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would someone care to classify
[ This was stupid. Scratch that, this was something more than stupid. It was pointless, hopeless, insane, a waste of time-- the list went on. But after everything he had seen after the Upside Down, why should this be any more fantastical than the rest of it? It doesn't take long from when he's out of the hospital that the research begins. They're out of the trailer park now, officially condemned, but his uncle had been given enough hush money to set them up at a new place, an apartment just outside of town. Even though Eddie has been officially been cleared of all wrong doing, it was still better for him to keep a low profile.
As soon as they were settled in the new place, Eddie had shut himself away in his new room with the decrepit books he had scrounged up in the library. They were all about death, the dead, the afterlife-- and how to make contact. Call him crazy-- and most people probably would, if they had known what he was up to. But Eddie had shut out the rest of the world as he healed, threw himself into macabre studies as his body healed. The only thing he's been able to think about since leaving the hospital, since that night, really, is her. Chrissy Cunningham. And he has been consumed by the idea of somehow contacting her, apologizing for how he's failed her. It's the least he can do, right?
And so it's late one early spring night that Eddie slips from the apartment, fires up the van and makes a beeline for the old trailer. A brown paper grocery bag sits beside him on the passenger seat, his only companion on the silent drive over. The move is bright and heavy in the sky as he pulls up in front of the trailer, still wrapped up in caution tape. Not that the feds have done much about it, and so he's able to sneak inside without much issue. Every single nerve ending feels like it's on fire, and it's all he can do to keep from trembling. He hasn't been in the trailer since it happened, and it feels deeply wrong to be here now.
For once, determination wins out over fear and anxiety, and Eddie goes about unpacking the bag and spreading the contents out over the living room floor. He spreads out candles, bundled sage, grave dirt, a wilted lily. All of them are arranged carefully, the candles lit, as he flips slowly through pages of a heavy, musty, tome. There's no way this will work, he thinks, but trying might make him feel better. Maybe he can move on after that. Cast in the glow of candlelight, Eddie fumbles through several lines of latin, words that he only vaguely knows the meaning of. Then he sets the book down, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. ]
Chrissy Cunningham. [ It's the first time he's spoken her name aloud since... since then. And it sends spears of guilt that drive themselves deep into his heart. ] I call upon-- [ This is so stupid, he thinks. Pathetic. ] I call upon your spirit. Reveal yourself.
As soon as they were settled in the new place, Eddie had shut himself away in his new room with the decrepit books he had scrounged up in the library. They were all about death, the dead, the afterlife-- and how to make contact. Call him crazy-- and most people probably would, if they had known what he was up to. But Eddie had shut out the rest of the world as he healed, threw himself into macabre studies as his body healed. The only thing he's been able to think about since leaving the hospital, since that night, really, is her. Chrissy Cunningham. And he has been consumed by the idea of somehow contacting her, apologizing for how he's failed her. It's the least he can do, right?
And so it's late one early spring night that Eddie slips from the apartment, fires up the van and makes a beeline for the old trailer. A brown paper grocery bag sits beside him on the passenger seat, his only companion on the silent drive over. The move is bright and heavy in the sky as he pulls up in front of the trailer, still wrapped up in caution tape. Not that the feds have done much about it, and so he's able to sneak inside without much issue. Every single nerve ending feels like it's on fire, and it's all he can do to keep from trembling. He hasn't been in the trailer since it happened, and it feels deeply wrong to be here now.
For once, determination wins out over fear and anxiety, and Eddie goes about unpacking the bag and spreading the contents out over the living room floor. He spreads out candles, bundled sage, grave dirt, a wilted lily. All of them are arranged carefully, the candles lit, as he flips slowly through pages of a heavy, musty, tome. There's no way this will work, he thinks, but trying might make him feel better. Maybe he can move on after that. Cast in the glow of candlelight, Eddie fumbles through several lines of latin, words that he only vaguely knows the meaning of. Then he sets the book down, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. ]
Chrissy Cunningham. [ It's the first time he's spoken her name aloud since... since then. And it sends spears of guilt that drive themselves deep into his heart. ] I call upon-- [ This is so stupid, he thinks. Pathetic. ] I call upon your spirit. Reveal yourself.