Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler
October 21st, 2000
As the world ages and eras end, people age and change alongside time. Change. It's a natural occurrence for human beings and mammals all alike. Change occurs whether you like it or not. And everything goes through it.
Change can be seen in the littlest things like, the melting of snow when the seasons change from winter to spring. Or the ripening of fruit. To getting a new job, or children growing and escaping the purported curse that was puberty. Normal things that happen to most normal people going through the normal stages that come with living life.
These irritable never-ending modifications are what humans are expected to adapt to. If we don't grow and move on from past experiences, can we even be called human? If a tadpole in its later stages in life never grows its hind legs like its siblings do, what would that make it? A late-bloomer, or just plain unlucky? Is it forever disabled? And would that be how others see it? Does he deserve their pity or do they give it unwarranted? How is it fair that way anyway.
Is someone who lingers behind inevitably cast away under the assumption that they are beyond repair? When sympathy is offered only briefly, does it still count as compassion at all? If healing takes too long, when does patience curdle into resentment?
Is there any need for a clock with frozen hands– or a tide that never recedes?
He slowly backed his fingers away from the keys as he stared at his blinking cursor. Cool air blew at him from his open window, staring out onto East 58th Street & 3rd Avenue. The smell of crisp leaves and fresh rain hit him like a wave of nostalgia from his childhood. He really loved the atmosphere of New York.
Mike Wheeler, now almost 30 years old, is living a rather comfortable life in New York. After surviving the now covert events of his past, he had set off after graduation to pursue a career in writing. His dream since he was just a little boy.
It felt nice, he admitted, being able to live on his own in the Big Apple doing what most people dreamed of doing as a job. Well, most people who enjoy writing as a hobby. He wasn’t the most famous author around, but he was definitely well-known. Good enough that he has a steady income whilst living in one of the most desirable cities, though its desirability only seems to drive real-estate prices higher.
If anyone asked him, he’d say that he was content. No. He’d practiced that he was happy. And he was, most of the days. You'd think a decade would be enough to move on from the traumatic events of his childhood. But some people don't move on as quickly as you might think from otherworldly monster attacks and military personnel holding you back, while your girlfriend, at the time, sacrificed herself to save all of humanity.
But he was over it. Afterall, it was thirteen years ago.
Mike spent most of his days getting his daily coffee at his favorite coffee shop right around the corner from his place. Browsing the shops along the way back to his apartment. And then sitting at his desk for the remainder of the day catching up on deadlines.
His life was perfect. It was normal. That's just how he wanted it, how it was always supposed to be.
Occasionally, he'd get a call from the party asking how he'd been doing and if he wanted to come visit. Not only did Mike decide getting his ass out of Hawkins would be a good idea, but so did the rest of Hawkins.
If you looked it up on the web, the small town that was Hawkins, Indiana was equivalent to a ghost town. Eventually, the numerous supernatural events that took place there caught up with it. And like everyone involved in the actual fighting of the supernatural, the rest of the town had got the memo and left too. Of course, only knowing the stories of lies the government had spread.
But the town was no longer Mike’s town. The one he grew up in. Had made both the best and worst memories of his life in. It was as good as dead. As were other things.
Mike chooses not to think about the past. He goes to therapy now to learn how to move past it. At least he was going to therapy, until he got fed up with the fact that his therapist was unironically named Dr. Owens.
From then on, he decided the universe was doing this on purpose and he was never meant to really move on, or it just had a really huge funny bone that just couldn't be scratched until Mike was really at his wits end.
Most nights, he’ll spend staring at his ceiling, wondering whether or not he has had enough.
But seriously, life is really good for Mike Wheeler. New York City apartment, cushy job with lenient deadlines depending on his editor's mood, a good distance away from pestering family, and his girlfriend's cat.
And his girlfriend.
The jingling of keys could be heard out the doorway from his room, followed by the shutting of the front door.
“Mike! I’m home!” A female voice called out from the hallway.
Mike shut his laptop and placed his reading glasses aside on the table, next to his day-old coffee cup from the all-nighter he had pulled before.
She stood in the kitchen, taking off her scarf and setting her purse on the marble counter. Mike trotted over with his hands in his pockets.
