#cause eddie says its late in the day. so it must be near the end of the day's timeline

[weirdostoner]

For the Love of a Monster Ch.2

Apparently I no longer know how to post on Tumblr without fucking it up. Great.

When Bill wakes the next morning, the sun is beginning to bake his room. The sweat that clings to his skin makes him shiver and yearn for a shower. He stretches and slides out of bed, grabbing clothes on the way to his bathroom. While Bill is in the shower, he attempts to shake the feeling he’s forgotten something important. What could be more important than a fucking killer clown?

Once Bill has showered and clothed himself, he heads down stairs. He’d noticed how quiet the house was, but the money and note left on the counter is what lets him know. His parents both left early and neither would be back until later in the evening. I guess it’s easier to avoid your kid when you don’t actually have to talk to them.

Before Bill gets too caught up in his thoughts, the phone rings, and he’s thankful for the distraction.

“H-hello?” he answers after the second ring.

“Fucking finally. I’ve tried calling you like a gazillion times!” Richie’s voice greets him.

“D-don’t be s-so dr-dramatic, R-r-richie.”

“Whatever,” Bill can clearly picture Richie rolling his eyes, “Are you ready fucknut?”

Bill’s sense of urgency returns, and he feels too exposed in the empty house. He’d wanted to eat something before leaving, but his hunger is gone.

“Y-yeah, leaving n-now,” he replies, jamming his feet in his shoes. “B-be there i-in f-fifteen.”  

He hangs up without waiting for a response, locking up on his way out. With his parents gone, he has no one to tell where he’ll be. They likely wouldn’t care either way.

OOOOO

 Pennywise watches, hidden in the shadows, as Billy leaves the house. It kept an eye on him, all through the night. Watched as It’s Billy tossed and turned in his sleep, dreaming dreams It had left with him. It had been there to hear him on the phone, and knew when Billy began to sense It. How It longed to show Itself, finally have It’s moment with the human. While It grew impatient, It knew the wait was over soon. It would sleep again, but before that, It would have Billy.

OOOOO

When Bill stops his bike at the hideout, six are already there. The sound of arguing is already clear from where he’s standing. He calls down into the entrance, not wanting to startle his friends, and the arguing stops.  

Probably Richie and Eddie.

“I-I’m c-coming down, g-guys,” he gives the others time to move out the way, and climbs down.  

“Hey Bill,” Mike greets him when he reaches the bottom. His large hand claps Bill on the back once and then is gone.

“H-hey,” he greets back, smiling lightly at his friend. He looks around at the others and sees they’ve all found things to do while waiting on him. One look at Richie and Eddie near the hammock let’s him know he’s right about the arguing.  

“I know,” Mike says, drawing back Bill’s attention, “It’s been years but everything still looks the same.” While his thoughts weren’t quite where his friend assumed, Bill agrees.

“You know, didn’t comment on it yesterday ‘cause I was fucking terrified, but this place is a wreck.”

Leave it to Richie to ruin the moment.

“We haven’t been here in a long time,” Bev speaks up, “It’s been, what, three years?”

“Well three years is plenty of time for this place to look like a shithole,” Richie retorts, cue eye roll.

While he’s missed his friends, Bill thinks it’s time to get down to why they came here. He finds an empty, sturdy (ish) bucket and sits down. When he looks back up, ready to speak, he startles to see they’re all looking at him. Even Richie and Eddie have stopped their bickering and are sitting next to each other in the hammock.

“S-so,” his voice comes out weaker than he’d expected, and he clears his throat, begins again.

“S-so, h-has a-anyone seen I-i-i-it?” He holds back for a moment, though isn’t sure why. He’d seen it, however fleeting the encounter. Something in him tells him to wait, and he listens.

“No,” Stan speaks up, and Bill is both surprised and relieved at his answer. Stan is the easiest target among them, and Bill is grateful It so far hasn’t gone after him.

“None of us have,” Ben says, and it surprises Bill for a different reason. “We talked about it, before you got here.”

“Have you?” Bev asks, and Bill knows he could answer honestly. Knows that he could tell them the truth and every person there would be behind him. No matter how scared they were themselves, they’d always have his back. He hesitates for a moment, but it isn’t hard to decide what to tell them.

“N-no,” he replies, but can’t bring himself to meet her eyes. He’s worried she’ll be able to tell he’s lying if he does. There must be a reason It only showed itself to Bill, though. Until he figures out why, he refuses to bring the people he cares about into it.

After he answers, it’s as if a collective breath being held is released. He allows himself a moment of sick guilt, then straightens his shoulders.  

“H-how a-about we g-go for a-a sw-swim?” he asks, knowing his friends would all agree, despite Eddie’s usual complaints. Sure enough, they’re already moving toward the exit. As far as distractions go, it’s a win.

When he walks past Mike, getting ready to climb out himself, he notices the way Mike looks at him. Maybe he’d seen Bill hesitate? Bill is a bit worried, but in the end only smiles. The moment breaks when he turns to climb. He hopes that Mike keeps whatever suspicions he might have to himself.

OOOOO

When Bill gets home late that afternoon, the house is empty. He’d expected nothing less, but the quiet of the house is a shock after the warm vibe he’s had all day. Despite feeling weighed down with guilt to start with, he’d enjoyed the time spent with his friends. Now, he flicks on several lights and turns the radio on in an attempt to chase the feeling.

He’s hungry, started to regret skipping out on breakfast two hours before. A familiar tune comes on the radio, and he dances and sings along a bit while he makes a couple sandwiches. He’s halfway through his second one when the lights cut off, radio going silent. The late afternoon sun is no longer enough light to see with, and his eyes take a moment to adjust to the dimness.  

He half ponders checking the breaker, but gets a familiar feeling that makes his hair stand on end. He knows nothing tripped the breaker, and he now has a much unwanted visitor. Though he’d been expecting something, the childish giggle still startles him. Out the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of yellow glide past the kitchen doorway.

 Why is it always Georgie?

Yet, he knows exactly why. He knows that it’s fruitless, but he will always chase after Georgie. For what he did, he’ll always try to save his baby brother. No matter how in vain.

There’s nothing in the living room when he gets there, but the sound of feet above his head leads him to the stairs. He hesitates there, remembers that this is exactly what It wants. Slowly, he climbs the stairs one at a time. Checking Georgie’s room first reveals that it’s empty. He makes his way over to his room, the door closed even though he knows he left it open. Turning the handle, Bill opens the door.

He’s standing in a corner, farthest away from Bill. The yellow slicker is filthy, a testament to the time the boy’s been gone. Bill holds back a gag when he realizes most of Georgie’s left arm is gone. All that’s left is a mangled, dripping mess. He pauses when he notices that Georgie is crying.

“G-Georgie? Wh-what’s wr-wr-wrong?” he inches closer to the boy, not wanting the other to run again.

“Save me, Billy,” Georgie cries, and the sound of his voice tears Bill’s heart in half.

“H-how, G-Georgie? H-how d-do I s-save you?”  

He gets no answer, and before he realizes it, Georgie is around and past him. Straight out the door. Bill turns to follow him, is now crying himself, but the door slams hard in his face.  

The sun had continued to set, and when Bill turns around, the room is on its way to complete darkness. He can just see the outline of something tall- huge-  making its way toward him. He’s aware that he should be scared, there’s only one thing it could be after all. Right now, he’s only angry.

“Hiya, Billy!” the shrill voice of Pennywise greets him, and the room lightens enough for his human eyes to see. At least It’s considerate? Billy wonders why It wants him to see It, instead of terrorizing him in the dark. It would be easier, he thinks, wouldn’t it?

“W-what d-do y-you want?”  

He’s deep in his anger. Mad about everything this creature has ever done to him, his friends- his family. He grits his teeth when It only smiles at him, amused that he’s mad. It moves closer to him, but Bill stands his ground. When It brings It’s hands closer to his face, he flinches, sure that he’s about to lose an eye. Or his life. He’s more than a little confused when, instead of mauling or killing him, It grasps his face gently. He almost wished It had killed him, the tenderness of the touch overwhelming.  

“Oh, it’s not about what Pennywise wants, Silly Billy,” here Bill swears It caresses his face, and he’s starting to freak out. “It’s what you want.”

“Wh-what do you me-mean?” Pennywise looks at him, and It smiles the widest smile Bill’s seen on It yet. He must be seeing things, but it almost looks genuine to him.  

“Don’t you want Georgie back, Billy boy?” It stares him in the eye, and doesn’t blink once. Bill is drawn into the gaze, caught up in the way Its eyes glow. It’s almost...beautiful. That word snaps him out of the daze. He’s horrified with himself for thinking something like that for a creature that can and has killed. Many, many times over.

“B-but G-Georgie’s d-d-dead,” just saying the words makes Bill feel like his chest will cave in. “Y-y-you ki-killed h-him!”

Pennywise takes a step back from him when he yells, but doesn’t release him. There is still a thin, long-fingered hand cupping his chin in a loose grip. The grip tightens for a second, and Bill thinks It’s going to choke him, but It loosens Its hand once again. Leaning back in, Pennywise brings It’s face close to his.  

“What if We said We can bring him back?” Bill doesn’t understand why It’s calling itself ‘we’, but glosses over that when he registers what It was saying.  

“B-bring him b-back…,” Bills voice sounds broken even to himself, and he tells himself that this is a trick. There’s no way It could bring his brother back from the dead. A part of him holds out hope, though. If It’s capable of all the other things he’s seen, why not this? He feels sick, but he asks anyway.

“How?”

It laughs at his question, the sound high pitched and far from any laugh he’s heard before.  

“That’s a secret, Little One, one too complicated for you to understand." Bill feels miffed, finds himself wanting to know all the secrets this being holds. He’s not sure why he cares, only that he’s curious. His doubt that It can do it is gone, though, somehow he knows that It’s not spouting nonsense. He’s intrigued, and It can tell. It grins, like It can read his mind. Can tell that he’s close to giving in.  

“We’ll give you Georgie, and We’ll even promise not to hurt your friends.”  

The words sound too good to Billy, he wonders why It would give him all this to begin with. A thrill shoots through his body when he realizes that it’s not going to be for free.

“W-what’s the catch?” he asks, wondering if he can accept whatever the creature throws at him. What would and wouldn’t he do to have his brother back? To ensure that his friends are safe from this monster?

“Why, Billy boy,” It leans in, lips close to his, and Bill thinks that It’ll kiss him. He tries not to think about the mix of dread and anticipation he feels.  

“You’ll come float with Us.”

[theateared]

What a Pretty Sight. ❜

Summary:  Grace tries to entice Edgar into staying.  Unbeknownst to her, Edgar has already decided to stay, and for reasons she isn’t privy to.

Warnings:  Sexual themes, general slowburn frustration.

                                                         _____   【 🞮 】   _____

    Come back soon, Eddie…  I want to see you tonight.

    The words had been running rings around his brain all day.  The more he thought about Grace Adler, the more frustrated he became.  He’d been all too prepared to walk away once he’d gotten his fill of her, but something kept him from leaving.  Though he tried to tell himself that he was clueless as to why, he knew exactly  -  he just hated to admit it.

    I love her.  I don’t just want to fuck her, I love her.

    Though he knew he should have kept his distance from then on, he’d been unable to.  Dinner dates and sweets;  starlit nights and open conversations;  picture shows and hand-holding, touching each other longingly at the back of the theatre;  dirty whispers and heaven-sent sighs of pleasure;  desperation from both sides  -  something that Edgar hadn’t bet on when he’d first started to pursue her.

    They had an inn of choice at this point whenever they wanted to spend nights together.  She refused to do it in the upstairs quarters of the tavern, and he couldn’t say that he was too fond of the idea either.  Somebody else could see you naked.  I don’t want them to see you like I do.  It was a modest little place, barely housing a bed, dresser and bathroom, but it suited their needs well.  As he entered the room, more than a little eager to see her, he set his eyes on a beautiful figure with a greeting that trailed into silence.

    “... don’t just stare, idiot,”   she muttered, though her eyes remained coyly on the floor as she let him look to his heart’s content.  Picking out flattering underwear sets was of particular interest to her now, and her effort wasn’t missed by her superior.  Thin red lace cupped her breasts expertly, fabric meeting only with tiny rows of crimson beads, the ornaments cool against her skin.  Her panties were simple, crafted from the same lace her bra was, though what could only be described as a baby pink veil trailed behind her.  To him, it made her look an intoxicating mix of innocent and devilish--  a dichotomous brand of beauty he was certain  that Grace Adler had single-handedly pioneered.  His heart began to beat hard in his chest as he drank in her effortless divinity.   “... do you…  like it?”

    He shrugged off his coat, approaching her.  He held his hands up, watching in silence as she automatically began to remove his gloves.  She went from one to the other slowly, daring to make eye contact with him as his palms were revealed to her.

    “God, Grace…  what a pretty sight,”   he purred, eyes travelling along her body unabashedly.  The lust in the air sparked a fire in his abdomen, form weaving its way around her until he could sit on the bed.   “I love it.  Come here…  let me appreciate it in full.”

    She obeyed him with her heart in her throat, stomach performing somersaults as she sank into his lap, legs on either side of his.  They kissed briefly, lust plain, and without warning she began to grind her hips into his.  A sound of yearning caught in his throat, large hands feeling along her back until they could settle on her rear, supporting her weight as she rocked back and forth.

