mixtape (reddie)

Chapter 40

Richie stands in the center of his bedroom, looking around at all the faint lines on the bedroom walls where picture frames once were. A dust has settled in this room, a dust as fine as cremated ashes.

Richie had originally thought that he was going to be sleeping on a couch, or maybe down in the basement, but Zack said that a year or two back the basement had flooded and made it inhabitable. The carpets has been torn up, the wood paneling stripped from the walls, the furniture taken to the Goodwill. All that remains down there are the trapped memories of a truth or dare game played between a bunch of fifteen year olds a long, long time ago.

Richie's already unpacked, there wasn't much to unpack, really. He has four shirts, two pairs of pants, and just the one jacket currently hugging his body. Sharon was a little disappointed that the family pack of hangers she bought in anticipation of having another teenage boy fill up the closet were only going to waste, so she promised to take the boys up to Bangor this weekend for new clothes.

"Hey, Richie, I'm goin' down to the parlor to get some pizza, you wanna come with?" Bill announces his presence, leaning in through the open doorway.

Richie jumps a little, his heart easy to scare these days. He turns, seeing Bill all dressed in scarves and gloves, his blue eyes blinking patiently.

"The parlor?" Richie asks, his voice as soft as the gentle snow pirouetting to the ground outside.

"Yeah," Bill grins. "They got a TV set up and play MTV nonstop. It's pretty rad."

"Um..." Richie looks around, nervous. His bedroom is the shell of Georgie, and he feels trapped in this haunting. Even so... Richie knows he has to face Derry eventually, he can't hide in this tomb forever. "Okay. Can I have a minute?"

"Sure thing, buddy," Bill Denbrough has an impossible smile. He is the caring leader, the understanding one. He is nothing like the harsh dictatorship that Richie's been living under for years.

Bill shuts the door behind him, and Richie lets out a trembling breath as soon as he's alone. He doesn't realize how tense he is until he finally relaxes, his muscles groaning and hurting in a symphony of pain. He looks around, the empty room lacking any other beds, and he realizes that he is entirely alone in this room. Nobody to watch him, nobody to prevent him from doing all the bad things that he thinks about. Absolute freedom.

Richie picks up one of the pillows off the bed, wrapping his arms around it and burrowing his face into the cushion. He sits on the edge of the foamy bed, his heart racing as he bends over to hide his face even more so. With the pillow smothering him, Richie lets the scream trapped inside his throat escape through the tight windpipes that have been blocked off for years.

He feels slightly liberated, a rush of relief washing over him in place of the pressure that he was once feeling. With the shackles removed from his wrists, he stands back to his feet and moves slowly across the creaky floorboards. Each time a the floor groans, Richie pauses, momentary fear flooding through his system. Then, coursing in just as fast as terror did, he feels the relief of remembering he's not at the orphanage anymore. He doesn't have to be quiet.

Bill is in his room, right across the hall from Georgie's- now Richie's. His door's left open, leaving Richie to see the way his new brother is fidgeting with his hair in the mirror. Bill has acquired a different style over the past few years, he's gone from knit sweaters and button ups to tattered shirts and neon windbreakers. He looks like he tries very hard to dress the way Richie used to, and Rich must say, the boy is pulling it off far better than he ever did.

Richie hovers in the doorway uneasily, his knuckles floating above the wooden doorframe like he's afraid to knock. Overcoming that fear, he quietly taps against the door, earning the attention of his friend.