HOPPER’S CABIN
HAWKINS, INDIANA
The snow had stopped falling. That was something. Hopper looked out of the kitchen window as he washed his coffee mug. He must have drunk a gallon of the stuff.
Over in the den, El was lying on the couch, buried under a mound of blankets. Glancing over, Hopper could see the top of her curly hair over the arm of the couch. She hadn’t moved in a while. It was late, and they’d taken another break from the story. El had probably fallen asleep. It was probably for the best. Hopper had been talking all afternoon and into the evening. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it up, although his voice felt fine.
They could carry on in the morning. And, in fact, he could just give her the edited highlights. Those few days in New York, 1977, were complicated, and, he thought, the story was really too much for her.
Wasn’t it? Or was he doing her a disservice? She was smart. Okay, she wasn’t like other kids her age, but she actually had been enjoying the story, listening with rapt attention. He was revealing a whole new world to her, of course, and showing himself in a completely different light.
He hoped it was a good one. He’d done his best, back then, but he didn’t want to lie. Didn’t want to make himself out to be someone he wasn’t.
The story was dark and scary, even with the parts he had censored. But maybe that was okay. Kids liked to be scared—safely scared. But what could be safer than this? Hopper had made it out of New York City unscathed. He’d already established that Delgado was doing just fine.
There had been deaths, yes—and there were more to come.
Hopper sighed. Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe he was underestimating El.
No, no maybe about it. Of course he was.
El stirred on the couch. Hopper returned to the den as El pulled herself up from under the blankets.
“What happened next?” she asked.
“I thought you’d fallen asleep!”
El shook her head as she adjusted herself on the couch, pulling one leg up underneath her. “Was Saint John like me?”
Hopper worked his jaw for a couple of moments. “Like…you?”
El nodded. “Special…different.”
Hopper rubbed his chin. El’s question was a good one—and she must have been mulling it over for a while, now. Given her own experience with Dr. Brenner and the MKUltra project, it was a logical conclusion to make.
And maybe one that wasn’t so far off the truth.
“Well,” said Hopper, “he couldn’t move things with his mind, like you. But yes, he was part of a project. A different kind of project, not like the one at Brenner’s lab. But we’re getting ahead of the story a little again.” He sat next to her, resting a hand on her blanketed leg. “And I don’t want you having nightmares, okay?”
El seemed to consider this very seriously, then she looked at Hopper and gave him a nod. She got herself comfortable on the couch, clearly awaiting the resumption of his story.
Hopper ruffled her hair and stood, stretching once again. Then he went over and sat in the armchair, leaned back, and locked his hands behind his head.
The adventure continued.