    “Grace…”   he started, though the words died on his tongue as he felt her teeth on his neck. They scraped and nipped, promising him sweet reprieve, then sank in without a request for consent.  He couldn’t cage the moan that slipped out at the feeling that flooded through him, head filling with fog, hands squeezing her to him possessively.  I should be annoyed that you marked me, an Alpha, without my expressed permission, but I’m not.  You’re the only one that hasn’t upset me when trying to do that.  You’re the only woman I’ve let mark me in this body.

.  He barely had time to register it as she pushed him gently to lay down, shuffling along with him as he arranged himself length-ways.  She’d already set the familiar stool at the foot of the bed so that his feet didn’t dangle on the floor…  she must have been preparing this for a short while.

    “I want to…”   Her cheeks turned pink.  She’d never been good at expressing her sexual desires plainly--  she became far too flustered by it, despite her unapologetic nature--  but knowing that he was turned on by it encouraged her to no end.  It’s something that I’ll only get better at if I practise.   “I…  I’ve been thinking about you all day.  I need you inside me ... so I got some new clothes to get you hard…”

    He groaned softly as she rocked into his hips, into the forming solidity beneath her.  She’d forgotten what it was like to crave this friction.  All she could think about lately was his generous length filling her repeatedly until she saw her very own constellations.  She’d tried to tend to herself earlier that day, though her fingers were nowhere near as long as his, and her palms felt too small now that she’d adjusted to having his on her body.

    “You don’t need special clothes to do that to me, Gracie, but they certainly help…”

    She bit down gently on her lower lip, hands untucking his shirt from his pants.  She’d always found it endearing that he gravitated towards pink when considering his first layer of clothing, though she’d had the sense not to say so.  Her fingers brushed against his torso as she lifted it up, digits cool against his jagged scars before she began to fiddle with his belt.  She knew that he was growing impatient, hips raising all too readily when she drew the accessory free.  The heavy clack of the buckle against the wooden floorboards excited her more than she cared to admit.

    A tiny purple tongue flitted outwards to dampen her lips, barely resisting the urge to drool as she pulled him free.  Much like the rest of him, Edgar was large.  She could only imagine what it would be like to take him during heat, when he knotted.  A hot blush stained her cheeks scarlet as she ran her hands along him, hungry and small, feeling him twitch against her skin as she gave him the friction he so desired.

    With a huffed chuckle:  “Don’t tease, bunny…  you know what happens when you tease.”

    The colour on her face only darkened further as she thought back to how his patience for her taunts had worn thin.  He’d had her on her hands and knees in no time, crying out in ecstasy as he mercilessly took her from behind.  

    “Maybe I want that…”   she replied quietly, settling atop him, the sheer fabric of her panties soft against his flesh.  He crooned low with approval, raising his legs slightly so that she was pushed more firmly into his lap.  Steadily, she dragged her arousal against him, back and forth until the worry left her mind.  Her head tilted back as the fabric of her underwear slid aside, inviting wet, naked flesh against his.   “M-Maybe I want to be completely at my Alpha’s mercy…”

    There was a much more pressing issue at the forefront of her mind now, though.  Whatever she was to him--  whether she was a conquest, or a genuine consideration for a suitor--  she didn’t want him to discard her now that he’d slept with her.  Whether or not he felt likewise, she had fallen head over heels in love with him, and she couldn’t bear the thought of revealing herself to him only for him to lose interest in her.  So desperate was she to maintain his attention that she was prepared to offer him her body as often as he liked, despite the voice in her head telling her not to reduce herself to that.

    All this for one man’s attention?  You’re more than a sex toy, Grace.     But when he holds me…  when he shows me affection, that’s the best feeling in the world.     I don’t want him to leave me.  I especially don’t want him to sleep with other women.

    She gasped in surprise as he suddenly sat up, his hands on her waist as he brought her grinding to a halt.  Softly, the woman whined in protest, though immediately quietened down again when he began to push himself inside of her.  He went slowly, inch by inch, knowing that she was quite a lot smaller than him.

    “There’s time for my mean streak later, princess.  Let’s go slowly.”

    Princess…?  Without her say so, she keened sweetly at the term, allowing herself to lean forwards and kiss him.  Despite the way he was filling her so deliciously, their exchange was warm, tender.  He barely pulled away as he came to fill her wholly, thick girth stretching her out in a manner that she could only describe as heavenly.

    “There you go…  how does that feel?”   he breathed, words hot against her mouth.  Her eyes rolled back at the mix of sensations, pleasure running straight to her core as she tried to move her hips, only to be held still.   “Don’t hurt yourself…  don’t rush.  Tell me how it feels.”

    “Feels so good, Edgar…”   she answered weakly, tail curling around the frame of the bed, digging into the wood in the hope of keeping herself in place.   “You’re so big…  you fill me so good…  I don’t want you to stop filling me…”

    Her arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled her closer still, cool hands soothing the white-hot fire that had consumed her body.  Gods, yes, hold me.  Just hold me…

    Her mouth found the soft indents her teeth had left behind on his neck, lips puckering against them, soothing the mark with placid kisses.  Already, she could feel herself melting, the coil in her stomach taut as his hands slowly guided her hips up and back down again.  She had a tendency to go too quickly, to become too concerned with pleasing him in the heat of the moment, and the last thing he wanted was to cause her any pain.

    Her wanton moan as he thrust into her properly for the first time was warm against his blooming bruise, sending a series of tingles down the Alpha’s spine in the process.

    “... you’re just so much stronger than me,”   she whimpered needily, her nails sinking into the material of his shirt as she met his thrusts perfectly.  He was steadily becoming rougher with her, breath coming out in fervent pants.   “You can take what you want from me and I can do nothing but enjoy it…”

    He wasn’t sure about that, but the words fed his voracious appetite for her nonetheless  A hand splayed across her back, fingers fiddling with the meagre clasp of her bra, letting it fall away as she rode him furiously.

    “As beautiful as you look dressed up for me, I want you to see your body,”   he murmured, a playful smile shaping his lips as she giggled breathlessly.  She was a prideful woman when it came to her appearance, which was why he found it so endearing when her arms threatened to curl inwards and shield her chest from view.  Do I really make you feel that vulnerable, bunny?

    He refused to let her hide, burying his face into the sensitive skin of her breasts, smiling at the feeling of her fingers tangling in his hair as her pace increased.  Soft whimpers turned into pleasured moans, nails taut in his shirt as he licked and kissed every inch of her.

    “Good…  good…  good…”   The word was repeated like a mantra, pitch crawling higher as she got closer to the high she desired.   “E-Eddie…  touch…”   She didn’t bother finishing, instead pawing around blindly for one of his hands and guiding it between her legs, feeling electricity in her stomach as the pad of one finger brushed against her clit.

    “Say please,”   he breathed.

    “Please, Edgar…  please.  I need--”  I need to cum.  I need you to cum.  I need you to stay.

    Her arms tightened around his neck, teeth scraping against his skin as he dragged her hips down onto him with one hand, the other giving in to her desirous request.  His digits were quick to become slick, sliding against her with ease as she desperately pursued her euphoria.  His free hand moved to her tail, scratching gently at the base of it, revelling in the shiver that racked her spine, the stuttered gasp in his ear stored in his memory forever.

    When she clenched tight around him, he found himself grunting quietly, unable to stay silent in the wake of her high.  His arms wound tight around her, teeth sinking into the same spot on her collar that it had for weeks now.

    “Mine,”   he growled, not thinking about the implications but meaning them wholly.

    If she heard him, she didn’t respond, mewling and panting as the ecstasy took over.  Her nails had torn through his shirt at this point, leaving red marks along his shoulder blades as she drunkenly continued to rock her hips.  She pulled away slightly to look at him.  The expression she wore was nothing short of evil;  eyes glazed over with an intoxicating mix of love and lust, lips parted in an ethereal display of rapture.  

    This is the face you make when your inhibitions die.  I’m in love.

    “Please…  inside me,”   she pleaded, unconcerned with the thin string of drool hanging at the corner of her lips, a short trail of saliva and excess venom ensnaring him completely.   “I want you to cum inside me…  th-that’s what I want…”

    He felt strangely speechless, unable to articulate himself clearly as his head reeled with glee. He barely had the wit to call her name as she squeezed around him just right, pushing him headfirst over the edge without restraint.

    “God, Grace-- fú̴͢c̶̀k̢͠--”   His voice came out thick and strained, and with an uncontrollable flair that excited her to no end.  It sounded briefly as if he’d commandeered three other voices and used them to express his pleasure, unable to do so with just his own.  He watched with a lack of focus as her head fell back, golden curls cascading down her back like sunlit curtains.   “Gods, I love you…”   he mouthed silently, while she wasn’t looking at him to see it, his own eyes fluttering closed shortly after as he committed himself to the bliss.

    She fell against him with heavy pants, body trembling in his lap as the high left her.

    “... don’t leave me,”   she begged quietly, feeling strangely emotional as they sat there basking in one another’s warmth.   “... are you tired of me now that you’ve had me?”

    The words sliced through the fuzz like knives, head slowly pulling back to regard her.  She appeared all too lucid, especially when he himself was barely remaining upright.  I haven’t experienced an orgasm like that in so long.  I think the last time was when I made love to my wife.

   “What’re you talking about…?”   he heaved out, shaking his head slightly.   “Don’t be…  don’t be like that.  It isn’t like that…”

    She stared at him like he was an oncoming truck, pain in her eyes mixing breathtakingly with the post-sex haze.   “Do you still want me…?”

    “Yes,”   he whispered ardently, hands moving to cup her face.  She was all too willing to let him hold her, tail absentmindedly moving to curl around his.  They latched together, then looped possessively around one another.   “And I still want dinner with you tomorrow night, too. You…  you don’t have to give me sex.  I…”   I love you.   “... I…  want, to spend time with you.”

    He swore he saw a hint of wetness in her eyes for a moment, though she strategically reared her head back, forcing his hands away from her face.  After a soft sniff, she offered him a fleeting smile, her tough exterior returning to her now that the fear had been banished from her brain. Though she didn’t have the courage to tell him so, she felt much better.  Just knowing that he didn’t view her as a sex object was uplifting in its own right, but to know that he was still thinking about dates…?  That made her heart soar.

    “... Eddie?”     “Yes?”

    I love you.  What are we?  Are we friends with benefits, or are we more than that?  Could we be in a relationship?  Would you ever come to consider me as a mate?  Lyes don’t typically date but could we?

    She found herself unable to ask, opting instead for a placative smile.

    “... I can’t wait for dinner tomorrow.”

[millieswickedbooks]

the somewhat tragic story of georgie’s savior - chapter three

CHAPTER THREE: bowers, burgers and b-what in the actual fuck is happening?

(3/?)

previous chapter || masterlist || next chapter >>

pairing: Loser’s Club x black!OC (platonic), Pennywise x black!OC (NOT ROMANTIC AT ALL)

WARNINGS: PENNYWISE, the Bowers’ gang, racism, racial slurs, LGBT+ related slurs, sexual harassment, harassment, bullying, DESCRIPTIVE CHILD ABUSE, bruises, wounds, blood, puke, some disgusting food description, snakes, chase scene, nightmares, swearing

word count: 7,955

~~~~~

EXTENDED WARNING: 

THIS CHAPTER WILL HAVE A SCENE THAT DESCRIBES CHILD ABUSE

SLIGHT SPOILER: IT WILL BEGIN WHEN JORDYN GETS HOME

!!! PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION !!!

~~~~~

☹

Previously:

After taking a peek into her mind, and saw it as a gold mine of fears. Behind the ‘brave’ act this girl put up was a messed up, scared little girl. What if making her even more scared, made her taste even better? IT laughed, knowing that he would have a lot of fun with her. She had no idea that that summer, which was rapidly approaching, would be a memorable yet harrowing one.

 ☹

  Eight months later…

 THE BELL HAD JUST RUNG meaning that Hell would let its tortured souls have a three-month break. That’s right; school is out. Summer has officially begun and the halls are now flooded with hundreds of loud and excited teenagers, who have been waiting for this day since the first day of school. One of those hundreds people being Jordyn.

Jordyn sighed as she walked through the crowded and loud hall, immediately getting irritated with the fact that she has only been out in the hall for five seconds and she has already bumped into six people. She never used her locker throughout the school year so she was able to skip that hassle walk right to the doors. 

She walked out and felt the sun on her skin, and she sort of basked in it. She sighed and remembered that today, she would be babysitting Bill. She scanned the yard full of kids, searching for him and his friends, which she knew he would be with. After walking a bit, she managed to find Bill and she made her way over to him. And she was correct, he was accompanied by Stan, Richie, and Eddie. They were standing near the trash can, their bags empty and in the middle of a conversation so they didn’t notice her coming towards them.

“Is that how you wanna spend your summer?” Jordyn heard Eddie ask, who was looking at Richie. “Inside an arcade?” She remembered Richie talking about this new game he wanted to beat really badly. What was it called again? Oh. Street Fighter! 

Jordyn wasn’t a big fan of video games but she listened to Richie talk on and on about them because she knew he was very passionate about them and she simply amazed at how much he liked them.

“Beats spending it inside your mother, oooh!” Richie quickly retorted and he lifted his hand up to accept a high-five from Stan, to which the unamused Stan quickly rejected by grabbing Richie’s arm and bringing it down. Jordyn rolled her eyes at Richie’s comment, silently laughing on the inside but she would never admit that.

