[“It all happened so fast.” That’s what they all say, but Henry finds it is often more true than not. Once the first gunshot rings out, the series of events would almost be too hard to follow if he were not implanted into this memory at its core by way of his powers. He’s cognizant of every detail of every action, even if he does not move from where he stands at the back of the garage. It’s as though he can see from all angles — the men in suits rounding on Alec, the glow of another spell, the shattering bulbs and searing light, the whole city blacking out. The charred visages of men ruined by lightning. The empty look in Thomas Brennan’s eyes.
That scream, resounding through everything.
Oh, if Alec were a resident of Hawkins, young and his mind still malleable, Henry thinks this kind of grief and guilt and pain would have ripped a long tear between dimensions in one single attempt. He would have been drawn in by it, like a predator scenting blood. He would have made him one of his victims.
So it’s fortunate those were never the circumstances presented to him. Instead, this is an insight into the foundation of the man, the very moment where his life took a turn, hatred seeping in deep. Why he hates people, because “people” represents the worst moment of his life and from it, all they are capable of.
He lets him sob. Watches his shoulders shake from it. The scent of rain tainted by the city fills his nostrils. But eventually, Henry ventures forward, stopping just short of where Alec mourns his now deceased father, and crouches down beside him. With his words, he forces lucidity into this memory, the same way one might realize they're in the middle of a dream. Maybe that’s cruel — but now he’s done with only observing.]
You blame yourself for this. For all of this. Don't you?
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That scream, resounding through everything.
Oh, if Alec were a resident of Hawkins, young and his mind still malleable, Henry thinks this kind of grief and guilt and pain would have ripped a long tear between dimensions in one single attempt. He would have been drawn in by it, like a predator scenting blood. He would have made him one of his victims.
So it’s fortunate those were never the circumstances presented to him. Instead, this is an insight into the foundation of the man, the very moment where his life took a turn, hatred seeping in deep. Why he hates people, because “people” represents the worst moment of his life and from it, all they are capable of.
He lets him sob. Watches his shoulders shake from it. The scent of rain tainted by the city fills his nostrils. But eventually, Henry ventures forward, stopping just short of where Alec mourns his now deceased father, and crouches down beside him. With his words, he forces lucidity into this memory, the same way one might realize they're in the middle of a dream. Maybe that’s cruel — but now he’s done with only observing.]
You blame yourself for this. For all of this. Don't you?