She had long brown hair that she wore half-up, constricted by a hair tie. Reaching her hands to the sides of her long beige trenchcoat, she set it on the island chairs and walked up to Mike, resting both hands on each side of his face.
“You look tired.” She smiled, caressing his slightly sunken cheeks.
“Is it obvious?” Mike let a smile form after releasing a held back sigh.
He had spent the last two nights pulling non-stop allnighters working on a deadline for his latest novel he was writing. It was his most frustrating piece yet.
He hoped she wouldn't have noticed how his eyes were darker than usual and the slight boneiness in his arms as he would often skip meals to keep writing. He never did claim his new New York lifestyle was healthy.
She gave him another soft smile and turned halfway over towards the kitchen island, where she reached for a white envelope.
“You got mail. Quite a few are piling in your box actually..” She laughed faintly, holding up the letter to him. “Says it's from your company.”
He stared at the envelope for a second before taking it and opening it up. Aside from his main gig as an author, he did side jobs as well. Which included writing for some businesses, organizations, important people, you know, some freelance work.
The letter he had gotten was from an old establishment he used to work with when he was just starting out in the city. Taking any jobs he could. He struck gold right away. It was probably because when he first moved out to the city he was a lot younger and better looking anyway, as he read in a few newspapers about him. He was the new IT guy in the writing world. Creative, motivated, fresh and new ideas, decent writer, and it was mentioned a couple of times the “dark young writer aesthetic” he had about him.
In a way, it came to his advantage as he was able to get an internship as travel journalist for a small magazine. It was freelance at first, but after doing it the first time he realized that it could prove to be a great experience, not to mention the perks the job got you.
At the time, although now he wouldn't admit it, he had an alternative motive for doing all that travelling. But now getting this letter in the mail was perplexing on its own,
He hadn't worked with this company since he had been let go because of the expansion. That being bought into another bigger travel agency magazine. He assumed that would have been the last he saw of them, or doing any sort of travel writing ever again.
But here he was with the letter in his hand from his old boss saying that they are in need of a writer and he recommended Mike to the company saying this was just the type of material they needed. The type of wit to cover an unknown spot in Ireland that they were trying to bring more traction too.
There were a lot more details in the letter but Mike really only skimmed over the more interesting parts.
He was just about to close and rip up the letter when–
“Oh my god!! Mike! That is amazing, we have to do that!” His girlfriend exclaimed excitedly and she lightly jumped up and down.
She had been peering over the letter and reading along with him.
He gave an awkward smile as he glanced back down at the letter.
“I just don't think I need to do this. Ireland is really far.” He explained, still skimming the words.
“What?! Who cares, it's a free vacation! You always told me about the fun experiences you had when you used to travel and write..” She added, holding onto the top half of the letter.
“Mandy..” He said looking down at her, “It's too last minute.”
As he set down the letter back on the counter, he made his way over to the couch. Mandy following close behind.
“Mike.” She said coming up next to him and wedging herself underneath his arm before he set it down. “I think you really need this.”
He looked down at her a little startled, seeing the concern in her eyes. He wondered how obvious his sleep deprivation had really been.
“I’ve known you for two years now and not once have I really seen you let go and relax. You’re always so tense, even around me sometimes. I think your books are really taking a toll on your mental health. Don't you think something unbinding like this could be good?” She continued, running her fingers up and down his arm.
The sort of physical touch Mike had never really gotten used to but allowed because it's what people in relationships do. And he liked Mandy, he did. He's known her a really long time now and has grown to be comfortable enough to share the same space with her.
“What about you?” He said, not actually considering going all the way to Ireland just to stay in some stingy hotel with only enough leg room to fit his laptop by his feet.
“What do you mean ‘what about me?’”
“Well, say I do take this trip, which I doubt.” He started, smirking as he subtly teased the outlandishness of the idea. “What will you do when I'm gone for a whole week?”
“What do you mean?” She laughed, “I’ll come with you obviously!”
“To Ireland?” He raised an eyebrow. Now she really was pushing this narrative.
“Yes! Well not for the entire week, I don't think my job would let me take that long off.” She calculated, “But for the last couple of days I think it could be really nice. I've always wanted to visit.”
