Chapter Text
July 7, 1971
Rain pounded against the road. Thunder could be heard in the distance, though no lightning struck.
Mrs. Doris Driscoll woke to the sounds of the storm. Her husband remained sound asleep beside her. She tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but all she did was toss and turn. Finally, she decided to just get up. Even though it was three in the morning, she was now wide awake.
Shuffling into the kitchen, she grabbed the kettle and filled it with water. Once it was boiling, she poured it into a cup and made tea. Carefully she made her way to the couch, making sure she didn't bump or spill as she sat down. The last thing she needed was a mess on her hands. Late night - or early morning - cleaning was not fun, and certainly not easy to do if she wanted to let Jack continue to sleep.
The darkness was suddenly interrupted by flashing red and blue. Setting her cup down on the table, she made her way to the windows. She pushed back the lace curtains and glared out, realizing she had left her glasses on the nightstand by her side of the bed. She didn't need them, however, in order to be able to tell what the disturbance was.
Three police cars came into view as they shot around the bend, sirens wailing as they sped past. They shot down the street and turned right, headed straight for Loch Nora.
Maybe it was time to go back to bed.
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The phone rang.
Martin rubbed his eyes and turned over, taking a glance at the clock. 3:51am. Too early. Reluctantly, he pushed back the covers and swung his feet out of bed. He put on his slippers one at a time and began to make his way to the phone in the hallway. He was beginning to reconsider even having a home phone. With all of the work calls he got on a daily basis, he was beginning to get tired of all the noise. Or maybe he should just get more competent employees. To his current staff, it seemed like just about anything could qualify as an "emergency".
It kept ringing.
"Yes, I hear you." He mumbled to no one as he picked up the receiver. "Who is this and what business do you have calling me in the middle of the night!" Martin didn't mean to snap, but he didn't feel bad for doing so. It was early, after all.
"It's Fred Reynolds, sir," Ah, Reynolds. The man never had anything better to do than annoy him, it seemed. "Well, um, so sorry to bother you sir, and I do know what time it is, but-"
"Then you do realize that you are interrupting the most important part of a man's day? At least eight hours of sleep every night are required to function properly."
The voice on the other end coughed in such a small way it sounded as though he was being strangled. "It involves the project sir. Those uh, special kids you've been looking for?"
"Be quiet!" Martin hissed. "Have you no sense of secrecy?"
"Apologies sir!" He yelped. "But the police were just dispatched to a house in Loch Nora, and based on reports I really think you should get down there right away!"
"Why?" He asked, but the dial tone was already buzzing in his ear. "Why? WHY?" He yelled. It was no use, the line was dead. He slammed the receiver back in its place and hurried back to his room to change. Less than five minutes later, he was speeding to the other side of town, praying that he wouldn't have to deal with any cops on the way.
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It didn't matter that he hadn't been given an address, all of the sirens directed him to the right house.
As he approached, the police just waved him through, even holding up the tape for him so he could more easily enter the scene. Glass was scattered throughout the yard, some of the pieces sticking up in the mud puddles that surrounded the property. The wind had picked up and some tree branches were being blown every which way, smacking roofs and telephone poles and whatever else crossed their path. Two figures stood at the entrance of the house with shock blankets on. It looked like a couple. His guess was confirmed as correct as he got closer. The man turned to him, holding his hands up to shield his eyes from the rain.
"Who are you?" He asked, his voice gruff and demanding.
"I am Doctor Martin Brenner, and you are...?" Martin replied as he stuck out his hand for a handshake.
The man snorted but shook his hand. "Richard Harrington. This is my wife, Mary."
The woman, Mary, shyly waved. "You must be here because of our son. He's in there." She turned her head and gestured vaguely towards the door. She had to shout in order to be heard over the rain. "We didn't know what to do, so we just left him, poor thing. He wouldn't stop crying. We told him, 'Steven, behave!' but he wouldn't listen to us. I tried to pick him up and then-" She looked solemnly at the scattered glass. "It's going to be such a hassle, replacing those windows. Just so much work." Mary rubbed her forehead, apparently oblivious to the bleeding cut that was there. Martin scanned her and Richard for other signs of injury, but it was hard to tell in the dark.
Her husband cut in. "But they called you because they said you're an expert on this sort of thing. Child psychopathy or psychology or whatever. Maybe you could take him off our hands and figure out what's wrong. I prefer my own method of doing things, personally, but now that you're here I guess- are you even listening to me?"
Martin moved towards the door and delicately turned the handle, pushing it open. The protests of Richard Harrington were lost in the midst of the scientist's thoughts. If Reynolds was right, then this child possessed greater gifts than the two rich upstarts outside could comprehend. And it was his job to cultivate their abilities and nurture them to their fullest potential.
The house was huge. The living room was open and connected to the kitchen, which was off to the left. To the right, a flight of stairs led up to a catwalk that probably connected to the upstairs rooms. Past the stairs was a second living room, filled with tables and art and furniture. Expensive, breakable items were on small tables and lavish bookshelves. The whole place looked like a museum, with a thin layer of dust covering an otherwise pristine household.
In the center of the first room there was a toddler who looked no older than five sitting on the shag carpet, crying. He had floppy brown hair and was wearing a yellow and blue striped shirt, which was soaked in tears and blood. The boy had cuts all over his arms as well as bruises, along with an angry red mark on the side of his face. He looked up at Martin as he came in but did not stop crying.
Martin made his way over to the child and crouched in front of him. "Hello, Steven."
He looked curiously up at him, tears still streaming down his face. Martin picked him up and held him in his arms, rubbing a hand on his back to soothe the crying boy. Then he turned and walked out of the house. He walked through the rain, past the parents, the broken windows, the glass, the tape, and the police. When he got to the car, he shuffled around a bit to be able to hold the child and grab his keys at the same time. Then he placed him, now asleep, into the back seat and drove away, towards Hawkins National Laboratory.
Martin turned on the radio and let music play softly from the speakers. The rain pounded harder than ever, and thunder boomed as lightning cracked across the sky, like the flash of a camera. The car skidded on a hard turn, and he had to fight the wheel for control to keep them from sliding off the road and crashing. A particularly loud clap of thunder made the boy snap awake, hyperventilating.
"Where- who- where am I? Where's mama?" He asked, eyes wide as saucers as his eyes darted back and forth in a desperate search.
"It's okay Seven, just sit back and relax. Everything is going to be alright, you're with Papa now." He said in a low voice.
"I'm not Seven! I'm Steve! And you are not father!"
He spoke with a more firm tone this time. "Whining is not acceptable, Seven. You will learn the rules with time. Now sit back, we still have a little ways to go."
Seven pouted but did not argue. "Where are we going?" He asked.
"Your new home." Papa replied.
The rain continued on as they drove up the long road to the lab, thunder rumbling in the distance.