❝ 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
[it chapt...
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vii. the token
BREAKING AND ENTERING, asit turned out, wasn't as easy as it looked in the movies. Verity knew, somehow, that whatever her token was, it was inside her childhood home, but first, she had to find a way in. She entered the garden, stealing glances every few seconds, paranoid that she was being watched. Sneaking around the side of the house, she paused - eyes drawn to a sprawling patch of ivy attached to the wall - then, a smirk grew on her lips. The hatch to the basement, obscured by ivy, was her ticket inside.
She chewed on her lip, knowing she had to act fast; something like this could have gone unnoticed back in New York, but here, if she was seen hanging around, the neighbours would definitely see. She remembered it all too well; the way the net curtains would twitch, a sight enough to make even the most reckless child turn tail and hide.
"Small towns," she muttered in disgust, shaking her head.
Not letting her guard down just yet, Verity worked quickly; scrabbling to remove the ivy, revealing the faded doors underneath, then, after straining to pry them open, hoisted herself over the edge, and dropped. Her feet hit the basement floor, and she cursed as the impact sent waves of pain through her legs. Straightening up, she blinked, eyes adjusting to this new environment, then, mouth opening as she looked around.
Aided by the soft rays of sun filtering through the hatch, she was able to find her way through the jumbled mess on the floor and to the stairs, which she knew led to the kitchen.
Memories came to mind as she ascended the steps, making her smile faintly. The way her mother had loved to bake, filling the home with the warm scent of bread and cakes; how, as a child, Verity had often curled up in the living-room with her father, entranced as he read to her.
She ran a hand along the flowered wallpaper, making her way out of the kitchen and to the stairs, lost in the echoes of the past. She had been lucky enough to have a good upbringing, she realised now. Juliette and Charlie Summers, who had not only read to her, taught her about the world outside, but most importantly, had listened to her. They had treated her like an equal. It was only later on when she encountered other people's parents, and found that they weren't all like hers.
As though in a trance, she continued upstairs, hesitating at the door of her old bedroom. Her hand had barely made contact with the door when it swung open, the creak of the hinges jarring in the eerie quiet. Verity's breath hitched in her throat - unsure of what sort of memories she would find in this empty place - before she stepped inside.