Mike stared at her a little stunned and a little amused by her excitement.
“Come on. Think about it.” She practically begged as she pulled him to stand up. Before kissing him on the cheek and trotting off into the kitchen again.
He stood there rubbing his callouses together as he visualized her delusion.
The lack of time in his schedule was one reason for not wanting to postpone his work for another type of work and fly to Ireland. His lack of motivation and willingness to write for this magazine again was another reason. But his last reason was albeit more nitpicky and deluded for him to even try to convey to anyone else as a reason why he doesn't want to go to Ireland.
As if going to Ireland hadn't been a place he had visited long before. Truth is, he didn't know what he would write about for this article if he was to visit a place he had already been to and had such disappointing memories about.
It was a touchy subject and he rather not get into it. At the end of the day, it had been years since.
That night Mike went to bed going over the logistics and arrangements of the trip. He wasn’t going to take it, of course.
☆
2 weeks later, instead of the usual cup of Joe he got at his local coffee shop, he frequented most mornings. He was on a plane, soloing 8 hours of pure hell in economy class on a round-trip to Ireland.
He had called up the guys a few hours before for ideas of what to visit whilst he was there in Ireland for his article. Not surprising that Dustin, Lucas, and Will were flabbergasted that Mike had even considered leaving his New York apartment any further than the occasional in-person meet-ups with his editor.
Not even his dates with Mandy go further than the cinema and restaurants in the vicinity of his apartment.
This was a new Mike. Or more of a reborn Mike. He had not felt this type of way since his last trip to Ireland in 1993, it was seven years ago, and the most disappointment he had felt in his entire lifetime.
Years of searching for a certain someone, only for your theory to be proven wrong by one single article in a paper written by yourself. His last trip for that company, and his last strand of hope died in that article as well.
But here he was, back on a plane to Ireland. With no expectations, really, just a bag full of random clothes and a laptop.
Along with his MP3 player who only allows him to download a select number of songs for his 8-hour long flight.
Time has passed, and he has grown, like everyone else. Mike found himself longing for the simpler times way before his generation. He had become sort of like an old-soul, retro enthusiast, 60s music devotee type of guy. A true nostalgist.
There was this one song he used to listen to over and over, almost like it was his religion. He was a foolish boy, full of theories and deluded dreams, but he had something at least. Maybe that was all Mike was really looking for on this trip, something to hold on to again.
He leaned back on the tight restricted airplane seat and pressed play on his MP3, as he listened to “Cactus Tree” by Joni Mitchell for the whole flight there.
☆
Now Playing
Cactus Tree
Joni Mitchel
[II] 0:50 ━━●────────────── 4:28
November 6th, 1993
The grass rustled beneath his feet as he walked alongside the wind, grazing the floor slightly. Flowers swayed ever so gently as the wind passed by, planting a kiss on each of their petals. The sound of rushing water could be heard in the background of the natural music being played by the mountains.
There standing at the very edge of the cliff, he felt this wave of familiarity. All the muscles in his body had started to relax, easing any tension he had from the past or present. For the first time in a while, Mike felt free.
His fingers wrapped around the straps of his backpack as he took a deep breath in. Staring at the mountains before him, two waterfalls on each side roared as they dove deep down below into the stream underneath it. Only two.
Seeing a sight as beautiful as this was enough to make an ordinary person tear up. Maybe it was just that, being so incredibly lucky as to still be alive to be able to experience something as magical as this view, or maybe it was all the pollen from the flowers surrounding him, but Mike was starting to cry.
He felt the tears well up quickly in the pools of his eyes and then fall down one by one, until the flow was too heavy to stop. He felt it everywhere, in his nose, his throat, in his chest, his hands, and his heart. He didn't know what the feeling was, it was a mix of everything really. Relief, guilt, loss, betrayal, happiness, hope.
He stayed on that hill until sunset, listening to the rushing waters and wiping his face periodically while staring into the beautiful scenery displayed before him. He didn't move any more than that. He just stood there, for as long as he needed.
November 6th, 2000
Mike stood in a small crowd of people all waiting for the bus that picks you up right from the airport and into town. He had landed an hour ago in Westport NOC.
