'whenever he calls my name (sounds so sweet and plain)' by ourladyofresurrection on ao3
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Eddie noticed two things upon returning home from work:
a) Richie wasn't waiting by the door, practically ambushing him before he could even set his suitcase down like he always did.
b) the house was completely silent.
Now, living with Richie meant that the moments of silence in Eddie's life were few and far between. It's generally accepted that if Richie is ever quiet, you should be running for your life, because someone or something probably shut him up in a very permanent way. So this heady stillness did nothing to placate the tightly-wound nerves already coiling in the pit of Eddie's stomach after a long day at work. A slew of negative scenarios, each one more bloody and gruesome than the last flitted spasmodically through Eddie's churning mind. Had he left the stove on, branding himself with third degree burns so horrific it singed through his nerves?
Eddie nervously sniffed the air, like a deer scenting for fire. Distantly, he remembered that article he read about smoke you couldn't even smell, the kind that could kill you in seconds.
As he took another step forward, he was presented with another horrific possibility.
What if some gang had broken in and taken him hostage? What if Eddie was walking straight into their trap right now? Thoughts of having his organs harvested and sold on the black market loomed morbidly over the forefront of his brain.
They were living in Southern California, the odds of brutal gang activity was more likely in New York, back where Eddie used to live. Oh God, what if Myra tracked them down and was choking Richie with her massive hands?
She was capable of it for sure. Richie might have a good two inches on her, but she had over two hundred pounds of an edge.
He sourly remembered the way she all but sat on him to try to get him to stay when he first got Mike's call from Derry. If she did it once, she could surely do it again, driven by sheer, shrill indignance and the fear of being by herself.
"How dare you leave me alone, Eddie? How dare you leave me to fend for myself! You're a bad son and a terrible husband! Eddie, Eddie, Eddie—"
He could practically feel her plump hands groping him, seducing him with sweet tears and desperate pleas. Dragging him back to the bed where she would barricade him like a security guard, weakening him under promises that he was delicate and frail, and, oh, Eddie, you won't survive out there!
Goddammit, Tozier, he thought lividly, walking faster now, towards the bedroom, where the door was propped slightly ajar.
And that's when he heard the noise.
A high-pitched keening noise, nearly muffled by the near-asthmatic gasp of breath that followed closely behind, the sounds almost tripping over each other in such close succession. At first, Eddie attributed it to the sure sound of his husband gasping for breath, lying half-dead somewhere on the floor. He reached for an aspirator that wasn't there, cursing lowly, hand fumbling for the doorknob when—