“What if we go to the Quarry?” Stan suggested.

“G-guys, we were g-going to th-the woods tomorrow, r-rem-remember?” Bill said. The boys nodded, remembering that they promised Bill they would join him in the hunt to find the animal that attacked Georgie. It was silent for a moment and at that very moment, Jordyn had finally reached the boys, who still hadn’t noticed her.

“Hey guys,” she announced herself, causing all four of the boys to turn and look at her. They all smiled when they realized it was Jordyn.

“Hey, J-Jordyn,” Bill said, happy to see his brother’s savior. Ever since she had saved Georgie and been babysitting him and Georgie, he had grown very fond of the girl. Despite the fact that he hated the idea of having a babysitter at his age, he couldn’t hate Jordyn. He loved having her around, she made him feel as if he had a friend over instead of babysitting him and his brother.

Jordyn smiled at him and then at the other three boys, who, in return, murmured ‘hi’ s, and she wondered why they were acting so off. She soon realized that Eddie, Richie, Stan, and now Bill, were staring at her body. She blushed, tucking a strand of her curly hair behind her hair, feeling slightly self-conscious. 

Today, she decided to actually clean up a little bit, make herself more presentable. She was wearing a white crop top that showed off her stomach and a light blue denim jacket. She paired it with a light blue denim mini-skirt that complimented her long, dark legs and a pair of black converse. In the boys’ eyes, the top… really— really— complimented her chest. 

Eddie was slightly blushing at being caught staring there while Stan’s eyes were definitely checking out her legs. Bill’s eyes were wide, just taking her appearance and Richie just whistled. The boys, deep down, were still shocked that after all this time, a cute sophomore like Jordyn would even hang out with them. To them, Jordyn was absolutely gorgeous, and the fact that she had such a big heart and saved Georgie, only augmented her looks. Richie was the first to speak up about her attire.

“Damn, Jordyn! Remind me why do you hide that hot bod every day again?” Richie joked, winking at her. Jordyn just rolled her eyes at him, smiling slightly, ignoring his comment.

“Got any plans for later on today?” She asked, knowing that she would stick with them for the entire afternoon until the curfew, because of babysitting duties and whatnot.

“Nothing really but tomorrow we will be taking a nice trip down to the forest for our regularly scheduled hunt–!” Richie started to explain but he never finished because he was abruptly interrupted by Eddie.

“Beep beep Richie!” Stan quickly told him but it was too late. They all stared at Jordyn, knowing what she was about to say. 

They knew she would end up going with them tomorrow because she would have to watch Bill, but they knew Jordyn was super against hunting for the animal that attacked her and Georgie. 

She never really talked about what happened that day in full detail, even though just about everyone knew she could recite the whole thing as if it happened yesterday. The four boys knew the whole ordeal was mostly likely traumatizing all together, so they never mentioned the hunting in front of her. They watched as Jordyn’s face went from confused and curious to conflicted in a matter of seconds and they all felt bad, thinking they had reopened old wounds for her. 

She knew Bill was almost hell-bent on catching this ‘animal’ he thought attacked Georgie and it worried her. He told her that she had inspired him, he wanted to save other people like she did with Georgie. But he wanted a bigger impact, he wanted to stop animal altogether so the kids wouldn’t stop going missing by the dozens like they were at the moment. He wanted to catch the animal so they could live in Derry in peace. Jordyn tried to change his mind and warn him as much as possible how fucking dangerous that shit was but Bill is stubborn as hell.

She worried that whatever the thing she saw in the sewer or at the hospital would end up getting him or one of his friends and she would be at fault, it’s her lie. It would cost them their life. 

The clown-thing eyes flashed in her mind and she shuddered.

“Are you guys seriously going after that animal?” Jordyn asked, knowing very well that she would not like the answer to her question. The boys nodded slowly and she sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to convince them not to. “Ugh, you guys are so infuriating. But there’s nothing I can do. Make sure you all have weapons and calamine.” 

The boys felt relieved at her reaction and a smile was plastered on Bill’s face. He was happy to have Jordyn on board.

“Guys, look…” Eddie said, looking off to the side. “Betty Ripsom’s mom.” They all turned in the direction where he was looking and Jordyn saw a distressed pale, white lady in a light green dress. Her hair was dark and curly and she had tears brimming her eyes as she frantically looked for any sign of her missing daughter, like as if the girl would be here. 

The sight made Jordyn’s heart feel like it was breaking. She felt for the woman, the loss of a child must be… unbearable. And right behind the mother was two police officers, one being Henry Bowers’ father. 

She got shivers down her spine as she made eye contact with the man. He glared at her, his eyes trying to project how much he hated the girl. She quickly looked away, turning back to the group.

“Is she really expecting to see her coming out of school?” Stan asked, confused by Betty’s mother’s actions.

“Stan, the lady is desperate. Just look at her… imagine being in her shoes. I’d be looking just about anywhere too if I was her,” Jordyn explained, trying to get Stanley to understand. The boy nodded at her, now getting why the lady was acting so weird.

“But still, it’s not like Betty Ripsom has been hiding in HomeEc for the last three weeks,” Eddie said, still not getting why the mother choose probably the least likely place to search for her missing daughter.

“Do you think they’ll actually find her?” Stan asked genuinely and Jordyn wanted to nod and be optimistic but something deep down told her “absolutely not” .

“Sure,” Richie replied. “In a ditch, all decomposed, covered in worms and maggots, smelling like Eddie’s mom’s underwear,” he finished, trying to lighten the mood, in such a bad way. Jordyn grimaced at the joke and at the godforsaken image that just came to life in her mind.

“Shut up, that’s fricking disgusting…” Eddie retaliated, making a face at Richie’s inappropriate comment.

“Okay, enough talk about missing kids,” Jordyn broke in, not wanting to talk about the topic anymore since it increased the guilt she held within her. “It’s totally killing my summer vibe right now. Since you guys aren’t going anywhere right now, how about burgers? On me?”

“On y-you?” Bill asked, knowing that that would be a lot of money.

“Yeah, your dad paid me extra because I successfully taught Georgie how to divide, I did all your chores, and I cleaned the bathroom,” Jordyn recounted. “Annddd I found $20 on my way to lunch today!” She happily finished, pulling the $20 out of her pocket, to show the boy she wasn’t lying. 

The boys looked shocked and smiled at her, all happy about going out to eat. As she tried to put the bill back in her pocket, it slipped from her hands and fell to the ground… next to a $10 bill! Damn, this day got eighty times better.

“Holy shit, a $10 bill! Now we’re getting dessert! Let’s go and actually talk about how tomorrow is gonna go down. Just because I’m allowing you to go doesn’t mean we’re gonna go in all willy-nilly and fuck around in the woods,” Jordyn informed the boys in what she liked to call her ‘Mom Voice’, as she shoved the cash into her pocket and turned around to begin walking away from the school. 

Stan, Bill, Richie, and Eddie stood there, still shocked that she just found more money but they soon began to walk with her. Bill and Eddie sped up to walk in front of Jordyn, while Richie and Stan stayed behind her.

“I’m glad Jordyn’s actually coming with us for once. You know, Jordyn, the forest isn’t that bad. There’s nothing better than having your shoes smell like lake water and having a poison ivy rash on your ankles and knees,” Richie joked, nudging her shoulder. 

“Poison ivy is my favorite!” Jordyn sarcastically confessed, joining in on the joke almost at once. “Thank God I was actually invited this time, it’s been my lifelong dream to rub poison ivy on every inch of my hot bod while you guys watch me.”

Jordyn never really thought herself to be a hilarious person like Richie but she knew she could be funny at times, so she felt kind of embarrassed when she expected to hear a couple of laughs or another joke in response from Richie but she heard none of that. Instead, all she heard was a couple of grunts and the sound of a body hitting the ground. 

She turned around to see what happened and saw that Richie and Stan were currently on the floor and in front of her, and quite close to her might she add, was the one and only Demon Bowers. And he was smirking evilly at her. 

She didn’t have any time to react to his presence because she was quickly shoved to the side by him and she stumbled into someone’s arms. A pair of lanky arms. She looked around and saw Henry standing in front of Richie and Stan’s fallen bodies, behind Eddie and Bill, who had just turned around after hearing the commotion, Belch was behind Eddie and Victor standing near Stan’s head. Meaning that there’s only one answer to who was holding her. Jordyn tensed up as the arms wrapped tighter around her waist, bringing her closer to his body.

“You wanted to rub what exactly all over your hot bod?” Patrick asked, his menacing smirk making her feel dirty all over. 

“Get off of me–” Jordyn spit out but Patrick interrupted her, his hot breath making her gag.

“I have a couple of ideas in mind of what you can do to that hot body. All of them involving me,” He suggested disgustingly, leaning down to smell her conditioned curly hair and her perfume. His pupils were blown wide with lust as he stared at her. Jordyn struggled against his hold but his grip became painful and she had to stop, a whimper of pain escaping her throat.

Stan, Richie, Eddie, and Bill were all watching them from their own various troubling positions and they all felt sick to their stomachs at Patrick’s comments. Richie on the other hand, felt as if he couldn’t just stand there and watch that happen. Bowers and his dickheads could harass him and his friends all they wanted but he drew the line at Jordyn. He went to stand up but Bowers pushed him back down. 

“Don’t even try it,” Henry warned him, somehow making Richie hate him even more. Beside them, Victor saw Stan trying to reach for his fallen kippah and he quickly grabbed it, waving it out of reach for the Jewish boy.

“Give that back!” Stan pleaded angrily, looking irritated as he tried to reach for it from the ground but, no, Victor was just having too much fun. Of course he wasn’t going to give that stupid hat back to that stupid kid. 

“No, I’d much rather play frisbee,” Victor commented bluntly, giving Stan a rude look as he flung the kippah onto the moving bus that just drove down the road and past them. 

‘What a fucking dick,’ Jordyn thought. The blond boy was probably proud of himself as he walked away, smirking his whole way towards the parking lot. 

Belch then decided it was his time to shine as he burped right into Eddie’s face, causing the boy to gag. Jordyn tried to get out of Patrick’s grip once again, feeling the need to defend the younger boys swell in her chest. 

Bill watched as she failed once again. He too was disgusted at how Patrick was acting towards Jordyn and he was about to go do something when Henry began to walk away from the group, bumping roughly into Bill’s shoulder to get past him. 

Patrick got to pinch Jordyn’s arm, causing her to yelp, and inhaled her scent before letting her go, following Henry and Belch. Jordyn shivered as the tall boy winked at her while checking her out and licking his lips. She now regretted putting on the outfit.

Bill was fed up. And he was about to say something. While Richie helped Stan get up behind them, Bill spoke up.

“Y-you s-s-s-su-su-suck, Bowers!”

“Shut up, Billy!” Eddie frantically blurted out, not wanting any more trouble with the rather terrifying older boys. Yet the three boys turned around upon hearing the stuttering boy’s insult, all three of them actually surprise the boy had the balls to stand up to them, but they made sure not to show it on their faces. 

“Y-you s-s-suh-suh-say something? B-B-B-Buh-Buh-Billy?” Henry falsely-stuttered out, mocking Bill’s disorder. Belch and Patrick both found this highly amusing, both of them laughing. This angered Jordyn to end. She wanted to rip a chunk of the boy’s ugly, greasy ass mullet out his mostly likely dandruff-and-lice-infected scalp. He continued his taunting.

“You,” and then he turned towards Jordyn, “and you, got free rides because of Stuttering Billy’s brother. You guys had so much attention on yourselves, if anyone laid a hand on any of you, especially you, Miss Savior of Derry, the town would riot. But guess what,” As Henry got closer to Bill, Jordyn was subconsciously getting closer too. She didn’t like where this was going. “Free rides over.”

Henry had taken another step closer to Bill and Jordyn had finally decided enough was enough. In a quick movement, Jordyn stood in front of Bill, shoving Henry back. He stumbled back a little bit and it took a while to process what just happened. Once he realized what had happened, he moved forward, his hand raised in a fist, aiming at Jordyn. Richie and Bill went to grab Jordyn, to move her out of the way of Henry’s wrath. But before the hit could land, Jordyn called out.

“Your father’s right there!” She had no idea why she felt the need to say that but it obviously worked since that triggered something in the mullet boy, making him freeze. 

Silence fell over the two groups. Patrick and Belch looked at Jordyn, in shock and waiting, not knowing what to expect was going to happen next. Meanwhile, Eddie, Richie, Stan and Bill were confused as to what Jordyn was planning, yet they knew whatever she was doing was working. Henry looked over at his father and something like fear flashed before his eyes. She continued. “I wonder how he would feel about you putting your hands on the oldest Denbrough’s son. At school. Where everyone was watching.”

Henry looked torn. He didn’t know how Jordyn had figured his fear of his father but he wanted to kill her for it. But he knew she was right, there would be hell to pay at home if he did anything to them out here in here in open. The boy huffed angrily.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the boy tried to quickly cover up and Jordyn almost smiled. “But I sure do know that he would love to watch me beat you to a pulp. He might care for those f*rries but not for you, n*gger. This summer is gonna be a hurt train, for you and your f*ggot friends. Don’t think that hanging out with them will save you. Watch your back.”