Restraining himself from checking his watch every five minutes, he decided he’d go buy an itinerary he could flip through instead. There was nothing left for him to discover in Ireland any more anyway and he had no clue what to write for his article. So he decided having a little guidance would be helpful in figuring out what to do first.
After he bought his travel guide the bus had finally arrived. He scurried back into line hoping that his quick adventure to the gift shop hadn't interfered with his plans to get a good seat. Luckily, he was able to snag a spot right next to a window.
He flipped through the itinerary looking for activities and spots to visit this afternoon that he had not seen already. Looking up from the magazine out into the window, he got distracted by the beauty that was Ireland.
Travelling will always be a surreal experience for any person, returning tourist or not. Mike's always been taken by the natural allure and rustic charm that Ireland had on display for its visitors. Everything looked so fake but he knew it was real, it felt so real.
Last time Mike was here he had been stuck in this fantasy. Maybe he wasn't able to see Ireland as clearly as he could now. But here in the mountains, with the waterfalls and cute quaint towns, there are real people. People that he lives among. People he's been spending his whole adulthood trying and trying to involve himself with again. And he's gotten so much better.
And Mike allows himself to believe that.
An hour long ride later, the bus comes to a screeching stop as the driver yells out to the crowd that they've arrived at their destination.
Leenane, County Galway, Ireland. Where Mike would be staying for the majority of his trip.
It was a small town, sort of known, not many tourist spots, but clearly one the company wanted him to highlight on his trip in Ireland.
He held tightly onto the straps of his backpack as he stepped off the bus. Immediately he was hit with the smell of earth and that metallic scent that comes right after rain.
He could sense right away that this town was a treasure, it was cherished by those who lived in it. It had this green, natural, cold-stone-walls look about it, but it was warm underneath. It felt lived-in, very homey, like everyone knew each other and lived in sync with one another.
Mike had never felt that way about any place he lived in. Well maybe once in his lifetime he had felt that way. But those feelings never lasted. He wondered if disaster would strike this town as well the longer he stayed in it.
He hiked about 30 minutes to get to the lodge that he was booked to stay in, courtesy of the company of course.
When he got there, he got a call from his girlfriend.
“Hey baby! Just wondering if you got in alright! How is it so far?” She sounded chipper through the phone's thin speaker.
“It's good. I just checked into the lodge they're keeping me at.” Mike replied, fixing his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he started to unpack his bag.
“I miss you already..” She said softly into the phone.
Mike paused for a minute. Suddenly, he started searching through his backpack a little more hurriedly.
“Mandy. Did I leave my Propranolol at my apartment?” He asked as a lump was starting to form in his throat.
“Oh um.. I don't know? I'll go check.” Her voice had shifted, and he could hear the scuffling of her feet though the phone as she went to go check in his room.
Mike waited for her response while picking at the ends of his nails.
“Yes..” She said cautiously into the phone once more.
“Fuck..” Mike sighed, putting a hand up to his forehead.
“Can't you order some more over there?” Mandy asked.
“I don't know. I think it’d be hard to order more without my doctor here.” Mike felt himself getting more frustrated with himself the more he realized the severity of his situation.
“Okay, calm down. Let's just think this through.”
Mike slowly started to pace around the room. What would he do all seven days without his medication? The thought was beginning to make him anxious on its own, and his head started to hurt.
“I could stay on the phone with you if you'd like, and help talk you through any anxiety you might get..”
He could tell she was trying to help, but it didn't feel very helpful.
“That’s fine, I wouldn’t want us to rack up extra charges on long calls.” He responded.
He could feel her ambivalence through the phone.
More and more he felt he was driving a wedge between them, but he never wanted to get into it. After all, he felt it was just a waste of time, and he was doing so much already.
He decided to just let it go.
“How about we call again tomorrow, or before you get in. You’re coming in a few days right?” Mike said, hoping it would lift her spirits.
“Yeah.” She replied dryly, "I'll just call you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” He confirmed, hanging up the phone and putting it down on his dresser.
Still feeling anxious about his prescription medicine situation, he decided to call Lucas.
