her eyes open , cheek pressed on cool glass , a harsh white falling against the window pane and illuminating the dark space behind her eyelids with a pink light . the low roar of greyhound mechanics and sixty mile highway beneath rubber lures her from a pleasantly dreamless state of half - waking . her neck muscles stiffen up in painful protest as she turns to find a large woman sleeping soundly beside her , a stream of saliva dripping wet from the corner of her jowl where her open mouthed snores joined the dull orchestra of ambient droning .
manhattan . she chants the word silently to herself at anxious intervals , as if it may cease to exist as a place in the event she allowed it to slip from her mind . a finger traces absently over a lump of folded newspaper , crumpled clippings beneath the pocket of her wool coat . still there . manhattan . nancy . kali . don’t become gone .
ladies and gentlemen we are approaching our destination . welcome to new york city . local time is 5:34pm and the temperature looks to be sunny with a bit of clouds in the high 60′s . please check around you for any personal belongings and remain in your seat with your seat belt fastened until we come to a complete stop . thank you for choosing to ride with greyhound , and have a wonderful rest of your day .
a hand fits into the opposite pocket as she waits for the bus to come to a stop . clutching tight to a wadded fistful of stolen cash , dirty money , her stomach swimming with the bile puree of this mornings banana and a vague nausea heightened by an even vaguer worry . the smell on the woman beside her , strong and synthetic , makes her glad when finally at 5:52 the bus lurches to a halt . the action sends a sudden chorus of buckle belt clicking throughout the cabin . hers is quick to join the racket , she turns to stare impatiently as the slow lady beside her reaches lazily over her stomach , fumbling without urgency , unfastening herself and collecting items for which jane hardly had names for into a massive , mary poppins style leopard print purse . makeup wipes , hairbrush , a box of beads , a bottle of orange soda , a portable battery powered mini fan attached to a reservoir of misting spray that smelled like patchouli . a lifetime passed , a child was born , and finally the bag snapped shut .
the weather was as described . sunny , cloudy , east coast humid . overall pleasant if you looked past the strange smell on the streets , candied nuts and waste water permeating the sidewalk in a visible steam . an overwhelming rush of people hurried around her like schools of pink fish , their disinterested faces flashing at her like hundreds of shiny scales . each one thinking something along the lines of ‘ where are her parents ? is she lost - waiting for someone ? what is a girl her age doing travelling alone ? ’ but quickly , the courteous worry of the lone little girl will fade . it will be replaced by something far more urgent , about deadlines or meetings or lunch plans or coke .
‘ mission one , find nancy . ’ and as she locates seating among the bustling station she finds herself at first alarmed when the voice that recites itself in her head isn’t her own , but mike’s , before the initial surprise is taken by a surge of terrible grief . / OPEN .
lucas sinclair was searching. it was a constant state of being, near - desperate panic rising in his throat like an unpopped balloon, to search, to search, to search ( it had been the same way with will, as everyone else grew distracted and disorientated, as the world around them fuzzed into bubblegum girls and unused walkie talkies --- he was searching ). his hands, dusted with the alien cold that slipped easily into buses no matter how the world outside burned, curled around his bag. he had kept it on his lap the entire trip, stealing glances at the empty seat beside him in a paranoid glee. it was the first time in his life he felt unwatched.
hawkins was full of eyes, sticking against lucas’ skin, against erica’s smile --- to be so neglected in a world that wouldn’t stop looking was truly a tragedy. but in this strange bus, a magical portal to a different world, the passangers were too sleepy to focus on him. a boy his age, tangled limbs and sleep - busted eyes, spread over the seat across from him. no one looked at anyone, which gave lucas ample time to stare. it was remarkably unsinister, but lucas had not shed the fear of being monitored. it crawled upon him as slugs stuck under his skin.
and for all his searching, it is an accident that he finds her ( SEARCHING was almost tantilizingly synonymous with escape, it had the same cherry - bomb weight in his mouth, a flea caught in the grand wind ). she’s there, sat among a flurry of strangers, flaxen white hair and red locks that spewed endlessly outwards. he nears, pauses, considers --- the finale was never as satisfying as one thought it would be. still, he pursues, comes into what he hopes is her line of sight, and ‘ jane ? ‘
