"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°•°
We practically fell out of the restaurant, the night air doing little to cool the panic burning under our skin. The group huddled on the sidewalk, a collection of shaken adults trying to look like we hadn't just been terrorized by sentient baked goods.
"That's what Pennywise does, right? He fucks with us. So, Stanley's probably fine," Eddie stated, his voice tight with a hope he didn't feel. His grip on my hand was like a vise.
"Hey, Mike. Do you have Stan's number?" Beverly asked, her voice trembling slightly as she pulled out her phone.
"Yeah," Mike said, his face grim.
"Hey, Richie!"
A small voice cut through the tension. A little boy stood a few feet away, looking up at us with an unnervingly calm expression.
We all froze.
"How'd you... How'd you know my name?" Richie asked nervously, pulling his hands from his pockets.
"The fun's just beginning," the boy said, a smile playing on his lips that was far too knowing for a child. "Right?"
"What he said, is it..." Eddie whispered to me, his body tensing even further.
"Listen. You think this is funny? All right?" Richie's voice began to rise, his fear morphing into anger. "Think this is some sort of game, huh? Well, fuck you, all right?"
"Richie, be careful, okay?" I warned him, seeing the genuine alarm starting to show on the boy's face.
"Fuck you! I'm not afraid of you!" Richie yelled, stepping forward and grabbing the boy's jacket.
"The fun's just beginning. The line from your act, dude. I'm a fan," the kid stammered, his bravado crumbling into childish fear. I had a feeling he'd just become a former fan.
"Are those your parents?" Richie demanded, pointing to a couple settling their bill inside.
"Yeah," the boy said, just as his father called his name from the doorway.
"You want a picture?" Richie asked, his anger deflating as quickly as it had flared.
"I think I'm good," the kid mumbled, scurrying away to his family.
"Okay, cool. He's a good kid," Richie muttered, running a hand over his face. We all stood there for a moment, collectively exhaling before turning to leave.
"Jesus, Richie. You don't remember a line from your own show?" Ben asked as we moved toward the parking lot.
"I don't write my own material," Richie admitted.
"I fucking knew it! I fucking knew it!" Eddie yelled, slapping Richie on the arm. The brief moment of normalcy was immediately swallowed by the reason we were out here.
In the parking lot, Beverly put her phone on speaker. The ringtone seemed absurdly loud in the quiet night.
"Hello, Mrs. Uris? My name's Beverly Marsh. I apologize for calling, but I'm an old friend of your husband's."
"You lied to us. That's not okay," Eddie said, turning on Mike, his face a mask of betrayal.
"Yeah, first words out of your mouth should have been like, 'Hey, man. You want to come to Derry and get murdered?'" Richie chimed in, his voice sharp. "'Cause then I would have said no."
"Guys," Ben said, trying to quiet them so we could hear the phone.
"Fucking entrapment, man," Richie muttered.
Then her voice came through the speaker, soft and shattered. "Oh... he passed."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Tears welled instantly in my eyes.
"When did it happen?" Beverly asked, her own voice cracking as she fought to keep it steady.
"Yesterday. It was horrible, the way he died. His wrists. In the bathtub."
A horrific image flashed in my mind: Stanley, our meticulous, orderly Stan, in a tub of pink-tinged water. I stumbled, my legs going weak. Eddie's arm shot out to steady me.
"I'm sorry. I have to go," Patty Uris whispered.
"We're all very sorry, Patty," Beverly managed to say before the line went dead.
"Stanley," Eddie breathed, beginning to pace. "Pennywise knew. He knew before we did." The reality of it was suffocating. I knew I wouldn't sleep properly for weeks.
"We have to stop him. I have a plan," Mike said, his voice thick with grief and resolve.
"I got a plan," Richie shot back, throwing his hand in the air. "Getting the fuck out of Dodge before this ends worse than one of Bill's books. Who's with me?"
Without hesitation, Eddie grabbed my hand and raised it with his. "We made a promise to each other," Mike pleaded.
"Let's unmake the promise," Richie interrupted, his tone final.
"Richie, other people are gonna die," Ben said, trying to appeal to his conscience.
"Other people die every day, man! We don't owe this town shit! Plus, I just remembered I grew up here, like, two hours ago. So, I'm fucking leaving. Fuck this."
Richie turned and marched toward his car. Eddie pulled me with him toward ours. "I'm sorry, man," Eddie called back to Mike. "We're with Richie."
"Eds, Nessa, please," Mike said, his voice breaking.
"Listen. What? We stay, we die, that's it?" Eddie said, opening the passenger door for me. "I'm gonna go back to the Inn, we're gonna pack up our shit, and I'm driving us home, so that I can spend my free time with my wife. I'm sorry, man. Good luck."
He got in, started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot without a backward glance. The silence in the car was heavier than any we'd ever shared.
"We're really going home?" I asked, my voice small. My mind was a whirlwind of fear, guilt, and grief.
"You think we should stay?" Eddie asked, his eyes fixed on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"Yeah. No. I'm not sure, okay?" I said with a sigh, turning to look out the window at the sleeping, cursed town of Derry. The short drive to the inn felt like a funeral procession.