☆
Around 2 hours later, after talking on the phone with Lucas, Dustin, and then Will, he finally decided to just call Nancy. His older sister, who probably knows better than his friends, and he thinks, almost everyone in the world.
Almost 30 years old, and Mike is still unsure what to do when you're in a foreign country and you need to order prescription medicine for your anxiety because you mistakenly forgot them 3,000 miles away.
So, here he was standing outside of a small pharmaceutical office on the quaint main street of Leenane’s town.
He definitely did not see this stop on the itinerary.
Stepping into the shop, it looked like any old pharmacy back in the States. Unsure of what to ask, really, he just decided to jump right into it and start talking.
“I really need to order a new fill for my Propananol…” He whispered to the lady standing behind the counter. “I’m not from here, just visiting, and I sort of forgot it.. But I really, really need a new fill.”
He was practically begging, which made him sound a little too desperate. He figured it posed a bad look for him to these pharmaceutical ladies because they started looking around at each other and snickering.
“I I’m not a junkie, I swear. I just need them.” He awkwardly smiled back at them.
“We cannot give you a fill without confirmation from your doctor.” One of the ladies stated, he noticed the very thick Irish accent carried in her words.
He stared at them for a second before anxiously biting his nails and tapping at the table.
“I don't have confirmation from my doctor but– but I really have no way of reaching out to him. See, I live in New York.” He tried explaining.
But he could sense, by the expressions on their faces, he wasn't getting through to them.
He took this as a loss as he sighed, retracting his hands from the counter and turning to walk off.
All of a sudden, he was stopped by this elderly couple who had tugged on the ends of his jacket.
He looked down at the sweet couple who had been watching his entire interaction. He felt himself get a little red in the ears as he stopped to talk to them.
“Young boy,” The old lady started, she looked fragile but warm. Her hair was wrapped up in a bandeau and spilling out from the other side, as she looked up at him through her oval-framed glasses. “You’re not from here, are you?”
Mike slowly nodded, unsure what to take in about this situation.
“Those ladies are always so stingy with the medicine they give out.” The old man chimed in, his voice a lot more stern than his wife's.
Everyone here had a strong accent, Mike mentally noted.
“You seem like a nice man. Are you here by yourself?” The old lady continued.
“Yes. I’m travelling for work from New York.” Mike reiterated, the words beginning to feel rehearsed.
“We heard your situation.” She smiled, going through the small handbag she had carried with her. “I take those pills as well, I only have one left so I'm here for a refill, but I happen to know a certain place where you can get them without your doctor.”
Mike raised an eyebrow at that.
“Is it… legal?” He hesitated slowly.
The couple stared at him for a few seconds before bursting into elderly laughter. (lmao)
“Of course, Sonny!” The old man exclaimed, hitting his knee before looking back up at him. “Shes a good friend of ours, she lives on a farm out up by the falls. Nice girl, she helps almost everybody out in this town. I'm sure she has what you are looking for.”
Mike sighed, relieved that he hadn't accidentally gotten caught up with an undercover Irish drug scheme that apparently old people were running. Thank goodness that wasn't the case.
“Tell her you know us, honey, we're old friends.” The old lady looked up at him, reaching out her hand and smiled, “Mrs. Flaherty.”
“Oh.” He said, holding his out to shake hers. “Will do. Thank you so much.”
He couldn't believe people were this nice in Ireland.
After getting the exact address he needed he set off towards this farm in search of pills. What a story this would make, he thought to himself.
The place was quite a while ways away, it was about a 30-minute bus ride, then a 25-minute hike up to it.
As he was trekking this journey, he couldn't help but notice he recognized the area. The familiar scenery surrounding it, the mountains, and the faint sound of rushing water.
Then he called back to the bus ride, and he started to remember the faint sign he had read before dozing off once more on the bus. Clifden.
He had been here before on his last trip to Ireland. He remembered the waterfalls that he had hiked so far to see. And all of a sudden, he felt a bit sick to his stomach.
Clifden and Leenane were towns right next to each other, meaning this farm was right along the border of the two towns. Right near the waterfalls.
He had no idea there would be someone willing to live out here. It was so desolate. Lonely.
