mixtape (reddie)

Chapter 47

"Here, this might help," Eddie had said, shoving the items into Richie's hand. "I kept it because nobody else deserved to have it. Bill got your tapes, though. But that... that was yours. Your secret weapon, I guess. It belongs to you, I'm not going to hold onto it anymore."

Then, he shut his locker and ran across the hall to where Henry was waiting, spinning his keychain around on his fingers absently. When Richie looked at the two, Eddie laughing and looking up at Henry, he made eye contact with his childhood friend.

Instead of a scowl or a glare, Henry just nodded towards him in acknowledgment, then looked down at Eddie and smiled at whatever it was the little one was saying.

They walked away, but Richie didn't feel bad about it. Henry is adjusting to Eddie talking to Richie again, he's not controlling either of the two from seeing each other. Maybe he has changed, maybe he hasn't. As long as he's done hurting people, hurting Eddie, that's all Richie could ask for.

Now, Richie sits on the edge of Bill's bed, his thumb stroking the edge of his walkman. He hasn't held one in years, and he certainly never thought that he would get to be reunited with the very first one that served as a surrogate for his love towards music. He's thankful that Eddie kept it, even if it were for selfish reasons.

"Alright, let's see," Bill exhales, dragging out a large shoebox from his closet. "This one's yours, Rich. I've got tons others, though."

Richie watches the girl slide off the bed next to him to kneel next to the shoebox, flipping the lid open with her nimble fingers. Richie doesn't say much to her, he's not sure how to act now that he knows the truth. He's not mad at Eddie for telling him, in fact, he's glad. He doesn't want to be blind to the dangers of a murderer, even if she was once his best friend.

God... I gave her a switchblade. A fucking knife, he thinks to himself, worry setting in. What if she goes on a killing spree using that knife? What if it's tied back to me? What if I'm put back into captivity after finally escaping? I'll never make it to my eighteenth birthday, not at this rate.

"You listened to ABBA?" Beverly scoffs, sorting through the tapes inside the shoebox carelessly. "Get a grip, man. Disco blows."

"Hey," Bill turns around, pointing a hanger towards his girlfriend. "You watch your mouth, we are a disco family in this household."

Beverly puts her hands up in surrender but then begins sorting the tapes into two piles. Good and bad. Richie watches her uneasily, afraid to even have her in the same house as him.

Richie watches her hands, imagining them covered in bruises from self defense. The last time he saw her before he got sent away, she had a sprained ankle and a black eye. Then, he got on that train, and she became a killer just a mere four days later.

Richie spots a tape he recognizes from the handwritten cover, the plastic casing scratched as if it's been well traveled with. He stands up, approaching Beverly's stacks and watches her read the track listing. She looks at her good pile, then at her bad. Before she can make that judgement, Richie holds his hand out to ask for it.

She looks up from where she's kneeling on the floor, trying to register Richie's request. As she places the tape in his hands, Richie feels her fingertips brush his, and he wonders if that was the hand covered in blood or the one still holding the back of the toilet seat.

"I'm gonna go get some fresh air," Richie declares, inserting the tape into the Walkman with ease. He detangles the headphones that look like they haven't been used in years, but the foam around the ear pieces smell like the cough syrup of the Kaspbrak home. It's comforting in a way.

Bill waves him off, but Beverly watches the boy leave the room with conspicuous eyes.

"Isn't that odd?" She asks Bill, turning back to her hands sorting out a tape from The Cars.