Chapter Text
A child finds the girl’s body on the edge of the forest. Not even ten-years-old, on the hunt for mushrooms, only to come running into town screeching that he found a girl with no eyes. His shrieks summon his mother, but also the reeve who goes to investigate, bringing a few of the village aldermen with him.
“Oh, Christ in Heaven…” Jim Hopper mutters to himself as they approach the body, partially obscured by the branches of a pine tree. He recognizes the soft, red-gold hair and delicate features of Christine Cunningham, even marred by the blood from her now empty eye sockets. Hopper’s seen enough of blood, plenty of horrible deaths—he’d been called up to fight for the king in his youth, and his wife delivers babies by trade, coming home often covered in blood. Alderman Kline clearly hasn’t, and he retches as soon as his mind understands what he’s looking at on the forest floor. Callahan doesn’t look much better, but Powell seems to have some composure left.
“Jim?” Powell asks softly, unsure how to proceed.
“You able to handle getting closer?” he asks in return, glancing back at Kline cowering as his body convulses again.
“Yes, it’s just… Who could do such a thing?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Jim grimaces as they move closer, noting the tears to the girl’s dress, the bruising at her neck. A couple of her fingernails are broken, torn and ragged with blood trapped underneath. He hates that he must consider it, but he crouches down to lift her skirts. He thanks God when he finds no bruises on her thighs, nothing to show she was violated. At least she was spared that pain.
She’s still wearing her cloak, and Hopper uses the thick wool to cover her face. “We’ll need to bring her to her parents; they must have noticed she’s missing by now… I’m honestly surprised Martha didn’t come looking for me to find her already.” He steps back, surveying the area and finding little evidence of a scuffle. No scratches in the dirt, no torn grass, barely any blood on the ground. Christine was small, a petite omega, and her killer must have been taller. Stronger.
Was likely an alpha.
He keeps moving, looking for anything left behind, and broken branches to point him in any direction, only for Powell to pipe up and say, “We’re by Munson’s old place.”
Confused, Hopper corrects him. “Wayne lives on the western edge of the village.” This clearing is to the south.
“No, his brother’s place. Al lived down here before he drowned. His boy’s still—”
“Then I guess we should pay Al’s boy a visit.” Hopper looks over to Kline and Callahan. “I need the two of you to take her body to the church, then let the Cunninghams know she’s there. We shouldn’t be long.” Jerking his head to the side, he silently tells Powell to follow him once he’s sure Callahan and Kline will do as they’ve been told.
Edward Munson has lived alone in his parents’ tiny cottage ever since his father died two winters ago. He lost his mother as a pup, the poor omega always fragile, wasting away until a fever finally took her. Al already drank too much, but without Elizabeth to temper his vices he did nothing but drink. Eddie often stayed with his uncle to avoid Al’s temper, but he always went home, claiming it helped him feel closer to his mother. And he barely mourned his father, not having the money for a gravestone; Hopper doubts he’d have bothered even if he did.
They reach the cottage, a tiny set of wattle and daub walls and a thatched roof in need of repair, and Hopper pounds on the door. Eddie Munson answers, looking rumpled and rubbing his eyes as he mumbles, “What do you want?” Realizing just who is at his door, he straightens up, looking between Hopper and Powell with suspicion.
“Got a few questions, namely where were you last night?” Hopper asks gruffly.
“Worked yesterday, so I spent the evening in the tavern. Cunningham doesn’t pay much; just had enough for supper and a drink. Made my way home just before nightfall. Went right to bed, only woke up because of your racket.” He rubs at his eyes again.
“You didn’t hear anything else on your way home? Or during the night?”
“I was tired, slept hard. Why? Should I have heard something?”
Hopper shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to have to ask you to come with us, Edward.”
“Not even my mother called me Edward,” Eddie quips with a grin.
“A girl is dead, Munson,” Powell grits out, growing more agitated by the whole situation as he waits at Hopper’s side.
Eddie pales, eyes wide with shock. “What? Who?”
“Grab what you need, Eddie. Christine Cunningham’s been murdered and I don't think it’s safe for you to stay here.”
✘ ❦ ✘
The whole of Hawkins seems to have turned out when Hopper, Powell, and Eddie arrive in the village square. Even from the edge, they can hear wailing from inside the church, surely the Cunninghams mourning their lost daughter. Heads turn as the villagers notice Hopper’s arrival.
