I have returned!

Sorry for the long wait everyone. I've been having so many muse issues (also I have this weird thing where if I don't update one particular story first, the others have to sit in limbo - don't ask, I don't know the answer)

Anywho, let's just get straight to the chapter.

Chapter Six
Cursed

December 14, 1974

"Can't we just discuss this a moment?"

Molly's hands were shaking so hard, she almost couldn't get her key in the door, but she persevered, eventually slamming her shoulder into her apartment door. The landlord had claimed he would fix it, but that had been five months ago. She hadn't bothered on taking it up again, though, seeing it as an extra deterrent against would-be thieves.

"No, Fred, we really can't," Molly replied, flipping on the lights. Her apartment was nothing to rave about, slightly larger than a shoebox, but it was hers. All the furniture, all the bills, all the accessories, paid for by her own means. Freedom had been one thing, independence was quite another.

She tossed her jacket on the chair in the living room and walked to her kitchen to do…something; she had to distract herself from him. Had she the strength, Molly would have just slammed the door in Fred's face the instant she let herself inside, but the former football player would have caught the frail chunk of wood easily. He wasn't about to let their argument end on a sour note, but Molly wasn't about to let him closer than he already was. She just…couldn't.

"And why not?" he asked, following her into the kitchen. Molly opened the freezer, keeping the door between them. "I feel like I'm owed some explanation here."

Molly slammed the door shut suddenly, surprising even Fred. "Well, you aren't. I'm not going to explain to you the decision I make with my body."

"That's not what I meant!" he shouted as she walked back to the living room. "You know it's not! It's just…you're a teacher, Molly! How can you not want kids?"

I do want kids, she thought to herself as she froze in the middle of the living room. But I can't take the risk.

Molly's memories of her life before the laboratory were few and far between, blurry impressions rather than solid images, but there some things she was certain of. A green yard, a smiling woman, and that same woman's face etched with fear unlike any she had ever seen. Mostly, she remembered the sense of dread and fear when she could no longer find that face.

Whoever her parents had been, she could not hate them for what they did, even after everything she had been though. Her power was something no one had ever seen before, and she had been out of control. They lived in fear of her, and some people weren't meant to confront that kind of fear.

She wouldn't be that sort of parent, she had told herself growing up; she would love her children and protect them with every ounce of strength she possessed. But it occurred to Molly that she may not have a choice.

What if her children had the same powers she did?

What if they had something different?

All the love and care and precaution would mean nothing if even one mistake happened. One wrong move and they could be gone, whisked away to another laboratory across the country and subjected to the same torture she was.

And because of that terrifying truth, Molly made a decision.

But that wasn't the answer she gave Fred.

"I just don't, Fred, okay? Can't that be a good enough answer for you?"

The way he looked at her then almost broke Molly's heart.

She could see it in his eyes; she was hurting him. He clearly wanted that ideal life: the wife, the children, the house with the green yard, and she was taking it away from him.

"No, Molly, it can't," he said quietly. He began to walk toward her, slowly. "What is it you're not telling me?"

"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head as he put his hands on her arms. "It's nothing."

"Molly…"

"I said it's nothing!" she shouted, her anger getting the better of her. Batting his arms away, she walked further into the living room, only stopping because she'd hit the window and couldn't move any further. "Please, just go. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"But we're not talking about this, are we? We never talk about anything!" Fred shouted. Molly began to wonder if her neighbors would complain. It was late, after all. "It's always about me, never you. It's always 'I'll tell you later' but then you never bring it up again. You won't let me visit your home-"

"Fred, stop."

"I've never even met your father!"

"Please just-"

"I don't know anything about you!"

"Fred-"

"What is wrong with you?"

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Molly clapped her hands over her mouth as the room fell silent. She'd done it. She did the one thing she swore to never do: she'd used her voice on him.

The change was instantaneous. Fred's back straightened, his green eyes widened, a mix of confusion and terror. He looked at her briefly, all the answers he needed evident on her face at that moment, before he turned away, obeying her will.

