floating// v.criss

01 - the beginning

   The day that Georgie Denbrough went missing was a day that I would never forget. It started off normal. Just like any other day in Derry, Maine. And then the clouds shrouded the skies and and the sky seemed to open up as if someone had burst a dam and the water was over flowing out through the clouds.

I was in the Denbrough house the morning it happened. I was hanging out with my best friend Bill on a morning all the other guys in my friend group were busy. I knew Bill was faking being sick, but no one could judge him. His little brother Georgie was a fireball of endless energy, always talking up a storm and wanting to play a game. Most times Bill would play with him, but he was tired that morning and just wanted a break. So he played sick, just for today. Just for today.

  I helped Bill make Georgie a little paper boat, and I watched the young boy run down the street after it as the small paper boat drifted down the side of the pavement with the flow of the water. I'd remembered doing the same thing with Bill when we were younger, years and years younger, and I'd remembered doing so with Georgie a couple months ago as well.
I'd grown up with the Denbroughs, and Bill and Georgie were like my little brothers—me only being a year older than Bill and and eight more than seven year old little Georgie.

The last time I saw Georgie Denbrough I was seated in a desk chair next to Bill, a book of his in my hand, and a blanket stolen from the end of his bed draped over my shoulders. I was only half paying attention as I glanced out the window and down to the road to the small boy in a yellow coat and green rain boots. I'd seen him wave and smile brightly, and I'd waved in return, still smiling down at my book minutes later.

Bill and I would go on to have a long and boring conversation about school assignments and essays due back that following Monday, and soon a half hour would roll by. And then another. It would be another ten minutes after this when Mrs. Denbrough would call us downstairs while we were lacing up our shoes to go look for the young boy, no longer going to wait with how bad the rain was and the time that had passed.

The tone of Mrs. Denbroughs voice was enough to make me and Bill share a worried glance. Maybe Georgie had come home with a cough. Maybe Georgie had lost his rain coat and came through the door soaking wet. Maybe Georgie was upset Bill or me didn't go with him. Never, never, had I even thought something this worse could've happened to such a sweet and adorable little boy.

Together, we walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Denbrough was hurriedly tying up her shoes, wearing a rain jacket she'd hastily tossed on, and nearly yelling into the phone at her ear.

"You need to come home. Theres been an accident. Meet me at the corner of Witcham and Jackson."
Accident. Georgie could've got hit by a car. That was the only explanation that seemed even the slightest bit possible. Whoever had hit Georgie had no clue what was coming for him. I swore I'd make them pay. That was my first thought. Then my second was absolute and utter fear. Was he okay? Was he at the hospital? Did they catch who did it?
And my third thought was hate. Hate toward myself. This was my fault. Bill wanted a break, but I still could've gone with him. I could've told him to get out of the road. I could've gone out in the rain.

"Bill, Amber." She catches sight of us. And for the first time I see tears in her eyes. Something worse. Just in that look so much was said. I looked between her and Bill. Tears had showed up in his eyes.
"M-Mom.." He says. He takes step toward her and she hangs up the phone.

"George fell down a storm drain. The rain, the storm swept him in. The police are down there right now. You guys stay here."

"What?"
"W-What?" Bill and I exclaim together.
I place a hand over my mouth, muffling the sound that didn't come out. No. No, that couldn't have happened. But couldn't it? Georgie was seven. He was small. We was fragile. My gosh he was fragile. I remember him falling and scraping his knees. This—this was insane. I couldn't even imagine... A storm drain? Those things drop down hundreds of feet into concrete. There's no way Georgie would still be alive. I choked and tears flooded my eyes.

Mrs. Denbrough had already left when I came back to my senses. Bill was looking at me. I faintly heard the car engine start in the driveway, and then the hum of it fade in the distance. I hear the sirens of an ambulance and police cars pass by the house, and then fair. My father was probably among them.

I'd avoided Bill's gaze up until then, but slowly, I turned my head toward him. He's staring at the door, jaw fallen slightly, and silent tears falling down his cheeks.

My voice shook. "B-Bill.." I tried my best to speak, something, anything to console him, anything at all. "Bill, maybe.."
"It's m-m-my f-fault." He avoids my gaze, wiping his eyes frantically.
I take a step toward him and he takes too back from me. Shaking his head.
"I-I can't—I w-won't believe i-it." He steps even closer to the door, and I can tell he's having an inter-turmoil battle.
He shakes his head and I can tell that he has made up his decision as he runs out the front door and out into the pouring down rain.

I didn't give it any hesitation to run out into the raging storm after him, not pausing for a rain coat or umbrella, not having the time or the care to get one. All that matter at this moment was Georgie and Bill. Bill, my best friend, like my brother, and Georgie, the sweet and little innocent Georgie.

The rain was like a million little knives of icy pain stabbing at my skin, instantly
Soaking my old sweater. My feet pounded against the pavement as I ran, trying my best to keep up with Bill.
I may have been a year older than him, but he had an extra six inches on me in height.
The thunder clapped over and over as I called for him to slow down, and he did, once we'd reached Jackson and Witcham street.

I pull to a stop right next to him, my eyes trained on the scene a head of me.

The whole street was blocked off by tape and police cars and flooded with people with umbrellas and rain coats. A few had microphones and were instructing people over the loud thunder. There was an ambulance set to the right of the street, and I quickly realized that storm drain was just behind it, crowded with many officials, and among them, the neighbor lady, Mrs. Denbrough and my dad.

My father was talking to Mrs. Denbrough all concerned like he usually does, but know one knows how he is actually under the roof of our home.

I look away from him, and follow Bill even closer to the storm drain. Through a crack in the group, we both stand on our top toes trying to see over and past all the tape.

It was raining hard, but all the rushing water had yet to wipe away the memory of what had happened to innocent little Georgie.

I gasped at the sight of the blood coating the outside of the storm drain. Oh my gosh. I had at least wished that the little boy didn't hurt as he died the death he shouldn't have had, but by the looks of the blood, something horrible had happened right before he went into it.

Why was is him? I could've been there.

My eyes catch sight of a flickering image in the darkness of the storm drain. I squint. Could it be? But how could he have been there? Georgie... I start forward.
My dad, standing right ahead of the storm drain now, leaned down and placed a flashlight in the dark opening, glancing in.  He didn't react other than scanning every inch. But I stood there, in absolute terror as I see a-a clown? Confusion fills me at the clown. He's looking back at me, blue eyes looking into my green eyes. I can make out his strange red and white makeup and orange hair, and the dark red splotches all over his face that weren't a part of his makeup. It was blood. Georgie's blood. The clown smiles. The sinister grin, and he waves at me.

I stumble back and fall, scraping my hands on the concrete beneath me. My heart was pounding in my ears. And I looked down at my now stinging hands and then back up, and the clown was gone. Just gone—like I'd imagined it.

I let out a breathe of relief, glad that it was just a figment of my imagination, and I instantly forget it as I look back around me at the reality of it all.

I scan the whole area.

No little boy in a yellow rain coat. Not smiling little Georgie. Just Bill and his mothers ragged cries of horror and pain.

Now, and only now, that the full truth had dawned on me—I allow myself to cry, my tears hidden by the cold rain.