Eddie does his best to keep his head down, to shrink in on himself as people rush over to the reeve. He’s tempted to slip away, but Hopper clearly expects the same and his hand locks around the younger alpha’s wrist. Which might look worse—be worse—as Jason Carver runs over and growls, “Did he do it? Kline said she was found on the south edge, no one else lives that close to the forest!”
“I’ll ask you to hold your tongue, Master Carver,” Hopper says, voice low, with a hint of a growl of his own, “And let me work.”
But Jason does not stop. “Everyone knows how his father was! Plenty of bruises on him growing up, it’s no surprise he’d turn out violent.”
That draws an unbidden growl from Eddie, and Hopper keeps his hold firm while stepping between them. “Carver, stand down. Munson is the closest I have to a witness; clearly you want answers, and I mean to find them. Now go.” He nods to Powell, leading the little trio into the church, stationing the alderman at the door with Eddie as he goes to speak with the grieving Cunninghams.
Watching James wail for his pup—holding her to him as his alpha grips his shoulders—is painful and Eddie hides his face behind his hands. He can’t help imagining his own mother, how she had protected him from the world and from his father as long as she could, until her spirit could not hold out any longer.
Martha Cunningham is stony faced, the alpha speaking softly to Hopper. Her eyes snap over to the door, and her eyes narrow as she stares at Eddie. She’s clearly made up her mind. Turning back to Hopper, she hisses lowly, and the reeve ambles back to collect him, whispering, “I advise you to answer truthfully. Being caught in a lie will not bode well for you, Eddie.”
Eddie holds his tongue. Snapping that he didn’t do anything likely wouldn’t help the situation either.
“She was found by his cottage, wasn’t she? What more is there to ask, Hopper?”
“I want to find the person who did this as much as you do, Martha. That means questioning suspects. So, where were you last night, Eddie?”
“I already said I had supper at the inn. Ate too fast, didn’t feel well and went home to sleep it off. I didn’t hear or see anyone after I passed the square, I swear by Christ’s wounds.”
“And that means so much coming from one who is in church on the sabbath but once a month,” Martha snaps.
“Eddie, did you know Christine at all?”
“Not really. I’ve seen her around the village, but we’ve barely spoken.” He looks over to the body, covered with her cloak and cradled in her mother’s arms. “She was always kind, from what I saw. I can’t imagine anyone hurting her.”
“We don’t have to imagine!”
Eddie holds his tongue again, squeezes his eyes shut.
“You said you worked on the Cunningham harvest yesterday; would that be in the orchards?”
“Yes.”
“And did you see Christine in that time?”
“She came through with water at midday. I thanked her and continued my work, just like every other hand hired for the day.” Eddie shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t see her again. I never touched her.”
“Is there anyone who can prove your story?”
“Anyone at the inn last night… McCorkle and Walsh. Mistress Thompson was at the tap all evening, and I bid her farewell when I left. After that I was home alone, sleeping.”
“So, no one else can account for your whereabouts during the night?”
“I was asleep, Hopper!”
“Until I know more, I’m keeping you in my custody, Eddie. I need witnesses. Proof.”
✘ ❦ ✘
The only other suspect Hopper has to question is the girl’s beau, and Jason Carver was home with his family, servants testifying as to when the young master retired for the evening. He had nothing of use beyond that, and Chrissy’s family and friends had no other leads. The reeve’s only choice was to charge Eddie and call in the magistrate.
The trial is swift, built on circumstance, the village happy to blame a young man already at the fringes of society for the death of an innocent. The only testimony in Eddie’s defense comes from his uncle, Wayne speaking to his character, but that means little when he is guilty until proven innocent. But there is no real proof.
And the sentence for murder is death by hanging.
In the span of a week, Eddie has gone from doing and having enough to get by, to having one day left on this earth. He’s held in a cell at the back of the church, one meant for a junior priest, something Hawkins has not had in a decade. At least he’s given the kindness of a final visit from his only remaining kin.
Wayne holds his hands and cries, his pain too great to hold back. “I keep telling them you can’t have done it, but—”
“I know, Uncle. You did all you could. This is not your fault.”
“Should’ve had you live with me. Didn’t like the thought of you all alone, and… Well… The Carver boy got a mob together after the verdict. They burned the cottage down.”