And with that, the three bullies walked away, going towards their car and speeding off down the road, most likely on their way to find a new victim to harass and assault.

Jordyn, Eddie, Bill, Richie, and Stan stood there, subconsciously huddling together as they watched their tormentors drive off and then everyone kind of let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding in.

“I wish he’d go missing,” Richie spoke up from her left and Jordyn sighed, feeling the same way.

“Yeah, so does every child in this fucking town,” she commented, rolling her eyes as she adjusted herself, feeling appetite vanish after dealing with Patrick’s grubby hands. She absolutely despised the boy.

“He’s probably the one doing it,” Eddie claimed, looking at the group and Jordyn shook her head, knowing that his dumbass wouldn’t be able to hide all those bodies.

“Whatever, let’s go, I’m starving,” Jordyn murmured, knowing the boys could hear her and began to walk away from the scene. Even though she lied to them, she hoped maybe smelling the food or seeing it would reawaken the dead appetite within her. She didn’t need to look back to know her boys were following behind, them not wanting to be there anymore either, thanks to Bowers.

  ☹

  They stopped at Georgie’s elementary school before going out to eat, picking up Georgie who was waiting for them. His face lit up when he caught sight of Jordyn and her friends. His happiness brought joy to her heart. He ran over and hugged her tightly and took her hand as they began to walk away from the school. She didn’t think the boy could get any happier but then she told him that they were going out to eat and it was like watching a ball of energy burst into flames.

Once the group got to the diner, everything was fine. Like Jordyn had hoped, the sight of food brought the joy back into the group that had been snatched away and stomped on by the Bowers and his minions.

They all ate burgers and drank their milkshakes happily, cracking jokes here and there, laughing loudly and enjoying each others company. 

They were so distracted enjoying each other’s company that no one saw the red balloon just outside the window a few feet behind them.

  ☹

  After hanging out with her boys for a while around town—thank god it was Bowers-free—and then dropping Richie, Stan and Eddie off at their homes, Jordyn had gone with Bill and Georgie to their house. She wanted to hang out at the Denbrough’s house for a bit until the curfew came around, which was usually when Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough came home and when she was able to go home. She hugged Bill, kissed Georgie’s forehead and bid the family adieu as she made her way home. 

When Jordyn had gotten home, she didn’t like the feeling of dread that filled her stomach, making it feel heavier than it already was with the burger she had eaten earlier. Had she done something wrong? Curfew didn’t start until a couple of minutes from now…

She shook her head, walking up her porch and into her house, quietly shutting the door behind her. The room was dark so she had to be careful so she wouldn’t bump into anything. But what she wasn’t expecting was the loud voice of her father screeching at her.

“Where the FUCK have you been?!” Isaiah roared out in anger at his daughter, which caused Jordyn to flinch so hard, she fell backwards in utter shock and fear, bumping into something on the way down. The sound of something crashing and breaking accompanies the light being turned on, finally allowing Jordyn to see. 

And the sight caused her muscles to contract in fear. Her father was standing a couple of feet away, seething with rage. She turned to see what she had bumped into and she felt her heart drop. She had accidentally bumped into the end table, which knocked the picture of her father and her mother hugging and smiling at the camera over. The glass was cracked and some parts of it even fell out, glass all haphazardly splayed all over the ground beside the end table. Also, the golden frame was broken, which was a frame that Mama had gotten custom-made for that picture.

Jordyn looked over and saw her father looking over at the broken picture and she closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for what was about to happen as the fear settled deep within her gut.

“Jordyn, Jordyn, Jordyn…” Isaiah started in a low voice and Jordyn cringed, knowing exactly what she was in for. ”First you come home late, nearly past curfew might I add and now… you… you fucking broke your mother’s frame? Is that correct? Because if it isn't, please correct me.”

“Dad–” Jordyn began, trying to get her apology out, knowing that explaining she hadn’t meant to break it wouldn’t work with him. But Isaiah was not having any of it.

“DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK?! HUH?! DID I SAY THAT, LIL’ BITCH?!” Isaiah bellowed at her, running at her and grabbing her forcefully by her biceps. He had a bruising grip on her arms as he shook her violently. Jordyn brought her forearms up, her hands feebly in front of her face as a way to protect her in some way. She was cowering, turning her face away from Isaiah’s mouth, not wanting to feel the brute intensity of hate that was coming out of her father’s mouth head-on.

“Dad, I did'n–” She tried to explain, looking forward at her father, deciding to abandon the ‘just take the blame and apologize’ route. She wanted to get away from him as fast as possible. But Isaiah cut her off once again, this time he brought his hand down on her face, slapping her hard. 

Jordyn didn’t feel the slap at first—since he hit her that hard—she just suddenly realized she wasn’t looking at him anymore. After a couple of seconds of Jordyn blinking, trying to focus her blurry eyesight, she felt her cheek get warm as the blood rushed to the spot he had hit. The stinging sensation was very much present there in the cheek as she heard her father bellow at her once again.

“SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH! I bet you were out there with those little white boys doing God knows fucking what. Is that why you’re always late, you fucking slut?” Isaiah accused and Jordyn shook her head, tears rapidly falling down her cheeks. “Because you’re letting those boys use you and when one is done with you, they pass you on to the other one? Is that what you do out there, get passed around like some fucking sex doll all fucking day?!”

“No Dad, they’re just my friends! I swear!”

“You lying fucking bitch… and after all that sinning you doin’, you have the audacity to come show your face here and you barely get here and you’re already fucking this place up like you do with every-fucking-thing!” Isaiah screamed right into Jordyn’s face, spit landing on her cheek and chin. She cringed again and tried to get out his painful grip but he wasn’t letting up. “You ruin everything, you hear me?! EVERYTHING! You ruined your body, you ruined your mother, you ruined our marriage, you ruin everything!”

Isaiah punched Jordyn in the jaw, causing her to fall back just by the sheer force of the punch. Isaiah was a large man, he was 6’4 and one-hundred-ninety-one pounds of pure muscle. Jordyn, on the other hand, was 5’3 and weighed one-hundred-eight pounds. And she certainly didn’t work out.

From her position on the ground, Jordyn saw her father raise his leg and she winced, as she laid there as the man repeatedly kicked her stomach.

Unbeknownst to the father and the child, a pair of glowing yellow eyes watched from the corners of the room. IT stood there, watching the father as he grabbed the girl’s hair and drag her as she screamed and cried out in pain. He had a huge smirk on his face as he watched the abuse unfold right before his very eyes.

‘Interesting…’ He thought to himself as he sniffed the air, the fear and pain in the air caused him to let out a groan in satisfaction. ‘This is good.’

  ☹

  Jordyn sat in the bathroom, dabbing the small and scattered wounds on her right shoulder and arm with warm water. At some point during the beating, Isaiah pushed her and she fell out the glass from the broken picture frame.

After she pulled several pieces of glass out, she rinsed the cuts with mild soap and warm water and was now trying to get the bleeding to stop by applying pressure over several areas at the same time. It was working but slowly. 

Jordyn sighed as she looked at the bruise on her jaw in the mirror and she rolled her eyes, already trying to come up with her excuse. She sighed and painfully stood up, her ribs protesting highly at the movement. 

She didn’t need to lift her shirt up to know that there was a bruise there but she did anyway. And ‘lo and behold, thereupon her brown skin, was an enormous bruise from Isaiah’s kicks. While flashbacks played in her head of her father’s abuse, Jordyn shivered in fear. 

The feeling of tears rolling down her cheeks is what snapped her out of her trance.

Jordyn stared at herself as she watched the tears that were falling down her face. She felt something stirring deep within her and she couldn’t understand it at first. But she soon recognized it was anger. She was angry, so angry she could feel her hands shaking, her jaw clenching and her chest, neck, and ears getting warm with the flush that was creeping up to them. The longer she stared, the angrier she got. Angry with herself. For allowing her father to make her cry. She knew he couldn’t exactly see her but this to her, still felt he was winning in a sick way.

“Stop,” Jordyn told herself in a shaky voice as she kept glaring at herself in the mirror, irately wiping the tears away. “Stop fucking crying.”

Another tear slipped out and Jordyn swiftly wiped it away just like had done with the others. She shook her head and took a deep breath, pushing her sadness deep down her like she always did after these things. She bottled it all up, not wanting to deal with her… issues or feelings afterwards.

Jordyn decided to distract herself by fixing her hair for sleep since she was already in the bathroom. She dampened her hair and proceeded to use a comb to detangle it with some Detangle Aid!—she always used to see her mom use it for her hair and Jordyn was fascinated by her mother’s lacquered, kinky hair, so she would always buy it for herself.

After successfully detangling her hair, she parted into sections and beginning to do four dutch braids.

With aching arms muscles—and aching everywhere else—and now sporting four neat and firm dutch braids on her head—she does this nearly every night, it would be shocking if she wasn’t a pro at braiding—Jordyn silently walked out of the bathroom. She tip-toed to the kitchen downstairs, not wanting to wake her father and have to endure what she just went through once again. Once was already way more than enough. 

She grabbed the frozen peas from the freezer and made her way upstairs to her room, stopping in the hallway closet to get a small towel as well. 

Once she was inside her room, Jordyn gently closed the door behind her and sighed, as she changed out of her clothes carefully, not wanting to irritate her ribs further. She threw on a light gray top and some black plaid pajama shorts and turned on her fan and walked over to her bed and carefully tucked herself in. 

Once she was comfortable—well, as comfortable as one could after what just happened to her—under her warm and heavy comforter, Jordyn laid the peas on the towel and put it on her stomach, the weight of the peas on her tender bruise hurt, producing a gasp of pain from her. But the coldness sent shivers down her spine. She knew by morning the peas would be melted and would’ve soaked her shirt so that's why she got the towel.

Jordyn was very exhausted so it didn’t take her long to fall asleep, which she did happily, she was tired of many things, like tired of being awake. She was tired of living in this house, tired of dealing with her father’s anger issues, tired of missing her mother, tired of dealing with Bowers and his goons, tired of this childhood she was forced to live in. She was tired of Derry. 

She was tired of living. 

So Jordyn closed her eyes, letting all the tiredness drift her off into unconsciousness, praying that whoever was above would have some mercy on her soul and grant her wish of not waking up the next morning.

Not so surprisingly, Jordyn wasn’t lying about being tired at all, because she was so tired, she didn’t even see the red balloon just outside of her window.

  ☹

  The smell of syrupy pancakes and eggs almost immediately woke Jordyn up. She sat up in her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and saw that it was morning already, so she should probably get ready to go hunting with Bill and others soon.

But after getting another waft of that delicious food, she couldn’t even stop herself from getting up and out of bed and walking to the kitchen. When she got downstairs she froze at the sight. Her father was wearing an apron and cooking. Something that he doesn’t do—well not anymore, since her mother went missing.

Jordyn felt uneasy suddenly, not understanding what was going on but what she does understand is everything in her body screaming her to GET AWAY but she doesn't understand why it's telling her that. It all seems so nice though. It was just like old times, when her Mom was still there.

“Hi, sweetheart, you sleep well?” Isaiah asked as he continued to cook the eggs on the hot pan. He didn’t need to look at her for her to hear the smile in his voice, the smile she missed seeing so deeply—he doesn’t do it anymore.

“Yeah, I did, Isa–Dad,” Jordyn corrected herself as she looked at her father, cooking just like old times. She couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on her face if she wanted to.

“Why don’t you sit down and wait for breakfast, yeah? I’m almost done,” Her father told her and Jordyn scrunched her eyebrows in confusion; he hasn’t turned to look at her, how can he see that she is standing? Her father spoke up once again. “I said sit down.”

His voice made her hair stand on end as she was taken back to times she didn’t want to remember. She quickly sat down at the table to upset him any further.

As she sat there, she heard a noise from her right and she looked over, seeing… something… scurry out of sight into a rather large hole in their dining room. Since when were there holes or animals in their house? She heard something else make some noise from her left and she turned to look and she couldn’t explain what she saw before it ran off. It was long, slimy-looking, bleeding and… decaying. Jordyn could see the stain it left behind from its slimy skin—actually everything it had touched was turning a blotchy gray-black color. It was spreading throughout the room. 

‘Wait…’ Jordyn thought to herself as she soon realized that everything was too bright and… saturated. It was starting to give her a headache.

“Dad… do we have animals in the house?” Jordyn found herself asking as she rubbed her eyes, trying to have her eyes adjust to the unusual brightness. 

“Yeah, I bought something earlier today, decided you would totally want to see it,” Her father informed her as his whole body twitched, his eyes never leaving the now burning food in front of him. Jordyn still hadn’t seen his face yet.

“Dad, why is it loose in the house? What is it?” Jordyn questioned her father further, eyes wide as the rot neared the kitchen further and further. It had absorbed just about everything but the room they were currently in but it was getting there steadily. 

Jordyn watched as chunks of their decayed house began to fall apart from behind her. She tried to get up but she found rope wrapped around her arms, legs, and torso, holding her down and not letting her get up from her chair. She felt her breath become more rapid and she struggled to get out, everything becoming too scary and confusing for her to handle. 

She heard the creature scurrying around once again and she flinched at the sound—it was getting closer.

“Don’t worry about that, how’s your food, darling?” Her father asked her and she looked down in front of her and saw what her father had cooked. She gagged at the sight. 

