Chapter 59: Murray Bauman's Questions
Nancy
The phone call came Tuesday evening while I was studying.
"Nancy Wheeler? My name is Murray Bauman. I'm investigating the Barbara Holland case."
I froze. "Barb's case is closed. She was found."
"Yes, after four days missing in a 'storm system' that somehow didn't appear on any weather service radar. Found with Steve Harrington in the woods by Chief Hopper. Convenient story. Clean story. Government-approved story." His voice held skeptical amusement. "I don't buy it."
"I don't know what you're talking about—"
"I'm a journalist, Miss Wheeler. Was, anyway, before I got too good at finding inconvenient truths. Now I'm freelance conspiracy theorist. And your friend's disappearance? It reeks of cover-up."
My hand tightened on the phone. "Who told you to call me?"
"Public records. Police reports. NDAs with missing signatures. Someone tried burying this story, but they left threads. I follow threads." Papers rustled on his end. "Four teenagers sign NDAs after 'storm incident.' Lab personnel on scene. Federal agents supervising cleanup. That's not storm response. That's damage control."
"Mr. Bauman—"
"Meet me. One conversation. If I'm wrong, you tell me I'm crazy and I move on. If I'm right..." He paused. "Then we discuss what really happened in those woods."
I hung up. Immediately called Steve.
Steve
Nancy's panic came through the phone clearly.
"Murray Bauman contacted me. He's investigating Barb's disappearance. Knows about the NDAs, the lab involvement, everything."
My corruption pulsed. I knew Murray Bauman—conspiracy theorist who'd become crucial ally in Season 3. Smart, persistent, dangerously perceptive. But revealing the Upside Down now, before the Mind Flayer was defeated, created unnecessary exposure.
"Don't tell him anything," I said.
"He already knows something's wrong—"
"Knowing something's wrong and knowing about dimensional rifts are very different. Murray's persistent. If you give him thread, he'll unravel everything." Phase 3 processing calculated risks. "Meet him if you must. Deflect. But do not confirm Upside Down."
"Steve—"
"Nancy, I know he becomes useful later. But right now? He's liability. We can't afford exposure while fighting active threat."
"How do you know he becomes useful later?"
Damn. "Educated guess. Conspiracy theorists who dig into government secrets either get silenced or become assets. Murray seems like asset type."
She didn't sound convinced. "I'm meeting him. I need to know what he knows."
"Fine. But I'm watching from distance. And Nancy? Trust me on this."
Nancy
The diner sat on Hawkins' edge, deliberately chosen for privacy. Murray Bauman was middle-aged, balding, wearing glasses and suspicious expression.
"Miss Wheeler. Thank you for coming."
I slid into the booth. "I have thirty minutes."
"Then I'll be direct." He spread photos on the table—Barb's missing person poster, lab perimeter, dated shots of federal vehicles. "Barbara Holland vanishes November sixth. Four days later, miraculously found in the woods. Zero explanation for where she was or how she survived. Then government swoops in, everyone signs NDAs, story gets buried."
"We got lost. Chief Hopper found us."
"For four days? In woods you've lived near your entire lives?" He leaned forward. "I've interviewed everyone willing to talk. Your friend had injuries. Missing fingers on left hand. Medical records show tissue damage consistent with... well, records don't specify. Because they're classified."
My stomach twisted. Barb's injuries were from the Demogorgon, before Steve killed it.
"Storm damage."
"Storms don't selectively eat fingers, Nancy." Murray's eyes held certainty. "Something happened. Something the government doesn't want public. And four teenagers are lying to protect... what? Whom?"
Across the diner, I spotted Steve. Sitting alone at counter, coffee untouched, watching through corruption-darkened eyes.
"Mr. Bauman—"
"Call me Murray."
"Murray. Barb is alive. She's recovering. Why can't that be enough?"
"Because I don't believe in miracles. I believe in patterns." He pulled out more photos—Russian agents near the lab, dimensional activity markers I didn't recognize. "Hawkins is hot spot for strange activity. Foreign surveillance, government presence, missing persons cases going back years. Your friend is one piece of larger puzzle."
"What puzzle?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." He gathered the photos. "But I will figure it out. With or without your help."
Steve
Nancy emerged looking shaken. Murray watched her leave, expression calculating.
Phase 3 senses tracked Murray's next moves—he photographed Nancy's license plate, made notes, pulled out more files. The man was thorough. Dangerous.
But also exactly the type of ally we'd need later.
Timing, I thought. Everything's about timing.
I waited until Nancy reached her car before following Murray outside.
"Mr. Bauman."
He turned, took in my appearance—corruption visible on face and neck, moving with Phase 3 precision. His eyes widened slightly.
"Steve Harrington. The miraculous rescuer."
"The lucky guy, according to official story."
"You don't look lucky. You look..." He studied my corruption. "Sick? Injured? Something else?"
"Something else."
"Care to elaborate?"
"No. But I'll give you advice: drop this investigation. For your own safety."
Murray smiled. "Threats usually confirm I'm onto something."
"Not a threat. Warning. There are things in Hawkins beyond your conspiracy theories. Things that will get you killed if you dig too deep." I let Phase 3 predator nature show through. "I like you, Murray. You're smart, persistent, useful qualities. But this isn't your fight. Not yet."
"Not yet? Interesting phrasing."
Dammit. Too revealing again.
"Drop it, Murray. Please. When the time comes—and it will—you'll get your story. But not now. Not while people are still in danger."
He watched me with journalist's assessment. "You're protecting something. Someone. The girl? The government? Yourself?"
"Everyone. Including you."
I walked away. Let him process that.
Murray
Steve Harrington was hiding something massive. The corruption on his skin, the way he moved, the certainty in his warnings—all pointed to involvement in something extraordinary.
Back in my bunker that night, I pinned new photos to the investigation wall:
Steve Harrington, mysteriously changedNancy Wheeler, clearly lyingBarbara Holland, impossibly recoveredRussian agents watching the labFederal cleanup crewsSealed medical recordsNDAs with government signatures
"Something massive is happening in Hawkins," I muttered, stepping back to view the whole board. "Multiple governments interested. Cover-ups at highest levels. And four teenagers at the center."
I'd crack it eventually. I always did.
But Steve's warning echoed: When the time comes—and it will—you'll get your story.
He knew something. Knew specifically when I'd be needed. That suggested foreknowledge, planning, strategic timing.
"Who are you, Steve Harrington?" I asked the photos. "And what the hell happened in those woods?"
Nancy
I found Steve at the bunker later, told him about Murray's evidence.
"He knows too much. We should bring him in."
"Not yet."
"Why not? He's smart, connected, could help—"
"Because he's also conspiratorial and uncontrollable. We bring him in now, he tells someone, who tells someone else, and suddenly we're dealing with national exposure while fighting interdimensional invasion." Steve's corruption pulsed. "Murray becomes asset later. When we need someone to leak information, expose government crimes, fight public battles. Right now? We need secrecy."
"You keep saying later. How do you know—"
"Pattern recognition, Nancy. Same way I knew about the tunnels, the breeding chambers, the Mind Flayer's plans. I see patterns others miss."
"Or you know the future."
Steve's expression flickered—brief vulnerability before the cold mask returned. "If I knew the future, I'd have saved everyone. No casualties, no close calls, perfect victory. Does this look perfect to you?"
He gestured at his corrupted body, his destroyed appearance, the exhaustion radiating from him.
"No," I admitted. "It looks like you're dying."
"Exactly. So trust me when I say: Murray waits. We win first, expose later."
I kept Murray's card anyway. Just in case.
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