silent, never invading the airwaves during or after the nightly calls, they could not help but join the celebration following the end of this final transmission. For nearly half an hour, messages poured in with well-wishes, welcome-homes and general congratulations. While "Me" and "El" never responded, we can only hope they were still listening, to hear the impact of hope they have brought into so many lives.

While there is certainly more to the story, and we can hold out hope to someday hear it, we have been left with a satisfying conclusion. On behalf of the "Listeners of Eleven" and this newspaper, wherever they are, we wish them well.

Steven Jackson folded his copy of the newspaper, please with how the article had come out. Thankfully it was a slow news day, so his editor had done very little trimming on his initial submission. After nearly a year of listening to Mike Wheeler's nightly pleas out into the darkness, he had been transferred and assigned to other duties during the closing of Hawkins Lab. After another two years in the service, transcribing far less interesting transmissions, he had come home to Indianapolis and taken up writing for the sports section of the local paper, happily covering the area high school and college teams. The last thing he had expected was to turn on his old CB radio one evening to find that same heartbroken young man, still sending his desperation out into the universe.

Out of curiosity and sympathy, he had followed along, becoming one more of the "Listeners of Eleven." He found his way to a few of the group's meetups, where they would bandy about their theories over happy-hour drinks and appetizers. When the guesses started to edge a little too close to the truth, he'd give them a gentle nudge back in the other direction. It wasn't out of any desire to protect the lab, or the government, or anyone else involved; some days he wished it would all come to light and they would pay for the things they had done. No, he kept the group from riddling out the secrets to protect Mike, and the girl, if she was still out there somewhere.

"Order for Wheeler. Non-fat latte and a mocha."

Steven glanced up, watching the man rise from the next table, reluctant to leave behind the woman he was with for even a moment. He never sought out Mike, or the woman he knew could only be Eleven, but their paths crossed from time to time. Of course, they didn't know him - just another face in the crowd - but it made him smile to see them together and happy, living the life they had fought so hard to reach.