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Chris pedaled after the boys, feeling the wind rush past her face as a Pixies song blared in her headphones, drowning out their conversation about the new game at the arcade.
Stan was the first to break off from their entourage, leaving them with a quiet goodbye as he swerved toward the temple where his father waited for him every day. Next were Eddie and Richie. They often biked home together, sometimes staying overnight at each other's houses - though, Richie's household saw Eddie the most. Eddie's mother would rather be caught dead than have another child with a foreign immune system stay overnight with her son. Bill was always the last to leave, though Chris had the farthest way to go. He wasn't much of a conversationalist, but by that time she always found herself too spent to talk anyway.
By the time she made it to Kansas Street, the tape in her walkman was nearly ready to repeat itself. Her legs were about ready to cramp up, and a steady sheen of sweat was plastered across her forehead. Strolling along the sidewalk with her bike at her side, she approached the neatly trimmed lawn where her house sat - a modest thing, its brick exterior the same color as every other house on the block with only minor differences.
As she passed her mailbox, something caught her eye.
Whatever it was was just a glint of light reflecting the sun, standing still at the end of the block. At any other time it would've been something she ignored. But there was something compelling about it, like it wanted her look at it. Like she was a magnet and someone was dangling a piece of metal in front of her. So like any magnet, she turned.
Chris' grip on her bike's handles strengthened. Standing at the end of the block, right at the corner of Kansas and Foster, was Dean.
He was just there. She couldn't see his face - he was turned away from her - but he was wearing that gaudy-colored windbreaker he was so fond of only because he bought it with his own delivery money. The same one he had been wearing the day he vanished into thin air. And he was seated upon a bike, his bike. What struck her the most was that neither had no hint of a scratch on them.
"Dean?" she called, unbelieving.
He didn't say a word, only pedaling away from her and down the route she had sent him on all those months ago.
"Wait!"
Not wasting a second, she sped after him, picking up speed but not seeming to close any distance between them. Her lungs burned as she took in heavy breaths, the houses around her blurring into nothing but muddy colors and shapes.
Just when she thought he would keep going, he came to a stop, cornered in a cul de sac. He didn't seem phased by the chase at all. If she didn't know any better, it almost looked like he wasn't even breathing.
"Kid, stop!" she shouted, screeching to a halt. "Stop.." she muttered, winded and eyes stinging.
Dropping her bike on the sidewalk, she ran, ignoring the screaming in her legs. Dean was still as unmoving as a statue, and once again he was turned away from her. As she drew closer, something in the back of her mind made her hesitate. Like an internal voice had just told her to cool it - turn around, even. She found herself wanting to listen to the little voice in the back of her head. It just made sense, she just couldn't explain why.
