It had been 96 hours since July 4th. He had spent it with his foot against the gas pedal of his car, driving around Hawkins, asking acquaintances if they had seen Leon and could you tell him Chai is looking for him? 72 hours since the police were on his doorstep. Dahlia yelled at them in the doorway until she dissolved. 48 hours since he’d slept and 24 hours since he’d had the panic induced realization that there was a mall fire. Dear old Starcourt was gone, went up in a blaze sometime in the evening of July 4th and he’d practically forgotten all about certain workers in the midst of his own family crisis.
If Steve was dead, would he have been told about it?
He wasn’t sure what time it was when he escaped his house. Dahlia shouted after him to find out where he was going. He mumbled an incoherent response and jumped into his car. It felt a little odd going to Harrington’s house. Partly because he was usually watching Sana, partly because it always made him think of ghosts. He wasn’t thinking of anything silly now.
Chai hesitated as he parked the Chevette on the sidewalk, wondering if he shouldn’t have just called first. It was too late and with everything going on, that probably wouldn’t have been enough anyway. Were his parents around? Chai huffed, rubbed his burning eyes, and forced himself out the car. Even if they were, he just wanted to make sure Steve was alright. It hardly looked like anyone was home most of the time. So, Chai made his way to the front door, fidgety with adrenaline, and rang the door bell.
