Chapter Text
November 26th, 2012
Spotlight Eleven
Will Byers: Finally Found Six Days Later
Phill Larson
Horror fans everywhere are breathing a collective sigh of relief as child star Will Byers has been found alive after six terrifying days.
The 12-year-old actor, best known for his role as Lonnie in the cult horror hit Where the Light Ends, disappeared in the middle of the night November 6th, sparking a frantic search that dominated headlines for days. Speculation and accusations ran wild as authorities, volunteers, and fans combed the area where he was last seen. No one has a clue in regards to his whereabouts.
Magically, six days later on the 12th, the nightmare had ended: Byers was located, alive and conscious, in the woods several miles from his last known location. Despite officials refusing to disclose any further details regarding the investigation, sources say he is being closely monitored and cared for.
Early this morning, Joyce Byers, Will's mother and manager, broke her silence, taking to Twitter to announce that she will be removing her son from the spotlight.
"Will is safe, and he's home," Joyce wrote, "We are asking for privacy as a family while he recovers."
Entertainment insiders confirm that all of Byers' projects have unfortunately been put on hold indefinitely. While fans have flooded social media with relief and messages of love for the young actor.
Netizens, meanwhile, have called for Mike Wheeler, one of Byers' former co-star, to step in and take over some of the projects fans have been eagerly awaiting.
"Not gonna lie, Mike Wheeler's performance as Alex in Where the Light Ends was way stronger than Will's Lonnie." One Twitter user wrote, "He actually has the intensity and range these upcoming roles need..."
While fans continue to celebrate Will's safe return, the discussion online has shifted to what comes next. With projects on hold and netizens call for Wheeler to step in, the future of Byers' career remains uncertain.
-----------
Present Day
"Honey, are you sure you're ready to come back?" Joyce's voice fills the room. She was seated on the couch, skimming through the sides Will received for his upcoming audition. Her eyes linger on the pages as she scanned the lines he would have to bring to life.
Will sat opposite of her, fingers tapping against his knees--It was a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Acting has been the thing he's longed for all these years, the thing that was stripped from him without explanation. He's chased after it since signing with WSQK back in March. He's ready, he's been ready for years.
"I am," he says firmly, meeting her eyes sharply. "I've spent the last decade waiting for this."
Joyce exhales softly, leaning back on the couch. "Will... I just-- I don't know." She grabbed his hands. "This world--it hasn't exactly been kind to you. What if it hurts you again?"
"Mom," Will started, his voice steady as he leaned forward. "I've thought about that everyday, for years. Hiding doesn't help anymore. I want this--No.--I need this."
Joyce sighs at that, nodding her head. "Okay, sweetie." She gives a faux smile.
--
The apartment is quiet, a sound he's far used to.
There's no hovering, no questions, no nagging to fill the air. It's just Will, the walls, and a soft hum of the world outside. His footsteps echo as he paces, the script clutched in one hand. The pages have already started to trickle due to his grip.
He moves in loops-- the kitchen first, then the living, then up and down the hallway. Repeating every few minutes. Each step is deliberate, like he's mapping out the space. He looks down at the pages, little notes filled with different color ink litter the sides, words of which he can understand.
He stands in front of the bathroom mirror.
"Okay," he whispers, voice low. "Again"
He starts mid-way through a scene-- there's no prior context, just dialogue. He stares at himself, reciting the memorized words. They come easier than he expected, his body remembers how to hold still. His mouth remembers the stretches of silence needed.
He reaches a certain part, his mind falters for a second as his eyes drop back down to the script.
Slowly, Will rereads the line. Over and over again, until it lands.
There's a flicker of joy in his chest as he sets up his camera.
The city outside hums softly, a constant undercurrent beneath his voice. He stands in frame, shoulders are squared, the light angled just right. There are no distractions, no excuses, nothing but himself and the camera he borrowed from Jonathon.
"Action," he whispers.
This time, there's no pacing. He lets the scene take him where it wants to go, lets the guilt sit heavy in his chest, he allows the pauses to breath. When it's over, he stays still for a second--his eyes fixed and expression unreadable.
He doesn't let himself watch it back, knowing he'll redo it over and over again--more than he's already done. Instead he forwards the video to Robin.
It was almost anticlimactic, just a few clicks.
A few moments after he gets CC in an email to the casting crew by Robin, a robot responds back with a simple: "Thank you for your submission."
As soon as he opens that email, Robin calls him. He lets it ring twice before picking it up.
"Okay," Robin's voice fills in immediately, there's no greetings, no 'Hellos'. "First of all-- you did so good. Second of all, please tell me you didn't re-record it a million times."
Will lets off a soft laugh. "Only four."
"Four is healthy," she says after a beat of silence. "Four says confidence. Four screams 'former child actor with range,' not 'spiraling perfectionist.'"
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you actually think that's good? Or are you only saying it because you're contractually obligated to?"
