"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°•°
"Mike!" I screamed, my voice tearing through the chaotic noise as we burst into the library. The second our cars had screeched to a halt outside, the sounds of a struggle from within had sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through us.
The scene that greeted us was one of nightmare-fuel chaos. Mike was on the floor, grimacing in pain, one hand clutched to his chest, blood welling between his fingers. And beside him-Henry Bowers. Lifeless. An axe buried deep in the back of his skull. The metallic scent of blood hung thick in the dusty air. To my left, Richie was on his hands and knees, violently retching onto the worn carpet.
"Hey," Mike managed, his voice strained.
"Hey. Oh, my god," Beverly breathed, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Are you all right?" Ben asked, his eyes wide with alarm.
"No, I'm not all right!" Richie spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was ashen, his glasses askew. "I just fucking killed a guy!" The confession was a raw, horrified shout that echoed off the silent bookshelves.
"I was talking to Mike," Ben said gently, though his own shock was palpable.
Mike finally looked up, his eyes glazed with pain, but his focus was elsewhere. "Where's Bill?" he demanded, ignoring Ben's question entirely.
"You can call him now and find out," I interjected, my tone leaving no room for argument. My nurse's instincts had already taken over, pushing the horror aside. "But first, let me treat that hand before it gets infected." I fixed him with a stern look, the one I usually reserved for non-compliant patients. He opened his mouth to protest, but a single sharp glare from me had him sinking into a nearby chair without another word.
I worked quickly, my movements efficient from years of practice. Clean the wound, apply antiseptic, wrap it securely. As I fastened the bandage, Mike was already dialing Bill, the phone trembling slightly in his uninjured hand.
"Bill, we're all at the library. Where are you at?" Mike listened for a moment, and his body went rigid. "No, no, no, no, no. Just-just come here. We can talk about the plan." His voice rose in desperation. "No! Bill! Bill!" He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it in defeat. "He hung up. He's going to fight it alone."
"What?" The word was ripped from me. Alone? After everything?
"Alone," Mike repeated, his voice turning grim, almost angry. He snatched the strange, tribal artifact from Richie's loose grip. "It's about the group. The ritual doesn't work without the group. Doing it together is the only reason it would work." The way he clutched the object, the intensity in his eyes-it felt like he was holding something back, a crucial piece of the puzzle he wasn't sharing.
"Mike, did he tell you where he was going?" Ben pressed.
But it was Beverly who answered, her voice certain and cold. "If he really wants to kill Pennywise, there's only one place he'd go."
"The same place the ritual needs to be performed," Mike confirmed grimly.
A beat of dreadful silence hung over us.
"Oh, we're not gonna like this, are we?" Eddie whispered. My heart clenched at the sound. I reached for his good hand, lacing my blood-stained fingers through his. The gauze on his cheek was a stark white reminder of how close I'd already come to losing him today. His grip was tight, almost painful, but I held on just as fiercely. Together, I thought. Always together.
Ben let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the last twenty-seven years. "Fuck."
We ran. Abandoning the cars, we pounded through the streets of Derry, a single unit of shared terror and resolve. The Neibolt house loomed ahead, a crooked silhouette against the gloomy sky. And there he was. Bill, on the porch, his hand reaching for the doorknob.
"Bill!" Beverly cried out.
He spun around, his face a mask of anguish and determination. "No! No, you guys, no! I s-started all this. It's my fault you're all here. This curse, this fucking thing that's inside you all... it started growing the day I made you go down to the Barrens. Because all I cared about was finding Georgie." His voice broke on his brother's name. "Now, I'm gonna go in there, and I don't know what's gonna happen, but I can't ask you to do this."
Beverly didn't flinch. She simply bent down, her movements deliberate, and wrenched a long, rusted spike from the crumbling fence. "Well, we're not asking you, either."
"Bev-"
"We didn't do it alone then, Bill," Mike stated, his voice firm, cutting off Bill's protest. "So we're not doing it alone now."
"Losers stick together," Ben added, the old mantra taking on a new, deadly serious weight.
Another silence fell, this one charged with the electricity of our shared fear and resolve. It was Eddie who finally broke it, his voice smaller than usual but steady. "So, does somebody want to say something?"
Bill almost smiled then, a faint, sad ghost of his childhood self. "Richie said it best when we were here last."
"I did?" Richie asked, his trademark bravado trying and failing to mask his terror. "I don't want to die?"
"Not that."
"You're lucky we're not measuring dicks?"
"No."
A flicker of memory crossed Richie's face, followed by a hard, grim determination that wiped away all traces of his usual humor. His eyes met Bill's. "Let's kill this fucking clown?"
Bill nodded, the smile finally reaching his eyes. "Let's kill this fucking clown."
Richie straightened his glasses, his voice dropping to a low, vicious snarl that was a promise and a battle cry all in one.
