❝ 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪'𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴
𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 ❞
or in which verity summers returns to derry after twenty-seven years, and finds that nothing is the same
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v. the clubhouse
VERITY COULD THINK OF NOTHING WORSE than waking up to another day in Derry, to open the lace curtains of her small room in the Townhouse and see - not a sprawling city like she had grown used to - but a quaint little street, where townsfolk would soon be chatting and browsing the candy-coloured shopfronts with ease. She had dragged herself out of bed with a groan, head pounding, her mouth feeling as though it was full of sawdust, cursing under her breath at the thought of what lay ahead. Putting it simply, she hated being back. It was as though the longer she stayed in her hometown, all of the pain, the trauma, the heartbreak, was creeping up, ready to pounce.
Stopping by the mirror on her way out the door, she winced at her reflection. The woman staring back at her looked exhausted; dressed in a pair of cuffed bluejeans, rumpled floral button-up, and boots, dark circles standing out harshly beneath hooded eyes.
She met Mike and the others outside, each person's pale demeanor a telltale sign that Verity had not been the only one who had gotten a rough night's sleep. Mike led them through the town until they reached Main Street, eerily quiet in the weak light of dawn. Passing through that oh-so familiar street, Verity recalled those summer days; the hours she had spent with Richie playing that dumb streetfighter game; cycling with Mike as he made his deliveries; and of course, the many days where it had been just her and Stan. Agents Summers and Uris, she remembered now, smiling fondly at the childhood nicknames.
They had been so comfortable in each other's company, she mused. Richie had often teased them for holding hands when they walked together, but they hadn't cared, not one bit. It was simply their thing. Stan and Verity, forever joined at the hip. Well, not anymore. she thought with a pang, bowing her head as she walked.
The wind blew around them, stirring up discarded newspapers and missing posters, making them shiver, and as they made their way out of town, under the train tracks, and to the woods, Verity thought back to another time, where a group of children had once walked where they tread now, exultant after their victory against the Bowers Gang. A strong wave of déja vù hit her, knocking her back to that hazy June day.
◇
They had tramped over the hill, laughing and whooping as the grass swished beneath them, tickling their bare legs as they went. The kids, an odd assortment altogether, walked in a line; Eddie leading the way, followed by Bill, Mike, Beverly, Ben, Stan, Verity, and Richie. The Losers club, finally complete, the eight of them together at last.
