BACK. Back to Derry. Back to a house on Jackson Street, a family home, nestled in the cozy Maine town 1,036 miles away from Hawkins, Indiana. It’s familiar, in a way; three years hasn’t changed the cracked asphalt of the streets or the lush green of the woods, hasn’t altered the way the wind seems to whistle with an off note in its tune, a subtle hint of something sinister lurking in Derry.
Mike didn’t want to return. He doesn’t want to be here. Away from his friends, away from everything he’s grown to love; but also away from the horrors of Hawkins lab and the demogorgon, away from Eleven, wherever she might be. He realizes that Bill has no idea he’s coming, no idea he’s moving back. He just sort of stopped responding -- something he feels immensely guilty for -- when the horrors in Hawkins began to reveal themselves, when everything went to HELL.
Boy stands in the driveway, sigh passing through chapped lips, hands finding the handlebars of his bike in the back of the moving van. He manages to wrestle it out without too much trouble, bike wheels hitting the driveway with a solid THUD. He doesn’t turn to look across the street, at the house where Bill lives, guilt and apprehension grasping him all at once. He’d stopped responding months ago. It’s possible that Bill just forgot about him. Or he’s MAD; Mike isn’t sure which is worse. The sour mood brought on by him not wanting to be here is really dragging him down; while he doesn’t know that seeing his old friend will make it better, part of him hopes it will. He just wishes he had the guts to think about confronting him. If Bill is even still HERE, that is.