As he got off the bus he started his 25 minute walk up to the farm, taking in all the scenery. Feelings he had once felt before came rushing back to him.
And he was 12, 14, 17, and 22 again all at once.
He hated himself for it. For being the only one in the group to not have moved on fully. He could deny it all he wanted, bury himself in work, and entertain new relationships, to hide the fact that he still wasn't over it. In the end, he dreamt about her every night, wrote about her in his books, and saw her in every stranger's face while taking the 6. Nothing he did had ever felt enough. And it killed him inside.
Even more now that he's 29 and still feeling as foolish and hopeful as he did when he was 22. He couldn't help but feel like he hadn't made any progress at all. Could he ever change? Or will he always just be stuck grieving. Never moving on. Constantly searching for something that won't exist.
He could feel himself starting to hyperventilate as he clutched to his shirt. Was it the air dissipating the higher he climbed up the mountain or was he having a panic attack?
He hadn't gotten these in so long, not since he had started going to therapy and taking the pills.
It only fueled his insecurity even more. He hadn't changed. Nothing about him was ever going to change. He was always going to stay stuck, unmoved, broken.
The air tasted thinner and thinner the more his thoughts consumed him. Soon, he was on the ground, grasping at any air he could get. His eyes started to sting, he just couldn't stop.
Was he going to die here? In Ireland? Where he used to think he'd find the alleviation to his questions.
It was almost poetic.
He decided he needed to compose himself. He wasn't going to allow himself to become a deadman. He could not give up completely.
If he believed he had nothing, then that would be all he had left.
If he couldn’t find it in someone else, or the confirmation of his delusional attachment, he needed to start believing in himself.
Ok. Mike, you are here, you are safe, you are okay. He started repeating affirmations in his head as he slowly started to regain his ability to see and breathe.
Slowly getting up, he could see a cottage in the distance.
Noticing where he was, he realized he had made it a good distance into the farm. Fences without livestock surrounded him, the pathway he was on leading right up to where he needed to go.
Pushing himself as much as he could, he eventually reached the steps before the front door.
Allowing himself the luxury of leaning against one of the pillars connected to the railing, while continuing to try and stabilize his breathing.
The idea of knocking on this random person's door at what was about to be night time had seemed a pretty awful idea on the way over here. Now that he was in this frenzy, he could not think of an idea any better than it.
His hands shook as he went to reach for the handle to knock with, before he caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye.
Looking over to the side of the cottage he could see a figure coming his way, startled but unmoved, he kept staring even though it was blurry through the tears.
The figure seemed cautious.
Mike thought, who wouldn't be in a situation like this?
“Please help.” Was all he could muster out as he felt the nausea and dizziness take over him.
Stumbling down the stairs to meet this figure and explain his situation.
The clearer his eyesight got. And when just when he had gotten close enough it was almost like every nerve and bone in his body had frozen.
Now Playing
The Elevator
Lizzy McAlpine
[II] 0:01 ━●──────────────── 1:40
The figure had turned out to be a woman. With long messy hair, certain parts of it looked like they were in braids.
She was wearing a pink flannel shirt underneath her overalls which were covered in dirt and mud, especially towards her shoes.
Mike almost choked over any breath he had left as he tried quickly to blink away his tears.
It wasn't slow it happened fast
And suddenly the only thing I saw was you
He was at a loss for words but at the same time had too many all at once.
And then he couldn't stop himself. Like before, the tears kept falling. And now he really did feel 12, 14, 17, and 22 once more.
Looking at the woman that was before him. Looking almost exactly like he pictured but at the same time so different.
“Eleven?” He managed to croak out. It all felt like a dream.
And suddenly I had everything to lose
This was happening way too quickly, too fast, too unexpected.
He wanted to run, but of course he stayed. He wanted to hug her, but he stood unmoved. Subconsciously clinging to the fact that maybe he was dreaming.
Maybe he had died on that path earlier from lack of air. Or maybe there wasn't enough air circulating in his head that he had started seeing things.
If that were the case he better snap out of it. But the next thing she did had confirmed it.
I hope that I’m right
She really was here. She really was alive.
His Eleven.