It was a huge plate of what Jordyn could only make out as puke and undigested food. And it had fucking giant maggots wiggling around in it. There was hair, bloody toenails, mold, bloody eyeballs, and what looked like octopus legs all wiggling around on the plate, causing everything to make a wet, squelch-y noise. And not to mention that all over were just-hatched baby chicks and they were squealing and squawking loudly and painfully, but that all ended when blood suddenly came pouring out of their tiny eyes and mouths. The birds, now dead, slouched forward and their blood began to mix into the rest of the disgusting mush on the plate. 

And to top it off, it smelled like straight horse-shit and it was making Jordyn was gagging so hard that her throat hurt.

“Dad…” She managed to spit out in a whimper but her father cut her off.

“JORDYN!” He roared out and Jordyn flinched, trying to hide but she was still tied to the chair. The rope was now painfully tighter and Jordyn could feel her skin nearly splitting from how tight it was now. She let out a whine of pain as the room suddenly got dark. The decay had reached them, it had engulfed the whole house, everything, absolutely everything. 

Jordyn heard her father breathing heavy and she looked over to see him looking right at her. And she couldn’t believe what she was looking at. 

Her father’s eyes were black. Like all black. Like ‘demonic possession’ black. And he has these red lines painted on his face, coming out of the corners of his mouth and going up to his eyes, over them and just a couple inches above his eyebrows. 

‘Where have I seen that before?’ Jordyn thought to herself, her eyebrows scrunching up in confusion as she looked at her father with wide, scared eyes. But before Jordyn could think further, her father spoke up once again, but it was different this time. Jordyn didn’t know what exactly was happening but she could hear his voice as it neared the end of his sentence. It became all distorted and weird, his voice becoming something else… something so familiar. 

Jordyn gasped as she slowly began to figure out who was standing before her, and it wasn’t her father like she had thought it was. Was it that fucking thing from the sewers?

“You have been causing such a ruckus out of this stupid pet thing, you haven’t even said hi to your mother who has been sitting beside you this entire time, now go on, say hi Jojo-Bear,” Not-father told her as his face began to warp and… melt?

‘Mom?’ Jordyn thought to herself. She wanted to turn and look but everything in her told her not to. 

‘It’s fucking a trick,’ she thought to herself. ‘The clown is doing this to you, so wake up! It’s a fucking dream!’

“Jordyn…” She heard from beside her and she gasped at the sound of her mother’s voice, so clear and so close to her. Was she really there? Jordyn, after fighting with herself, sucked in a breath and turned around and she immediately regretted it.

Beside Jordyn was her mother, so the thing was not lying but it was different. Her eyes were gouged out with blood spilling out of the holes in her head and her skin was decomposed, her skin blue and gray and her mouth black like tar.

“ WAKE UP! ” Her mother screeched out, her voice loud and powerful, like a sonic boom that gave Jordyn a sense of control of this situation. Her mouth was opened and Jordyn could see the creature that was crawling around the house in there, just sitting in her mother’s mouth and threatening her with its glowing yellow eyes.

But Jordyn knew better. This isn’t real.

And just as the creature jumped out to attack her, Jordyn closed her eyes and simply told herself; ‘Wake up.’

And she did. But not it was not where she expected. 

  ☹

  Jordyn gasped as she sat up, not feeling her comfortable bed under her body. She was covered in a cold sweat as she looked around and realized that she, in fact, wasn’t in bed, or her room, or even her house. She was outside, literally. She was laying in the middle of the road and it was dark. She looked down and saw the pajamas she had put on before she went to bed and she had a throbbing pain all over her body.

‘My bruises…’ She thought to herself as she carefully stood up, looking around to see where she was and to figure out exactly how she got there.

‘Did I sleepwalk? I must’ve. There’s no other way I would’ve gotten here if it wasn’t that… That’s weird though. I’ve never sleepwalked before…’ Jordyn thought to herself as she rubbed her arms up and down her bare arms. Couldn’t she have grabbed a coat first before she sleepwalked all the way out here?

While she was looking around she saw a house that she realized looked familiar and she felt grateful to at least be in Derry. She walked over to a street sign, one she had to get closer to read since the darkness was shrouding it almost completely. Once she was close enough, she read the words; ‘Jackson St.’ and she couldn’t stop the gasp that she let out.

She was in fucking Jackson Street? That was at least a good mile from her house. She looked to her left and saw the dreaded sewer opening from eight fucking months ago. The one where that clown thing came out of and snatched Georgie’s arm clean off. She took a couple of steps back from it but it was hard because of this darkness…

Then suddenly, the darkness surrounding her made her hair stand on edge as she realized two things; One, she was out past curfew. If the cops caught her, she would be so ridiculously fucked. Two, the sound of giggling coming from the—the fucking sewer, of fucking course—a couple of feet behind in front of her made her realizeshe wasn’t alone.

Jordyn didn’t even dare look into the sewer to see what was waiting for her. She knew it was that fucking clown. He got into her head and she knows it. Is IT the reason why she is out here? Was IT in her house?

“Jordyn…” His voice completely derailed her anxious thinking. His voice alone sent shivers down her spine. He wasn’t done tormenting her. She was frozen with fear.

“Little baby Jo is scared of the dark isn’t she? Don’t know what could be hiding in there right?” IT commented, his voice now behind her and she didn’t hesitate to book it the fuck out of there, her legs finally deciding to be useful at the moment. She was running as fast as fucking possible in the direction of her house but she had a wholemile left—all she did in Track was the one-hundred meter.

“Im’ma coming Jojie, you can’t escape me!” IT taunted her, and she couldn’t stop the tears from pouring out of her eyes as she ran. When will IT leave her alone… She didn’t think she could continue on like this forever. Despite how fast she was going, the cold air roaring in her ears.

“Stay here and play Jo! You wanna go back home? You wanna go to the house where your father beats you?” IT jibed at her and Jordyn was so shocked at the fact that that thing was in her house she tripped, falling onto the ground hard. “You know you don’t wanna go there, so come with me, where we all float!”

Jordyn tried getting up but she was so out of breath, she thought she would pass out before she could do anything, let alone get up from the ground. She looked down to see what she tripped over and couldn’t even believe what she was looking at. 

She had tripped over a turtle. 

Like a real-life turtle. Like a living, breathing turtle. A reptile. Literally just standing on the road.

And it was staring at her. Like its’ beady little eyes were staring at her. And she knew it was looking at her because she could… feel it staring at her. Like as if this turtle was somehow staring right into her soul.

Jordyn felt as if she was malfunctioning. Given any other circumstance Jordyn probably would’ve laugh so hard at the weird situation she was in, she probably would’ve ended up crying and pissing herself at the same. But at the moment, Jordyn simply couldn’t wrap her mind around what was happening. Like she simply couldn’t understand the fact that a turtle that small caused her to fall and that she didn’t completely crush it with how recklessly she was running.

‘Running…?’ Jordyn thought to herself, wondering what she was doing before she got here when she remembered the fucking clown.

Jordyn quickly snapped out of the weird trance she was in when she remembered exactly why she was there. She stood up quickly as she looked around for anything, anything that gave away that IT was near but when she saw that the coast was clear, she booked it to her house.

She had already ran a considerable amount when the clown was chasing her so when her house came into view, she nearly collapsed with relief—which was something she never thought she would do since it is her house after all.

She bounded up the steps of her porch and quickly came in, happy that the door was left unlocked. She carefully ran up the steps of the stairs and locked herself in her bedroom.

Jordyn tried to stay up to maybe be able to defend herself if whatever the fuck that thing is came to torment her again but it was 3:47 a.m. and her exhaustion was winning. She convinced herself that IT went to go torment some other innocent child or hopefully get some rest—if whatever the fuck that is even needs it—and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Little did know, right on her porch was the tiny turtle from earlier, standing in front of her house protectively.

The clown, on the other hand, was seething. That fucking turtle had decided to get off its’ lazy ass for once and do something, and completely ruined his plans for Jordyn tonight.

IT wouldn’t have really minded with any other random child but there was something about Jordyn that… IT needed. IT needed to have her. And now was when the turtle decided it would intervene. But he knew why. It’s because the turtle knows something about her, that something is what IT craves about her.

‘The turtle won’t always be there to protect her, ’ IT thought to himself as he slinked away into the shadows, his glowing yellow eyes looking at Jordyn’s house, taking in the decor of the house. It would be a place he would be spending a lot of time in so might as well memorize its features by heart. ‘And when he isn’t there… then she will be mine.’

  ☹

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 31

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

Author’s note: *pretends this chapter isn’t late af*

(no but seriously thank you guys for being so patient with my lazy ass. like i said before, i hit a writer’s block and didn’t really know what to do, but i also didn’t want to rush this chapter. so again, thanks for being patient and i hope you enjoy!)

From Atticus’ POV

A WHILE LATER

LEVITICUS’ OFFICE, ANNESBURG

“The trap failed?” Leviticus exclaimed in disbelief as he read the telegram. “We had nearly a dozen men guarding that stagecoach! How on Earth did Van Der Linde’s men manage to kill them all?”

I sat near one of the factory’s windows and casually held a pocket-watch in my palm, staring vehemently at Nathaniel’s portrait which was tucked neatly inside.

“It appears that we underestimated him,” I concluded. “Dutch may be broken, and he may be deluded...but he’s far from unintelligent. No fool would be capable of evading the law for as long as he has. We can’t approach him like some common criminal.”

Cornwall tossed the telegram onto his desk in frustration and let out a sharp breath.

“Well, there must be something we can do! The question is: what? The Pinkertons can’t catch him, the bounty hunters can’t catch him, and even we’ve failed to detain him. It seems as if this man is invincible.”

“He’s not,” I corrected. “None of us are.”

Leviticus placed his hands on his hip. “Well, of course. Though, I’m afraid I’m starting to run out of ideas, Mister Rose. I paid an incredible amount of money to the Pinkertons to aid them in their search for Van Der Linde, but still -- nothing. They give me excuses instead of results. This Dutch robs me, and laughs at me. How are we supposed to capture a man who is seemingly untouchable? It’s all just a mess.”

I stood up, gently snapping the pocket-watch closed.

“Well, if I’ve learned anything from my encounters with Dutch,” I stated, “it’s that he aspires to be a modern king without any willingness to build the throne himself. He helps the poor and abandoned in exchange for their blind loyalty, and casts out those who refuse to bow to him. So perhaps, Mister Cornwall, the solution is not to take down the man himself, but rather, the men around him.”

Leviticus’s head perked up in curiosity. “The men around him, you say? Any...specific names you might be thinking of?”

I pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between my lips, lighting the tip aflame. “...There is one. His name is Arthur Morgan. I understand he’s one of the more trusted members in the gang, and also the same man who happens to be protecting the boy I’m after. I can promise you it’d benefit both of us to kill him.”

Cornwall nodded steadily in agreement. “Yes...I believe I’ve met him before. If I’m not mistaken, he was with Dutch when I ambushed them in Valentine. There’s no denying he’ll be tough to take down, but he’s only one man. We should be able to get rid of him. How do you suggest we start?”

Before I could answer, a gentle thud came from the office’s door as a third party abruptly joined the conversation, causing me and Leviticus to bring our attention to the new arrival.

“Ah,” I said calmly, recognizing their face, “Rodrick. There you are.”

Sauntering into the room with a casual sway to his step, Rodrick gave me and Mister Cornwall a toothy grin as he lay a shotgun on his shoulder, immediately frightening the businessman with the amount of blood that was staining his suit.

“Morning, Atticus,” he greeted, his injured eye making it look as if he were winking. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Leviticus mindlessly backed up out of fear and pointed a shaky finger at Rodrick, looking to me for reassurance.

“Y-You know this man?”

“He’s one of mine,” I confirmed, introducing the two of them. “Mister Kingsley, this is the man I’ve been cooperating with this past week: Mister Cornwall.”

Rodrick chuckled and stepped in front of Leviticus, getting right in the oil man’s face. “...Oh, I know who he is. Pretty bastard’s portraits are all over the goddamned place.” He looked him up-and-down, his smile disappearing. “...I think I prefer you in the paintings.”

The other man stuttered at that and huffed grumpily in response, retreating to his desk while I poured myself a drink and started to ask Kingsley a few questions.

“Rodrick, any updates on Dutch’s camp?”

The redhead leaned against a wall, resting the shotgun on the floor. “Burned it to the ground just like you ordered.”

I took a sip. “Any survivors?”

He sighed in a regrettable yet somehow sarcastic manner. “A couple. I know Dutch managed to escape, and so did a few other nobodies. As for Arthur and Eddie, I think they was runnin’ west, last I saw ‘em. Slipped away during the gunfight, but I doubt they’ll get far. Eddie was injured before they could leave.”

I fell silent due to confusion, pausing for a moment. “Arthur didn’t go with Dutch?”

Rodrick laughed, shaking his head out of amusement. “...Oh, you wouldn’t believe it, but I watched the whole thing. Dutch’s gang tore itself apart before I even got involved. Ended up turnin’ on each other. They’ve all scattered to the winds now.”

I sent an ambitious glance in Cornwall’s direction, the two of us exchanging looks. “So Eddie and Arthur are all by themselves...”

Leviticus jumped back into the conversation, his expression suddenly fueled with motivation. “...As is Van Der Linde. Now is our chance to strike, Mister Rose! If we can manage to trap those reprobates while they’re lost in the wilds, they’ll drop like flies! All our problems will be solved. We must find them as soon as possible!”