She could have stopped him then; she could have said the words that would release him from whatever power she had over him, and begged his forgiveness, but Molly didn't. She didn't want to have to talk about it, even if it meant she packed that night and fled Cincinnati. Fred was finally leaving, and if he was smart, he'd stay far away from her.

It was for the best, she told herself, as the man she loved walked out the door.

1983

"Do you ever feel cursed?"

Molly blinked and the world came back into focus.

She was staring at that street light at the end of her driveway, watching the power cord blow back and forth in the afternoon breeze. Hopper's Blazer was there, parked behind her truck. Someone else must have brought it back because she didn't remember driving. Frankly, she couldn't remember how she left Benny's.

She just remembered Hopper's face when he drove up and learned the truth. They'd been smiling just minutes before.

Now they were on her porch swing, just sitting, shoulder to shoulder. Her jacket and hair still felt wet. So did his hat. Their boots and pants were covered in mud, and they'd tracked it onto her porch. It didn't really matter though.

Benny was dead. A little dirt could wait.

"Summer of 1923," Hopper continued. His voice was soft. "That was the last time someone went missing from here. I looked it up yesterday.

"And the last suicide? Not for a long time either."

Suicide.

That wasn't it though, was it?

It couldn't be.

Molly didn't say anything at first, especially not that, but became aware that she was toying with the ring again. It was misshapen from all the times she had handled it. Probably wouldn't even fit her finger anymore.

"It was a drunk driver."

She could feel the swing shift as Hopper turned to look at her, but she was too focused on the ring in her hand. The diamond glinted in the sunlight.

"We were having an argument and Fred…left," Molly continued, feeling her insides twist and turn as she did so. "Two hours later, I got a phone call. A car had run a red light, slammed right into the driver side door. They said Fred died on impact. The other guy didn't even have a scratch on him."

How often had she thought about that night? One word and she could have stopped him from walking away; one word and he wouldn't have been there. Even if she had only delayed him, it would have meant that the driver would miss him, or maybe he would have driven somewhere else completely.

But she had been afraid.

And her fear killed him as much as the driver had.

Her fear and her powers.

"We've been to a lot of funerals," Hopper murmured. "And now we're going to one more."

Molly finally looked over at him, but his attention had turned to his hand, and the blue bracelet wrapped around his wrist. It was a small hair tie that she had glimpsed on occasion, but not as openly as now. She didn't have to ask who it originally belonged to.

Her hand reached out, grabbing his and covering the bracelet in the process. She let go of the ring as her fingers slid between his. When his hand squeezed hers back, Molly relaxed and rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled like the rain from last night.

They sat that way for a while, silent but content. Molly almost felt herself drifting off at one point, her mind distantly aware of his thumb brushing across hers.

"Maybe leaving isn't a bad idea after all," Hopper said eventually.

"Maybe," she agreed.

But slowly yet surely, the realization that she wouldn't be leaving Hawkins any time soon was settling over Molly.

Fred's funeral was a complete blur to Molly. There had been at least five hundred people. Friends, former college acquaintances, his family, his family's friends, their workers. Her fiancé had been an incredibly popular person, and she had been the woman that they didn't quite understand, the outsider intruding in their little world.

But she remembered the look on his mother's face, and Molly felt that for one moment, they had understood one another in their grief. She had tried to return the ring, but his mother wouldn't have it.

She hadn't spoken to any of them since.

Charlie's was far quieter. A few of the guys from the bar stopped by, some old war buddies that she had never met, but Molly had mostly been on her own, until Hopper showed up. While he had been late – and his tie a little more than crooked – he had stayed through the service and the small gathering after. He'd even taken her home, because she couldn't trust herself to drive.

Hopper wasn't late this time.

He stood beside Molly – still in uniform – as the pastor read some passages from the Bible, the same words about the impermanence of death and the promise of new life. She hadn't taken to religion – the idea that some all-knowing entity allowed her to suffer as she had didn't exactly give her cause to worship them – and Charlie had lost his faith in the war. He'd only allowed a military chaplain to perform the rites because 'at least the man had earned it.'

