"I've realized that..." he started, then took a shaky breath. "Earlier today, when Stanley pulled you aside... seeing you two so close and secretive, I hated it." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I don't like how others make you smile..." He traile...
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*•°Vanessa's POV°•*
The phone rang just after dawn, a shrill sound that shattered the uneasy peace I'd found after last night's terror. It was Stanley, his voice tight and urgent. "Bev needs us. Now. It's bad."
I didn't give it a second thought. I was out of my room and down the stairs in a flash, my heart already pounding with a new kind of fear.
"Hey, loser! Get back here!" Henry's voice snarled from the living room, where he was undoubtedly nursing a hangover. I ignored him, my hand closing around the front door knob.
"I said get back!" he roared, and I heard the creak of the couch as he got up.
I didn't look back. I yanked the door open, slammed it behind me, and sprinted for my bike. His furious yelling followed me into the morning air, but I was already pedaling, my legs pumping, putting as much distance between me and that house as possible.
I met up with the boys halfway to Beverly's place. Their faces were etched with the same worry I felt.
"Vanessa, you're here!" Eddie said, and the sheer relief in his voice sent a warm rush through me, momentarily eclipsing the anxiety.
The relief was short-lived, immediately replaced by their familiar bickering about the route.
"No, we gotta go through the alleyway," Stanley insisted, pointing.
"The alley takes way too long," Eddie shot back. I knew his real objection wasn't the time; it was the layer of grime and the specter of a thousand unnamed diseases lurking in the damp, confined space.
"No, the alley is so much faster," Stan argued.
"The alley is more dangerous, and it's disgusting," Eddie pointed out, his voice rising an octave.
"How is it more dangerous?" Stanley asked, genuinely perplexed.
"It smells like piss and it's gross! Just take the side streets for once," Eddie stated, digging in his heels. His stubbornness in the face of perceived filth was one of the things I'd always found oddly endearing.
"Oh my god, the side streets are the same! They smell like piss and shit!" Stanley retorted, his patience fraying.
"Okay. Okay," Eddie interjected, switching tactics. "Can you just tell me what she said exactly?"
It was the question we were all wondering.
"She didn't say anything," Stanley admitted, frustration clear in his voice. "She just said that you guys need to hurry over."
"She didn't say anything. Okay. Okay." Eddie's nervous repetition did nothing to calm my own nerves.
We finally arrived at Beverly's apartment building. She was waiting outside, pacing. The moment she saw us, she ran over, her eyes wide and frightened.
"You made it. I... I need to show you something," she said, her voice trembling.
"What is it?" Bill asked.
"More than we saw at the quarry?" Richie quipped.
"Shut up! Just shut up, Richie!" Eddie snapped, his own anxiety making him sharp. I instinctively reached out and rubbed his back, feeling the tense muscles under my palm.
"My dad will kill me if he finds out I had boys in the apartment," Beverly whispered, her gaze darting toward the building's entrance.
"We'll leave Richie as our look-out," I suggested quickly. The others nodded in immediate, unanimous agreement.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What if her dad comes back?" Richie yelled after us as we started to follow Beverly inside.
"Do what you always do," Stanley called back without turning around. "Start talking."
The inside of Beverly's apartment was dim and quiet, heavy with a silence that felt wrong. The hallway was darker still, shadows pooling in the corners. I reached for Eddie's hand, and his fingers laced through mine, gripping tightly.
"In there," Beverly whispered, pointing a shaking finger at a closed door at the end of the hall.
"What is it?" Ben asked, his voice hushed.
"You'll see."
"Are you taking us to your bathroom?" Eddie's nervous ramble began, a defense mechanism against the unknown. "I just want you to know 89% of the worst accidents in homes are caused in bathrooms. I mean, that's where all the bacteria and fungi are, and it's not really a sanitary pl-"
Bill pushed the door open.
The metallic, coppery smell hit me first. Then the sight.
I gagged, my free hand flying to my mouth. The bathroom was a slaughterhouse. Blood was everywhere-smeared across the walls, sprayed on the ceiling, dripping from the sink and mirror in thick, congealing rivulets.
"I knew it," Eddie choked out, his face a mask of horror as he fumbled for his inhaler. I tightened my grip on his hand, my own stomach roiling, and rubbed his back with the other, trying to anchor us both.
"You see it?" Beverly's voice was small, desperate.
"Yes," I breathed, the word tasting like bile.
"What... what happened in here?" Stanley asked, his voice trembling.
"My dad couldn't see it," Bev said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I thought I might be crazy."
"Well, if you're crazy, then we're all crazy," Ben said softly, staring at the horrific scene.
"We c-can't leave it like this," Bill said, his voice firm despite the stutter. He was the first to step into the crimson-soaked room.
And so, we got to work. We cleaned. We scrubbed blood off tiles, wiped it from porcelain, and mopped it from the floor. The air grew thick with the cloying, sickly-sweet smell of bleach trying and failing to overpower the scent of blood. I stayed glued to Eddie's side, handing him clean rags, my presence a steadying force as he worked with a determined, pale-faced grimace, a spare bandana tied over his nose and mouth like a surgeon's mask.
When it was finally done, Stanley, Eddie, and I took the heavy, blood-soaked trash bags out to the dumpster. The silence between us was heavy, but Stanley broke it with a knowing, sideways glance.
"So," he began, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "I noticed you two are a little more touchy than usual. Did you finally fess up and confess your feelings?"
I shook my head, a small, weary smile touching my own lips. "You just have to be the more observant one, don't you?"
"Of course," he said, bumping my shoulder gently. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be called your best friend."
"Wait," Eddie said, looking genuinely confused as he tossed a bag into the dumpster. "He knew you liked me?"
"Yep," I said, winking at Stan. "Stan knows all my secrets."
"So you can stop glaring at me when I'm being affectionate towards her," Stanley told Eddie, his tone light and reassuring. "We're only friends."
Eddie's ears turned bright red, and he looked away, thoroughly embarrassed. "I wasn't glaring," he mumbled, but the small, relieved smile he tried to hide told a different story. In the midst of the horror, our little secret felt like a tiny, defiant flame.