Agreeing with Mister Cornwall, I finished the contents of my drink and prepared to head out, giving Rodrick a set of instructions as I made haste for the exit.

“You’re right. Mister Kingsley, return to camp and tell everyone to pack up. I’ll meet you there shortly to explain the plan in full detail, but right now we just need everyone to gather their things. We leave first thing in the morning.”

Rodrick pushed himself off the wall, swinging the shotgun back over his shoulder.

“Sure thing, Atticus.”

Cornwall gestured to himself. “And what of me? Is there any way I can assist?”

I halted in my tracks and glanced over my shoulder, stopping just in front of the office’s door.

“Ah, yes,” I recalled, bringing my focus back to the businessman. “I almost forgot.”

Turning to Rodrick, I reached an arm out in Leviticus’ direction and gave him one final command.

“Rodrick, would you kindly do me a favor and demonstrate an outlaw’s farewell to Mister Cornwall here?”

Instantly catching on to my meaning, the maniacal man smirked and prowled closer to Leviticus, cocking his shotgun in one swift motion.

“With pleasure.”

Backing away from Kingsley, Cornwall raised a defensive hand in front of himself and stammered in fear, staring at me with bewilderment as I took my leave.

“W-Wait, what?!” He blurted out. “A-Atticus! You can’t...you can’t possibly be serious! Mister Rose, please!”

Ignoring the businessman’s pleas for mercy, I simply opened the door and stepped out as if nothing was happening, promptly returning to camp while Rodrick dealt with our “friend.”

“Mister Rose!” Cornwall called out desperately, his voice being muffled by the walls.

“MISTER ROSE!”

The door shut itself closed behind me.

“MISTER ROSE--!”

Sending the factory into a deathly silence, an ear-splitting gunshot erupted from within the office as its explosive bang thundered throughout the halls, echoing in tune with the machinery’s enslaved humming.

I never thought I would say it, but it was finally time to deal with Theodore Bishop.

That little boy had been running away from me for years on end, and now, the chance to eliminate him had revealed itself at last.

There was just one more problem I had to deal with.

I knew Mister Bishop had a relentless guardian who would raise hell if I got anywhere near him, and I knew I would have no chance of killing that boy if I didn’t get rid of his protector first.

I had to ensure that Theodore was all by himself before I did anything else.

I had to make sure there wouldn’t be any chances of failure.