His friends had thought it was funny. It must have been some old war joke he'd never let her in on.

Molly glanced around as the pastor droned on. Most of the faces were familiar – either from the bar or regular patrons at his restaurant – but there were a few she did not recognize. Distant family, perhaps. She knew he didn't have anyone close; she even thought one of his exes was there.

But on the other side of the casket, beside the pastor, stood a single man, giving her that sterile smile of encouragement.

Doctor Martin Brenner.

He wasn't actually there, of course, but that hadn't stopped Molly from nearly jumping out of her skin when she first saw him. Hopper had given her a curious glance, but said nothing on the matter.

Now, she just watched him. She waited for the figure to waiver or move somewhere of its own accord, but it simply watched her back. A reminder of what was waiting for her, of what was out there.

A reminder of what she was letting tear the town apart.

Molly blinked and found herself unable to stare at that face anymore.

She felt Hopper's arm brush against hers.

I should tell him, she thought to herself. She had all the proof she needed, and then some, but that old fear had returned and sat heavy in the pit of her stomach. The truth might take him from her. It might take everything from her, including her freedom, and so she said nothing.

When the service finished, Hopper left. There was still a search to conduct. Molly promised to join later, but needed to be on her own for a moment.

She lingered in the graveyard until everyone else had left. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the grounds crew waiting on her. They had to fill in the plot after all, but she couldn't convince her body to move just yet. She simply stared at the casket, the simple, brown thing that contained her friend.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Afterwards, she drove. Molly couldn't say where she went and for how long, her vision having narrowed as she took that old truck around town. Eventually her journey brought her to the one place she never wanted to return to.

Hawkins National Laboratory.

She was parked across the street, just watching the gate. A few people in lab coats entered the building, back from a smoke break, but for the most part, the facility was silent.

But Molly knew that was far from the truth.

She felt her hands grip the steering wheel tighter, feeling her chest constrict as she stared at those gates.

Her escape had not been the last time she saw that place.

When she was sixteen years old, Molly had decided that the only way for her to be safe was to remove the problem entirely. So, early in the morning, she had taken her father's old war pistol and marched down to the lab, determined to put a bullet in Doctor Brenner's skull.

But Charlie had caught her. Just before she had reached the gates, his truck sped into view, cutting her off entirely.

It wouldn't change anything, he had told her. Doctor Brenner was one man amongst hundreds, if not thousands. If she killed him, he would only be replaced, and the only one to suffer for it would be herself.

"You're not a killer," Charlie had told her.

Little did he know.

"Ma'am?"

Molly jumped.

One of the gate guards had taken her presence to be suspicious and had finally made his way over to her truck. His hand rested on his weapon as he peered inside the vehicle.

"Is everything alright here?" he asked.

"Yes!" she shouted quickly, frantic. "Yes, no, I'm…it's been a long day. I'm just a little tired is all."

"I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am, but I'm gonna need you to move your vehicle."

"Yes, of course, sorry, I just-" Molly didn't even know how to finish the statement, fumbling with her keys in the ignition. "I don't suppose you've seen a boy around here? Twelve years old, dark hair, goes by the name of Will?"

The man nodded in understanding. "The missing boy. I wish I could say yes, ma'am, but the only thing we see around here are squirrels. If he'd gotten in the facility, we'd know."

He wasn't lying, she knew that much, but that didn't mean what he said was true.

Molly drove again, finally making her way to that isolated road on the other side of town. She'd been to the Byers residence once, when Will had forgotten one of his notebooks in class. It was the one that kept all his campaign notes, and Molly knew he would have been devastated without them.

Joyce had invited her over for dinner, and they'd all sat around the table and made pleasant conversation. Jonathan was sweet enough, though just as quiet as his little brother. They were a family that had been through a lot together. Strangers would have a hard time breaking into the little wall they had built around themselves. Molly hadn't minded. She understood all too well.