"Both." She jokes. "But in all seriousness, the fact that you didn't oversell it works in your favor. You did what they asked for, you let the scene breathe."
Will closes his eyes at that, shoulders loosening a bit.
"And," She continues, ramping it back up, "before you ask--I did in fact triple-check the framing, lighting, all of it. No notes. You, my friend, are officially starting the waiting game."
"Fun." Will deadpans.
"Don't do that." She scolds.
"Do what? I'm not doing anything."
"You are--you're shutting down, letting anxieties overcome you."
"No I'm not."
"You so are."
"Okay, but I'm not going to be normal--this is like really important Robin."
"I understand, and I'll keep you updated daily."
"Okay."
There's a moment of silence that floods over them, Robin speaks up again, voice gentle: "You did amazing, Will. Like fan-fucking-tastic. Get some sleep. Goodnight."
"Thanks, Robin... goodnight." And with that the call ends.
Like Robin said, the waiting game has started.
Three weeks of non-stop playing.
True to her word, Robin calls daily. It's that same few words: "Nothing yet." Which is almost always followed up by reassurance. "No news is normal." "Casting moves slowly." "Blah blah blah..."
Will nods along, even when his stomach is in knots.
He keeps himself busy. He rehearses anyway, takes long walks. He jumps and races to accept every phone call. Some days he's certain, other days he's already grieving this loss.
By week three, he stops all of it. He blames it on him being too hopeful. Almost like I jinxed myself.
However, Sunday breaks the streak.
Brunch was his mother's idea--claiming he needed something grounded and normal. She moves around his kitchen with a careful purpose, it's still mothering to him in a small way. His older brother, Jonathan, sits stretched out on his couch, his hands missing the camera he always has. There's a quiet support he observes.
Unlike his brother, Robin can't sit still.
Her phone is clutched in her hands as she paces.
Once Joyce calls them all over the table, Robin's phone is sat face-up on the table, plate barely touched. She talks too fast, jokes too loudly.
Will's focused on the food in front of him, he shakily digs into the omelette as he listens to that chatter around him.
Half-way through, the phone buzzes.
Robin stops mid-story.
Staring at the screen, she slowly looks at Will. Her grin is immediate and uncontainable as she picks up.
She excuses herself from the table as she steps towards the couch.
"Robin Buckley speaking. Hi--yes, I'm with him right now. Mm--hmm. Okay. Oh--yes, yes."
Will watches from his seat, gripping his fork. His mom and Jonathan keep eating, but they're no longer talking.
Robin nods rapidly. "Oh yes. Totally. We'll gladly lock that in--Okay, thank you so much. Have a lovely day."
She hangs up and sits back down at the table, physically buzzing.
"Okay." She claps her hands together then turns to Jonathan. "Drum roll please."
Jonathan and Joyce both lightly drum on the table.
She points to Will. "You, Mr. Byers-- are officially moving forward."
The words don't register as his mom and brother get up and hug him.
The second the words hit, his chest gets tight and his ears start to ring. Moving forward repeats over and over again.
"Wait--" he starts, then stops. "You're serious?!"
Robin faux offense. "Deadly. I don't joke about callbacks."
At this, Will finally gives.
He lets out a shaky laugh as his mom releases him. He nods over and over again, eyes shining as he looks around.
"Okay," he whispers. "Oh my god--" He stands up.
Joyce makes a small, broken sound beside him.
She's back wrapping her arms around him, the hug tight like she's afraid he'll vanish again if she lets go.
"Honey," she whispers in his ear. "I'm so proud of you."
Will stiffens slightly, then breaks. A joyful sob escapes his mouth as he slightly spins his mother around.
Once he's done, he releases her and turns back toward his brother, who repeats the process.
Robin clears her throat, clearly wanting to jump up and down, but she's a professional. "Okay, okay. Loving the vibes--but time for business." She's back to scrolling through her phone. "We're talking availability, prep time, probably chemistry reads. How does Wednesday sound?"
Will's eyes widened, Wednesday was so soon. He thinks for a moment, dragging a hand down his face.
"I can do that," he says. "Wednesday is good."
He feels Joyce squeeze his shoulder. It's familiar.
Familiar.
For a moment, he's not 22, in his apartment.
He's a child again.
Sitting in a cramped hallway outside a casting office, his feet dangle slightly due to his height. He's waiting for his name to be called, his heart racing as he listens to other agents and parents coaching their kids.
He remembers when he first heard the term 'Callback.' He didn't know what it meant at the time--he only knew it meant they liked you.
That same feeling settles into him again, like a fire has been relit under him.
He smiles to himself. He's chased this feeling for years without realizing it. It wasn't fame nor attention. It was this spark, this promise. A thrilling yes.
The moment stretches on, surrounded by the same two people as before. He lets himself hold onto it, not letting it go.
Like a kid again.