I had to kill Arthur Morgan.

~~~~~~~~~~

From Arthur’s POV

ONE DAY LATER

GRIZZLIES EAST

Desolation.

That was all I could see.

Contrary to the vibrant trees and diverse wildlife that surrounded Beaver Hollow, this place had nothin’ but miles of emptiness to fill its vast space, and a nerve-numbing breeze that chilled me to the bone.

Everywhere around us, there were pale, jagged mountains dominating the white horizon, and no matter how far I traveled or how long we rode, there didn’t seem to be a single sign of civilization.

There weren’t any towns, or saloons, or inns where we could’ve taken shelter -- and I certainly hadn’t spotted any doctors who could’ve taken care of Eddie’s leg.

We were all by ourselves in the middle of this frozen hell, and there was nowhere else we could run.

Nowhere except straight into our enemies’ hands.

“...H-Hold on, Eddie.” I whispered through chattering teeth as the boy weakly leaned his body against my back. “We’ll...we’ll be safe soon. We’ll find shelter. Just hold on. You hear me?”

Barely clingin’ onto consciousness, the pianist said nothing in response and simply rested his head on my shoulder, gently wrapping an arm around my waist as we trudged through the thick blanket of snow.

It was pretty clear that Eddie wasn’t gettin’ any better with the condition his leg was in, and part of me worried he would never truly recover from the injury. I mean, he could barely stand on his own anymore. What the hell were we gonna do if Atticus or Dutch found us? How was he gonna run? How were we gonna escape?

I just didn’t know where to go from this point.

Our camp was in ruins, Dutch had run off with Micah, Eddie couldn’t walk, Atticus was closin’ in on us, and for the first time in over two decades...I no longer had a gang to call family.

The world that had raised me to become an outlaw, and turned me into a man who cared only about money, was now collapsing ‘cause of the very same foundation that built it. The America I grew up in no longer existed, and now, reality was showin’ me the consequences of everything we had done.

But I wasn’t gonna fail this time.

I wasn’t gonna be the same man who failed to save Eliza or Isaac when they needed me. I was gonna put someone else’s life first for a change, and keep Eddie safe. No matter the cost. I just needed to keep him alive.

Ridin’ a bit deeper into the relentless blizzard, I felt a sense of relief wash over me when a small cabin suddenly revealed itself in the distance, causing me to take a better look at it with my binoculars.

The cabin was located right next to the edge of a large, icy lake -- a lake that looked strangely familiar, if I was bein’ honest -- and there was a short pier extending over the water next to it with a boat sittin’ nearby.

As for the cabin itself, it didn’t look like any mounts had been tied to the hitching post recently, and there were no lights illuminating from inside. The building appeared completely still -- aside from the strong breeze howlin’ past it -- and I couldn’t see any tracks leading up to the front door. It must’ve been abandoned.

I quickly put my binoculars away, instantly urgin’ my horse into a steady gallop as she dug her hooves into the snow.

“Look, Eddie,” I said, pointing ahead, “...you see that? There’s a cabin. We’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you inside, and I’m gonna get a nice fire going. You’re gonna be alright. Just...just stay strong. Okay? Don’t die on me now. Don’t you die.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

O’CREAGH’S RUN

Kickin’ the cabin’s door open, I firmly held my pistol out in front of me and searched the house in case somethin’ nasty was waiting inside, only to find myself in the middle of a cold, dead house.

It didn’t look like anyone had been here in ages. There were empty cans of food scattered all over the kitchen table, stiff coats hangin’ lifelessly from hooks on the wall, mounted animal heads fixed above the fireplace, dusty photographs decorating the bleak interior, and nothin’ but ashes sitting in the place of what was once a warm fire.

It looked safe enough to stay for a few days -- or at least until Eddie could walk on his own again -- and there were also loads of winter clothes just lyin’ around for us to take. I didn’t have a clue what happened to their previous owner or what caused them to leave, but it was better than freezin’ our asses off in that goddamned snowstorm.

I put my gun away, deciding this would have to do for now.

Headin’ back outside, I slowly pushed through the dying blizzard and walked towards my horse as my boots sank into the crunchy snow below, hindering me much more than I expected.

It was tough enough navigating our way around here -- what with the ice-cold weather and lack of any civilization -- but it certainly didn’t help matters that we were both starving, tired, and entirely sleep-deprived.

I could only imagine how Eddie felt with that injured leg of his. Not only did the boy look like hell, the kid had also barely said a word to me ever since we fled from Beaver Hollow.

There was a certain hopelessness to him that I’d never seen before -- the same kind that Hosea carried in his final moments -- and even though he didn’t say it, I knew he thought we were both gonna die out here.

He just didn’t seem to care about anything anymore, now that our chances of survival were so low. And despite my reassurances, Eddie almost appeared to be...lost in his own head. As if he were finally learnin’ how to accept his own death. Like...he was comin’ to terms with the end. As if he believed our efforts had been for nothing.

...But I wasn’t gonna allow it.

We had fought too goddamned hard to die now. The whole word may have been against us, and Dutch may have been seekin’ revenge, but this wasn’t the first time Eddie and I had been forced to survive in the wilderness. We both knew what we were doing, and no matter how hard our enemies fought back, I wasn’t about to let ourselves get killed now.

We had to survive. We had to make it through this.

Steppin’ next to my horse, I looked up at Eddie who was currently slouched over in the saddle and placed a comforting hand on his lap, attempting to wake the boy up now that the sun was starting to sink behind the icy mountains.

“Hey,” I said, “I checked the cabin out. It looks pretty safe. Doesn’t seem like anyone’s been there for quite some time, and there’s also a fireplace inside. I think we can stay here for a while. What d’you think?”

Forcing his eyes open, Eddie weakly gazed at me and wrapped his coat tighter around himself, mumbling out a response.

“...Sounds good to me. Hell, anything does, so long as it’ll get us out of this...bloody snow...”

I reached my arms out, beckoning Eddie to climb down from the horse. “C’mon,” I offered, “I’ll help you down.”

Surprisingly, the boy refused.

“...N-No,” he protested, holding a hand up, “I...I can walk...”

“No, you can’t.” I insisted before scoopin’ Eddie into my arms and carrying him anyway. “Your leg is torn up. It’s gonna be a while until you’re walkin’ around anywhere on your own, but don’t worry. I’m gonna set you down somewhere, and...I’ll...I’ll have a look at it, I guess. See what else I can do.”

Eddie gave in to my persistence and practically melted into my grasp, croaking out his next words as he wrapped an arm ‘round my shoulder.

“...T-Thank you, Arthur.”

Taking Eddie to the front of the cabin, I pushed the door open with my foot and carefully brought the boy inside, rushing him over to the couch in front of the fireplace.

It wasn’t the softest or most extravagant couch -- and it looked like the cold had hardened it a bit, actually -- but it was right next to the only source of heat in the whole house. There were a lot worse places we coulda been at the moment, and I was just grateful we found some shelter to last us for more than a single night. It would have to do.

Gently layin’ Eddie on the couch, I paused for a moment when he let out a pained groan and checked to make sure he was okay before placing him down completely, allowing him to sink into the welcoming cushions.

“You alright?” I asked, earning a small nod from the pianist.

“...I-I think so.” He replied.

I knelt beside the couch, gesturing to his leg. “You, uh...mind if I take a look?”

Eddie sighed worriedly, clearly not eager to see the condition his injury was in. “I suppose someone will have to, eventually. Just...try not to move it around too much, okay? It...it hurts like hell.”

Slippin’ one of Eddie’s boots off, I placed the shoe aside and took hold of his knee before very delicately pulling up the edge of his pants, steadily unveiling a bloody mess as I untied the bandage I put there earlier.

It looked like the skin around the wound had only grown more agitated over the past day, and due to the lack of proper medical treatment, I could only assume it wouldn’t be too long before Eddie got somethin’ life-threatening like blood poisoning.

After all, there wasn’t much else I could do ‘cept for clean the wound and keep it from gettin’ infected. But even then, I didn’t know how to deal with an injury of this severity. There were no doctors around to help us out, and I weren’t exactly an expert when it came to stuff like this.

Goddammit. There had to be somethin’ I could do.

“...I won’t lie to you, Eddie,” I admitted with a nervous sigh. “It don’t look so good. The bleeding’s stopped for now, but we’re gonna need a professional to handle this.”

The pianist clenched his jaw in fear. “We don’t...we don’t have to...get rid of the leg, do we?”

“No!” I quickly assured. “No. It ain’t that bad. You’ll be fine. I’m sure we’ll think of something. In the meantime, you just rest, okay? I’m gonna get a fire going. It’s freezin’ in here.”

Standing up from the floor, I left Eddie alone for the time being and tossed a few logs into the fireplace before lightin’ a match on my boot, setting the wood aflame. It weren’t much compared to the wintry nightmare outside, but it shoulda been enough to warm this cabin up for now.

“Alright,” I said, turnin’ back to Eddie, “I’m gonna head outside for a little and see if I can’t find us somethin’ to eat. You gonna be okay on your own?”

Eddie barely nodded in response, already half-asleep. “...I’ll be fine...”

“Okay, then. I’ll be back soon.”

Grabbin’ my hand just before I could leave, the pianist held me back for a second as he uttered one last thing, rubbing my palm affectionately.

“...Please, stay safe, Arthur. We’re all we have now...and I don’t wanna see you end up like me. Or worse.”

I bent down, placin’ a quick but loving kiss on Eddie’s forehead.

“We’re gonna make it, Eddie.” I reassured. “Don’t give up just yet. ‘Cause I haven’t given up on you.”

“...I won’t.” Eddie promised, softly closing his eyes as he relaxed into the couch’s embrace. “I won’t.”

“Good.” I patted his hand. “Now get some sleep. I’m gonna go hunting for a bit. I won’t be too long.”

Leavin’ Eddie to his dreams, I gave the boy one final peck on the cheek and headed for the cabin’s foyer, eager to find us some food.

We weren’t gonna last much longer if we didn’t get somethin’ proper to eat soon -- and I didn’t know about Eddie -- but surviving off of chewing tobacco and canned sweetcorn didn’t sound like it’d get us far. Especially him.

Eddie needed strength now more than anything. His health was deteriorating at a dangerous pace, and I just hoped it wasn’t too late to do something about that leg of his.

We needed a way outta this situation, and we needed it fast.

The only question was...how were we gonna find it?

Swingin’ the front door open, I wasted no time in throwing myself back out into the snow as I hurried to my horse, only to notice that there was a stranger standing directly in my path.

At first, my initial instinct was to reach for my gun -- and I actually almost shot him on the spot -- but the closer I looked at the peculiar man, the less I saw him as a threat.

The man in front of me appeared to be in his late fifties or sixties and had a full head of grey hair as well as a long beard huggin’ the bottom of his jaw. He wore a wide, floppy hat with a feather attached to it along with a long, yellow coat, and the rest of his body was dressed in casual attire.

The one thing about him that really caught my attention though, was the rickety crutch tucked tightly under his armpit, and more importantly, the intricate, prosthetic leg secured to his knee.

Oh, Jesus Christ. I certainly hoped he wasn’t mirroring Eddie’s future.

Hobbling a few steps closer to me, the old man firmly aimed a revolver in my direction as he glanced at the fresh smoke comin’ from the cabin’s chimney, wonderin’ just who the hell I was.

He didn’t appear to be afraid of me or show any signs of nervousness, and if I was being honest, he actually seemed quite strong. There wasn’t a single hint of fear hidin’ in his expression, and judging by the majestic, golden horse that was trottin’ along beside him, I assumed this old man weren’t as feeble as he looked. It only piqued my interest in him more.

Bringin’ his stern, green eyes back to me, the stranger subtly flicked his gaze up and down as he examined me head-to-toe, forming an observation in his head before finally saying something, at last.

I could tell he wanted to just scare me off and be done with it, but I guessed something about the urgent demeanor I carried and the way I moved told him I was in need of somebody’s help. And being the good Samaritan he was...he just couldn’t shoo me away.

Breaking the silence, the old man tilted his head in suspicion and fearlessly walked up to me, finally decidin’ to greet the odd cowboy who had suddenly occupied his home.

“Nice of you to get the fire going.”

[londone-fog]

Dirty Paws- Reddie Werewolf AU

AO3 Link

“Come on, puppy. Let’s get upstairs.”

“Puppy? I thought nicknames were my thing?”

(based on the short film of the same name)

The early morning sun was soft and bright and just a little warm, and Eddie relished the feeling of it on his skin. His eyes opened slowly, taking in his surroundings.

He was in his bedroom, the sun casting lines across his walls through the blinds. The clock on the wall read 8:04. He sighed deeply, turning to look at the lump of blankets next to him on the bed. Eddie could barely make out a tuft of curly dark hair poking out the top of the covers, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing indicated he was still asleep. Eddie scooted closer, curling himself around the lump of blankets, burrowing his nose into its neck.

“Rich, you awake?” Eddie asked softly, barely above a whisper. Richie groaned, pressing himself a little closer.

“No. Never in a million years.”

Eddie sighed, running a soothing hand across Richie’s arm. He placed a gentle kiss to the juncture between Richie’s shoulder and neck.

“We need to start getting ready. You know what day it is.”

Richie groaned, and rolled over right onto Eddie, wrapping his lanky arms around him tightly.

“I’d rather stay here, I think. Staying in bed sounds good.”

Eddie pushed him off, sitting up and looking. Richie was trying to burrow further into the blankets, hiding his face away in a pillow. Eddie managed to untangle part of him from the duvet and flip him onto his back.

“We need to shower and go over the plan for tonight. Make sure everything goes perfect.”

Richie’s eyes remained closed, and his brow furrowed. He finally peeled them open, one by one, eyelids drooping and bruises deep beneath dark brown pools. He must not have gotten sleep the night before.

“We’ve done this a thousand times. I don’t know what else there is to change,” Richie groaned in slight protest. Eddie ran a wandering finger across his collar bone.

“You got out last time. I don’t want to have to buy another coffee table.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to get one with a glass top. That’s just asking to be broken.”

Eddie let out a small chuckle, a breathy little thing. He pulled Richie’s hand from behind his head and slotted his own between his fingers. His thumb ran soothing circles across Richie’s.

“Let’s go shower, yeah? It’ll be a rough night, so lets start by having a good day.”

Richie sighed, but let Eddie lead him with him into the warm spray of water. Eddie normally wouldn’t be as patient with Richie dragging his feet, but he knew that night would be hard on them. It didn’t help that Richie wasn’t acting like himself; it scared Eddie how tired and muted he became on the full moon. He faced Richie in the shower, letting water run soothingly over them. His eyes, usually a dark brown, we’re already beginning to turn a little blond. By the time night rolled around, they’d be a reflective yellow. Richie slowly bent to burrow his face into Eddie’s neck, arms holding him tightly as though he’d vanish. Eddie held him back.

Breakfast was easier. They joked and drank coffee. Bev came over with Ben around lunch with sandwiches and a large coil of silver chain. Them, along with Mike, Bill, and Stan were the only ones who knew about Richie’s ‘problem’.

By the time they left, it was evening, the sun beginning to sink low in the sky. Eddie paused washing dishes to look down at Richie, who sat on the floor with his back to the cabinets. He had a finger prodding at his teeth, cringing in discomfort.

“Now?” Eddie asked, clinging to the towel he was drying his hands with. Richie just looked at him, his eyes yellow and his canines enlarged. They were almost long enough to poke comically over his bottom lip. Eddie offered him a hand, pulling him to his feet with little effort.

“Come on, puppy. Let’s get upstairs.”

“Puppy? I thought nicknames were my thing?” Richie chuckled. Eddie smiled, glad to hear the sound.

“I think it’s fitting.”

“Don’t patronize me, Spaghetti Man.”

Richie gripped tight to Eddie’s hand, allowing him to lead him to the attic.

With the chain Bev had brought earlier, Eddie very carefully looped them around Richie, connecting him to the radiator beneath the window. Richie grimaced at the cold metal against his arms.

“Seriously, silver? Bev wasn’t kidding, was she?” he said through slightly gritted teeth.

“We just want to make sure you don’t get out. You could get hurt.”

The other people could get hurt went unsaid.

“Do you need me to put down a pillow or something?”

“No, I’m fi-“ The rest of his sentence was cut off by an involuntary, throaty growl. Eddie placed a gentle hand on his face, and pressed a fleeting kiss to the tip of his nose.

“I’ll be downstairs. Holler if you need anything.” Richie nods, yellow eyes reflecting the low light.

Eddie flopped himself down on the couch, book in hand. He opened to his last page, scanning the words in front of him, but not taking in any of them. All he could think of was Richie upstairs, chained up like an animal. Like a monster.

In the three years since Richie had been bitten, the hardest part was always leaving him alone in the attic. The first time was the worst, the night ending with both of them crying; Eddie refused to leave Richie, which lead to him getting a sizable gash across his back. Luckily, the wound was too shallow to cause any lasting damage, but the scar remained white and raised. Since then, they took every precaution to keep them both safe during the full moon.

But, inevitably, there was always an issue.

From his spot on the couch, Eddie could hear Richie’s whines and cries, sounding more dog than human. It sounded a little on the painful side.

“Leave him be. He’s fine. It’s fine,” Eddie whispered to himself, covering his ears with a pillow. That only lasted for so long before he was making his way back to the attic.

He heard Richie before he saw him. His growls and whines echoed around the empty space. He was a mass of dark, matted hair, and when he turned to Eddie, he could count two rows of gleaming white fangs. Eddie crossed his arms and flopped on the ground, sitting in front of Richie. He growled, tugging against the chains.

“Just shut up already. Snarling will get you literally nowhere.”

Richie abruptly stopped, snarl disappearing only to be replaced by wide, staring eyes. The same ones that Eddie has grown to love. He sighed and scooted closer, reaching up to tangle his fingers in the fur of Richie face, resting his forehead against the cold, wet nose of his snout.

“I’m sorry, love.”

Richie whined, trying in vain to push himself closer to Eddie. It was only then that Eddie looked down at the chains looped through dark fur. He knew that silver and werewolves didn’t mix, and that silver bullets were one of the only things that would for sure kill one. But he didn’t expect to see that even touching it would burn them. He could see angry red skin beneath the chains, and his heart leapt into his throat.

“Oh no, it’s hurting you isn’t it?”

Richie only let out a low cry in response. It was that moment that Eddie was faced with two choices: he could either set Richie free, or let the silver burn him even worse. He sighed, rubbing a gentle hand across what would have been Richie’s cheek.

“Look, I’m going to get the old chains from downstairs. Until then, I’ll let you go. Just for a minute. Don’t move.”

Eddie made quick work of unchaining Richie, before scurrying downstairs to the basement. He dug around, looking for the telltale glint of metal in the semi darkness. As soon as he found it, however, there was a large crash from upstairs. He raced back up the attic.

The dropping of chains to the ground was the only sound besides the whistling of wind through the broken window. The pane had been shattered nearly completely; only a few straggling pieces remained attached to the frame. Upon closer inspection, there was a red tinge to the edges, likely from Richie forcing himself through. Eddie sighed and wiped a hand across his face.

He didn’t have to think twice before he called Bev.