Jonathan wasn't home – or at least his car wasn't – and Molly began to wonder if she should have come at all, but she'd shut the engine off and gotten out the door before her mind could even protest.

It was the right thing to do. No one could be suffering worse than Joyce right now.

Molly knocked on the door three separate times before Joyce finally answered. She'd expected the slight panicked look on the mother's face, the stench of cigarette smoke from the constant stress, the look of a woman who hadn't sleep in days.

She did not expect the Christmas lights.

That was a lot of Christmas lights.

Everyone had their own coping mechanisms, she guessed.

"Hi, Joyce," Molly said, trying very hard to avert her gaze from the cheery decorations inside. She suddenly felt very awkward, like she had no right to be there. "I was going to ask if this was a bad time, but that doesn't seem like the right turn of phrase."

Will's mother smiled gently, acknowledging the awkward introduction. "It's fine. It's…it is what it is."

At Joyce's invitation, Molly followed her inside, shutting the door behind her. Smoke was still hanging in the air, fogging what light there was in the room. None came from the Christmas decorations. They were oddly switched off. Molly found herself following each string that was strung across the ceiling, as if looking for a pattern.

"I'm sorry about the mess," Joyce called from the kitchen. She was rapidly clearing the table of missing flyers and dishes. "Things have just been…out of control."

"Oh no, Joyce," Molly started, crossing into the kitchen. "You do not need to apologize for anything. You do what you have to, doesn't matter how it looks."

She thought there was genuine appreciation in Joyce's eyes. Most people probably thought she was crazy – the town didn't seem to have a high opinion of her to begin with – but Molly didn't see that. Panic and desperation did things. She knew that well enough.

"I heard you were out searching for him," Joyce said, straightening the stack of papers in her grasp. "Most of the night, from what I'm told."

Molly nodded. "Jim stop by?"

"He did. I wanted to thank you for that, and offer my condolences for Benny. We'd eaten there once or twice, after a good paycheck. He seemed like a decent guy."

"He was," Molly replied, smiling briefly.

They stood there a moment, silent, at a loss for words. There was no talking about the weather or the latest love affair on the street. It was just a gathering of lost souls hoping for a little more company.

"Listen, Joyce, I-"

A Christmas light blinked on.

Then another.

They lit up in a row, blinking off and on, pointing down the hallway. Molly turned around but none of the lights in the living room turned on.

"Well, that's…very…"

She saw Joyce's eyes go wide, not in surprise but…hope? Recognition?

"Joyce, what's going on?" Molly asked as the woman dumped the papers back on the table. "Is it an electrical issue? Do you need me to call someone or –?"

"You need to leave."

"What?"

Joyce pushed out of the kitchen, firmly grabbing her wrist and escorting her to the door. "I'm sorry. I just…I need to take care of something. It was nice of you to stop by but-"

"Joyce, just tell me what is going on," Molly said, turning around in the doorway. She wasn't about to force the woman to let her stay, but she wouldn't just walk right out either. "I know things seem strange right now, but I understand more than you know. Please, let me help."

She hesitated.

"I'm sorry."

The door shut.

"Joyce!"

Molly stared at the door, waiting, listening for anything inside, but to no avail. The house was strangely soundproof.

She sighed, and turned away from the house. It was nerves. Nerves, a lack of sleep, and bad wiring. They were all feeling it these past few days.

Turning back to her truck, Molly froze. One of her headlights was on. Just one, not the other. She hadn't realized the battery was still running.

Bad wiring all around it seemed.

Molly walked across the dirt drive and kicked the dormant light. It neither sparked to life nor did the other light switch off.

She kicked it again, because once is never enough proof.

Nothing.

Curious, she knelt in front of the working light, tapping on it.

Suddenly, she felt very far away, somewhere dark and cold.

Miss Davis?

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It's not my favorite chapter, I'll admit, but I worked hard to bring it out anyway. I hope you enjoyed it.

Until next time! Thanks for reading!