Bloody Noses & Crack'd Crowns

Chapter 29

I DO NOT OWN THIS STORY. All credit goes to TheWeaverofWorlds on ao3

The next morning at the hospital, Bill woke to find a strange man beside him.

"W-who are you?" The words were groggy and thick with sleep.

"Hi, Bill. Name's Wentworth, I'm Richie's dad."

"What are you doing here?"

"Was waiting for you to wake up. How much do you remember from last night?"

Bill closed his eyes as he tried to think, he remember the lights how they had burned his eyes. The way his heart had pounded in a way that was both foreign and entirely him. How that otherness had frightened him, but how he craved it too. The taste of salt in his mouth, a mixture of his sweat and blood, and the bell. The ringing was perhaps what he remembered best, it was as if it lay buried within his tinnitus and the two could not be separated. But how could he say all that to this stranger?

"Not much."

Wentworth nodded. "That's alright. We got them, Bill. Robert Gray is being questioned by the FBI as we speak."

Bill tried to sit up, but Wentworth wouldn't let him. "Steady there."

"Where are the others?"

"Currently? They're visiting Mike as he is about to be discharged into his godfather's care. I told them I would wait with you here."

"And G-Georgie?"

"He's going to be alright, Bill. He stayed with us last night."

Bill brought the back of his arm to his eyes to wipe away the dampness there. The relief which flooded his body shook him. They were out. He did not know what would come next, but it would not be Robert. Bill scrubbed his face roughly with his good hand. He turned to find that Wentworth had once more picked up his book so as Bill could have a moment to himself.

"Thank you," Bill said, his voice choked by an emotion he could not define – to define it would limit it and thus do it a great disservice.

Wentworth set his book down, "you are very welcome."

Once Bill was able to manage his emotions a bit more he studied Wentworth. The professor looked stunningly unlike a professor, which Bill supposed made sense as it was a Sunday. The lanky man before him, was folded as much as he could so as to fit into the small visitor's chair the hospital provided. He was wearing blue jeans and a faded college hoodie and ball cap. On his lap Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House. Wentworth caught Bill eyeing the faded book and asked, "have you read it?"

Bill nodded.

"Really? For school?"

Bill shook his head, "my mom. She loved it. I loaned it from a library in Vegas to feel closer to her."

Wentworth's expression didn't immediately change to pity as Bill might have expected, instead it was one of profound understanding. "And did you feel closer to her?"

Bill shrugged. "I don't know. Not really. It wasn't what I was expecting."

Wentworth's lips quirked, but he said nothing, inviting Bill to continue.

"The way the house possessed Eleanor, it wasn't as scary as I thought it would."

"Ah."

"It was like slipping into a pool of water. You think you know how deep it goes, but it's only after you've been swimming for awhile that you realize you're drowning or perhaps you've been caught in a riptide, and by then there's nothing you can do. It's too late. And in some ways that makes it worse. Because you can't be saved. No matter how hard you swim, you'll only drown faster."