“Oh…”
“M’sorry, Ed. I went to look, but it’s all just char.”
Eddie hiccups a weak laugh. “Not like I’ll be using it anyhow.”
Wayne hugs him then, squeezing so tight Eddie can barely breathe. “I love you, lad.”
“Love you, Uncle.” He wants to say more, but his throat is tight with unshed tears. As a convicted murderer he won’t be buried in the churchyard—he’ll be lucky if he’s cut down from the tree before his flesh has mostly rotted away. But after, Wayne will be allowed to bury him in the potter’s field. He hopes Wayne is allowed. That he can leave a grave marker and visit him.
“Time to go, Wayne,” Hopper says softly from the doorway.
Both Munsons turn to look at him, Eddie leaning back while Wayne’s fingers grip him tighter. “Hop, please,” Wayne begs. “We’re getting enough time stolen as it is, just… Can’t I stay until morning?”
Hopper looks over his shoulder, bites his lower lip, and finally nods. “I can give you until dawn, but then you have to go, Wayne. Need you gone before the priest comes.”
Eddie is the one to mumble their thanks, as Wayne only manages a curt nod to the reeve as they are shut in the cell.
Uncle and nephew spend little time talking after that, words insufficient to convey all they have left to say. Instead, they share scents, and snuggle close. It reminds Eddie of being held in his mother's nest, and tells him that there is still someone in the world who truly cares about him.
Dawn comes all too soon. Hopper returns and must force Wayne from the cell, speaking softly as he ushers the man away. He returns with Father Martin, the old priest there to act as Eddie’s confessor, to give him a final opportunity to repent his wickedness.
Father Martin’s hair is snow white, his smile easy as he comes in and sits beside Eddie. “I’ve come to give you your last rites, son, but first you must confess your sins.”
“I have nothing more to confess, Father.” Eddie has already confessed his sloth at sleeping through church services, confessed to his covetous thoughts. There is nothing else.
“I cannot absolve you of your sins if you do not confess. Forgiveness must be asked, my son.”
“Is lying not a sin as well, Father? I can only swear I did not touch her so many times, but I will once more for both our sakes. I am innocent of Christine Cunningham’s death. I have committed no crime, and the Lord at least must know my soul for what it is.” Eddie swallows hard, pushing down tears.
“Without proper penance, I cannot in good conscience offer you the eucharist, Edward, but I would like to pray with you.” He holds out his hand, and Eddie takes it; all he has left now are his prayers.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters…”
✘ ❦ ✘
Father Martin stays with Eddie until Hopper comes to fetch him. His hands are bound before him, and the reeve leads him on the short walk to the gallows tree, an elm on the north edge of the village with a strong, straight branch where the noose already waits for his neck.
A crowd is gathered, and Eddie is fairly certain that all of Hawkins has turned out to watch him hang. That settles like a pit in his stomach, and for one terrible moment he feels ready to vomit. But the moment passes, and Hopper stops him next to the ladders leaning against the elm.
The magistrate steps forward then, reading out Eddie’s supposed crimes, reiterating his sentence, and nods up to the executioner, already waiting on one ladder. Hopper turns Eddie towards the second ladder, and even with bound hands he should be able to climb the three rungs it will take to put him high enough for the noose. The executioner wears a full mask, obscuring his identity, and Eddie refrains from taking stock of the aldermen in the crowd to discern who is likely under the hood.
Eddie works his way up the ladder, his body shaking as he pulls himself onto the first rung. How terrible it is, knowing he will die without his feet on solid ground, that he will be separated from the earth as his heart stops. Another step up another rung. Eddie takes a last, deep breath, and climbs up the final rung. He turns just enough to face the executioner, who lifts the noose, ready to place it when a voice pipes up from the crowd, “Stop! Wait!”
The voice is not one Eddie recognizes, so he startles when he looks down and sees Sir Richard Harrington’s omega son, Stephen, rushing forward in nothing but his shift. “I will marry him,” he announces loudly, looking between Hopper and the magistrate.
Whispers spread quickly through the crowd, the magistrate standing dumbfounded, but Hopper simply points up towards Eddie.
“I will marry you, Edward Munson. If you’ll have me,” Steve announces again, clear and strong.
“Yes,” Eddie gasps, hardly believing his eyes.
He’s been saved.
✘ ❦ ✘