“What do you mean he got out?” she nearly hollered. Eddie sighed as he worked to hang a blanket over the broken window.

“Well, the silver was burning him. I told him to stay put so I could get the other ones, but he’d already broken through the window by the time I got up here. What do I do, Bev?”

She sighed loudly, and he could vaguely hear Ben saying something in the background.

“I’ll call the others. We’ll look around for him in all the usual places. You know him best, so I’d get to looking if I were you.”

“Right, right. I’ll let you know if I find anything. Thank you.”

“No problem. Just bring our boy back.”

Eddie nodded, hanging up as he grabbed his coat and opened the door. He was immediately taken aback by the sight of an orange cat, mangled and bloody nearly beyond recognition, lying on his doorstep. He held his breath and looked around, before grabbing it by the scruff of the neck and tossing it into the nearest bush. Richie was really going to get it; if Eddie found him, that was. He bundled his coat tighter around himself as he began his trek to the woods near their subdivision.

He was so full of his own thoughts, he almost didn’t hear someone calling his name.

“Eddie, hey! Eddie!” He turned to see his neighbor from down the way, Greta Keene. Eddie had little patience for her, but forced himself to be pleasant.

“Hey Greta.”

“What are you doing out here so late? It’s nearly ten.”

Eddie placed a nervous hand to the back of his neck.

“Oh, y’know, my, er… dog got out. I’m trying to find him.”

Greta hummed, setting down the recycling bin she held in her hands.

“You might want to be careful. Something around here is killing pets. Luckily my cat’s too smart to get caught.”

Eddie thought back to the dead cat he had concealed in his bushes, and blanched.

“Well, I better get to finding him in that case.” With that he sped off, not giving Greta the chance to question him any longer.

His cheeks smarted against the cold wind, ruffling his hair and drying his eyes. He rubbed his nose as he reached the edge of the forest, looking down at the slope he was becoming all too familiar with. He slid down, the soles of his sneakers scraping the cold ground. He landed, shaking the dirt off him. Eddie squinted in the low light, looking for any sign of Richie. He began a slow trek, keeping his steps light and his eyes peeled. He started to notice small breakages in the tree branches and large paw prints in the slightly soft dirt. He was definitely on the right track.

“Richie! Richie, I know you’re here!” he called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. He was really starting to get cold now, and really wanted to go home. Just as the thought occurred to him, he heard a low howl, coming from up ahead. He began to run toward the noise, nearly sure it was Richie.

Sure enough, there he was, a black mass of fur sitting in the middle of a clearing.

“Jesus, there you are.”

Richie turned suddenly, nose sniffing the air and eyes reflecting the moonlight. He let out a sad little sound when he saw Eddie, and for a moment Eddie felt sorry for him. Then he remembered the broken window and the dead cat and the cold all around them, and his annoyance returned tenfold.

“Are you serious, Rich? After I specifically told you to stay put? I can’t believe you! And now I have to listen to Greta talk about her cat going missing. You don’t have to hunt for me. We have plenty of food at home.” Richie got an odd look across his face, but Eddie was too far gone to really notice. The more he spoke, the more steps he took toward the werewolf. “And now I’m out here in the cold, scared to death because I couldn’t find you. You can’t just keep scaring me like th-”

Eddie never got to finish because he was suddenly thrown on his back. He expected to feel the hot breath of a dog against his face, and his heart froze in terror. But it never came. Instead, all he heard was Richie’s soft cries a few feet away. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Richie lying near where Eddie had been standing just moments ago, leg caught in the jaws of a bear trap.

He was protecting me. He saved me.

The guilt immediately settled into Eddie’s stomach, but he shook it off in favor of running to Richie’s side. He tried in vain to wrestle the trap back down, but the cold and the shock were working against him.

“I’m going to call the others. Hang tight, okay?” Eddie said gently, placing a soft hand just above the wound. He pulled his phone out and called Bill.

“Hello?”

“Bill, its Eddie. I found Richie, but he’s stuck in a bear trap. I can’t get him out.”

Eddie felt the tell-tale sting of tears beginning to prick at his eyes, but he wiped them away.

“Oh, okay. I’m with M-mike, he’ll be able to get him out.”

“Alright, thank you. We’re in the forest. I’ll call the others.”

He quickly hung up and dialed Bev’s number for the second time that night.

“Bev, we’re in the forest. I found Richie, but he’s real hurt. Bill and Mike are on the way.”

“Oh thank God. You’re in the forest. Okay. I think Stan is with Bill, but I’ll check just to be sure. Wait, you said Richie is hurt?”

Eddie swallowed hard, petting small circles into Richie’s fur.

“Yeah, its a… bear trap? I think?”

Bev let out a small sound somewhere between hurt and surprise.

“Oh honey, how bad is it?”

“Well, it’s not great.” He looked at Richie who was desperately leaning into Eddie’s touch. “I think he’ll live, though. Just get everyone here soon.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

The line ended with a click, leaving deafening silence in its wake. Eddie turned to Richie, and scooted closer to put Richie’s head on his lap.

“I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry you got hurt because I didn’t notice the stupid trap.” He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the tip of Richie’s ear. “I’m just really sorry.”

Richie just closed his eyes and pushed himself closer. Even though he couldn’t speak, Eddie could imagine he was trying to convey forgiveness. Or something like that. And they sat like that, silent but not alone, until the others arrived.

Mike and Ben both pulled on the trap to free Richie’s leg, revealing the wound to be less serious than Eddie had thought. He guessed werewolf legs were made of stronger stuff than the average animal. They walked back to Eddie and Richie’s house in a pack, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone who might spot Richie.

It wasn’t until they were alone with the door securely locked that Eddie finally felt like he could breathe. He deposited Richie on the couch and rummaged around the bathroom for any bandages and cleaning supplies. He found several gauze pads, as well as a roll of bandage and some soothing/ cleaning ointment. He brought it all downstairs.

“This may sting a little, but these need to be cleaned.” Sure enough, Richie cried and howled as Eddie spread ointment on his leg, as well as the little scrapes from jumping out the window. He began to relax once the bandages were finally in place.

Eddie knew he ought to restrain Richie again, but just the feeling of a snout nuzzling against his thigh broke any resolve he had built up. While he was indeed a monster, Richie was also the man that Eddie loved. He forgot that sometimes.

So, together, they climbed the stairs to their room, Eddie curling up behind Richie like always, pressing his face against the fur of Richie’s back.

When he woke in the morning, Eddie was glad to feel his torso wrapped in very gangly, very human arms. Richie was back to normal, at least for another month. He snuggled back into the warm chest behind him, letting out a content sigh.

“I see you’re finally awake,” Richie said, voice gravelly and barely above a whisper.

“I see you’re finally reigned in. How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty great. Better than I would have in the attic.”

Eddie untangled from Richie’s grasp, leaning on his elbow to look down at him. Richie’s eyes were always an amazing shade of brown, and they always held this amazing quality when they were alone together. Eddie leaned down to place a kiss to Richie’s lips, placing his hand against his cheek softly.

“I think we need to rethink the way we do this whole werewolf thing. Don’t you?” Eddie asked, running a gentle thumb against Richie’s cheekbone.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t think the attic is necessary at this point. I think we can make it work if we try.”

Richie paused, seemingly mulling it over. Eddie could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes.

“I mean, if you’re willing to try, I guess we can try.”

Eddie grinned, going in for another languid kiss. Richie couldn’t help but grin too once they pulled apart.

“Hey, let me make breakfast this morning,” he offered. He made to move off the bed, but winced once his feet hit the ground. His foot was still covered from his injury.

Eddie got out of bed and helped him up, leading them downstairs.

“Just shut up, Richie.”

[yourprayer]

“Quitting time at the plant. Time for supper now. Time for families. Time for a cool drink on a porch. Time for the quiet rustle of leaf-laden trees that screen out the moon. And underneath it all, behind the eyes of the men, hanging invisible over the summer night, is a horror without words. For this is the stillness before storm. This is the eve of the end.”

a twilight zone inspired one shot

based on the episode “third from the sun”

this is my it fandom secret admirer gift exchange (@itfandomsecretadmirers) present for @reddiesetrichie ! i hope you enjoy this piece, and i hope this is close enough to your interests i not so sneakily asked you about (x so sorry this is late! i hate being an adult with a job asdikkfdckj

pairings: reddie, stenbrough, benverly

word count: 12.5k

warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual activity, smoking/drinking, mild depictions of violence  + to avoid spoilers, i will say only that this piece centers around a fairly heavy political subject. please proceed with caution as you read as this may be upsetting to those easily upset by political turmoil. remember that this is fiction & for fun, don’t stress yourself out/upset yourself over it! i won’t be offended if you don’t read bc it is too heavy. this is in no way intended to be a proclamation of something to come (i mean only that im not trying to say i think this is going to happen; im not trying to scare you. this is just based on the episode, and that’s what it happens to be about. this was written in the 60s for the sole purpose of being an interesting and compelling piece of sci fi. im using it for the same thing) this is getting long winded but basically, if you have any questions about content before you read, shoot me an ask and i’ll tell you privately bc i don’t want to spoil the twist for anyone. i just thought it would be really fun to do a twilight zone au, but this show can be very thought provoking, sometimes in a scary way. 

the twilight zone is available on hulu, netflix and cbs all access! i recommend watching the ep before (or after, if you don’t want spoilers!) reading this piece but its not necessary! heres a link to the ep free online if you have none of those services, but the picture is off center so i recommend the services over this! + the opening theme to get you in the mood!

Richie Tozier sighed, shifting his identification card from one hand to the other in impatience. The sun had just began its descent from its highest point in the sky, and the heat of the afternoon started to seep into his skin through the heavy work suit he was wearing. Why his supervisors insisted they come to the factory is full dress attire was beyond him, but it was his own fault for leaving the suit jacket on. It was quittin’ time after all; he could just take it off. Perhaps it was the nervousness and distractions of the day that made him disregard the possibility altogether.

To say his mind was not on the task at hand would be quite the understatement. He could barely count with both hands the number of pieces he’d fudged the fabrication of; his average was usually two or three, but on this day, he knew he’d reached double digits. He almost laughed to himself, catching his mind thinking of the next weekly review; his boss, red-faced and shaking, telling him off for wasting materials. It would be quite a sight, quite a sight for a laugh, if it ever came to be.

Yes, he almost laughed to himself.

Almost.

“Mills, Germ Warfare Research.” The bored voice of the gate guard cut off his wandering thoughts as he stepped forward in line. The man in front of him had his card read and his person pursued for any out of place items or (as he knew was the real protocol) smuggled machinery by the two uniformed men minding the exit from the factory grounds. No matter the department, the employees at the facility were all funneled in a single file line through the one break in the fence, each required to show their employment I.D. upon entering and exiting the property. Richie flicked his own identification card between his fingers in impatience as he waited for the man in front of him to be cleared and begin his trek to the parking lot.

The man cleared the way, and Richie stepped forward, handing his card to the guard on his left.

“Tozier, Hydrogen Armament.” He read aloud, as the guard across from him checked Richie’s name off of a numbered list on his clipboard. “You fellas are getting pretty busy up there, aren’t ya?” The guard questioned conversationally as Richie returned his card to his breast pocket.

“Very.” Richie replied curtly, not wanting to continue the conversation. He stepped out of the line, off to the side of the path of the cars. He knew he should be rushing to get to his vehicle, he knew he shouldn’t be lingering on the premises; but he also knew his supervisor, Mr. Bowers, was just a few feet away, eyeing him suspiciously. I must maintain some image of normalcy, he thought to himself. Deciding it would be best to stick with his usual habits, he reached into the same pocket his card resided in to extract a cigarette and match from their respective packets. His nervous fingers brushed his departmentally issued employee identification button, the numbers that dictated his employee profile printed largely on the face. He sighed heavily, exhaling the smoke from his first drag, attempting to quell any physical signs of his fear that could possibly be showing.

“Hold that light, will you, Tozier?” A voice from over his shoulder jarred him as he went to shake out the match. Suddenly a hand was gripped around his wrist, raising the match towards the tip of another cigarette. The mouth behind the butt and the statement belonged to none other than Bowers himself.

“Long day, wasn’t it?” Bowers said calmly, exhaling his drag as he let Richie extinguish the match. “They’ve got us going full blast, on our end.”

Richie barely dared to give him a nod, averting his gaze as he pinched the end of his cigarette and raised it to his mouth.

“It’s coming, boy.” Richie gritted his teeth at the petty nickname, one Bowers had been using to demean him ever since he’d been hired at the plant. “It’s really coming. A big one, too.” Bowers glanced around conspiratorially. “Even now, as we’re speaking, I’ll bet you anything they’re gearing up.”

Richie swallowed nervously, taking a deep pull with slightly shaking fingers.

Bowers finally looked over at Richie, making eye contact, a frightening edge to his gaze.

“Talk is forty eight hours.”

Richie felt his blood run cold.

“Wait and see if I’m wrong.” Bowers continued, an almost goading tone to his voice as Richie took another neurotic drag. “Forty eight hours, and then…” Bowers’ expression was nearing a sneer, as he raised a hand and mimicked a projectile flying. “Whoosh..” He added the sound effect, opening his closed fist like the opening flower of bomb bay doors on the bottom of a plane. Richie watched his gesture with a clenched jaw, his trepidation and anger growing as Bowers’ fingers continued to stretch open, accentuating his boss’s apathy over the situation. “Then, there goes the enemy.”

“And what are they doing in the meantime?” Richie’s temper got the better of himself, pulling the interjection from his closed teeth, even as his mind screamed at him not to speak, not to reveal his truth.

“What do you mean what are they doing?” Bowers gave him a cross look. “Retaliating, of course, though not nearly in the same fashion as us.” He gave a small, crass laugh. “Big fucking waste of time, you ask me.” Bowers took another drag of his still-lit cigarette. Richie finished his off and crushed it under his heel, trying to push all of his anger out of the bottom of his feet so as to prevent himself from putting in his two cents again. “We get ours in first, then they can’t do much.”

“The can respond, with their own ‘whoosh…’” Richie found himself speaking again, barely able to disguise the frustration and disgust in his voice, the only thing keeping him from repeating Bowers’ gesture was his tightly clenched fist, which he refused to release.

“Oh, they can.” Bowers nearly shrugged, taking another pull. “But not so accurately. Not so powerfully.”

“Then instead of losing a million people, we lose a hundred thousand.” Richie said hardly, his voice rising in anger.

“Dangerous words there Tozier.” Bowers made eye contact again, his gaze piercing. “Not a defeatist, are you?” Richie made no move to respond, only returning the look. “You better watch what you say.”

“And what I think, too.” Richie bit back with a raise of his eyebrows, challenging almost.

“And what you think.” Bowers rejoined.

Richie huffed. “Goodnight, Bowers.” He leaned in, just enough to be in Bowers’ space. “See you tomorrow?” He said pointedly.

Bowers didn’t reply as he watched Richie retreat to his vehicle.

He just... observed.

________________________________________________________________

A light, airy tune floated upstairs as Eddie Tozier (nee Kaspbrak) busied himself with his workload. He could visualize easily in his head his husband downstairs, drink in hand and hips swaying casually to the beat as he began to unwind from a long day at work. Richie would have just arrived home, car parked safely in the garage, tie possibly still yet to be undone, hands still slightly greasy from the machines as he poured his favorite scotch. Eddie smiled at the thought as the music grew a bit louder, and decided that he should make the vision become his reality.

Taking the stairs nearly two at a time, the undone top buttons of his shirt causing the collar to open a bit in the breeze his momentum caused, Eddie rushed down to greet his husband as he did every day.

He was greeted by the sight of Richie, drink in hand, record turning lazily in their player, his back to the stairs.

Two things instantly alerted Eddie that something was off. The first: Richie’s glass contained a considerably greater amount of the amber liquid than his usual. Richie had been a heavy drinker in their youth, and after a particularly nasty bout of alcohol-centered arguments Richie had given in and placed himself on a strict regimen of limitation. The second: he was not, as he always, always did, swaying to his music.

Eddie’s smile fell as he adjusted the spectacles that had been jostled on his way downstairs, pushing the center further up his nose with his middle finger. He pushed his rolled sleeves up just a bit more, a strange way of preparing himself to comfort his husband. He then approached Richie from behind, preparing his winning smile that Richie always maintained could cut through every stressor in his life.

Eddie only prayed that now, it could do its job.

“Hey there, handsome.” Eddie said kindly, sliding a hand around Richie’s waist as he tucked himself into Richie’s side.

“Hey, baby.” Richie turned to him, a pleasant but obviously forced smile plastered on his face. He pulled Eddie into a distracted kiss, setting his drink down and snaking his arms around Eddie’s middle to pull him close. “Where’s Mike?” He asked, pulling away all too soon.

“Outside, begging the new peonies to sprout.” Eddie joked. Mike was their best friend from college, housemate, and avid gardener, who had insisted on landscaping their entire yard. Richie looked towards their sliding glass door that lead to the side garden, and made a move to exit, dropping his hands from Eddie’s back.

“Oh, no you don’t. Not before our dance.” Eddie pouted, placing Richie’s hands back on his own hips and linking his around the taller man’s neck. Richie gave him a ragged smile, for a moment considering joining him in their well practiced sway, but after a moment removed Eddie’s hands and held them in his own, between their chests.

“Some other time, honey. Promise.” Richie said quietly, before releasing Eddie’s hands, picking up his glass, and crossing to the player, turning the music off.

Eddie watched in quiet awe as Richie looked again to the door, then appeared to have thought better of it before crossing the room and sitting heavily on the couch. Richie had never been able to say no to a dance.

“Rich.” Eddie said, concern written plainly on his face and in his speech, as he moved quickly to sit on the coffee table across from his worn out husband.

“Yes, dear?” Richie joked half-heartedly, placing a hand absentmindedly on Eddie’s knee as he took a sip of his drink.

“What’s going on with you?” He placed his hand on top of Richie’s, giving him a pleading look. It was unlike Richie to behave this way, but even more unlike him to admit why. Eddie steeled himself, determined to get an answer out of the man. Richie had been a bit more tense as of late, but had often been fine after a nice massage or a particularly satisfying night spent in bed. But this nervousness and distance he placed Eddie in was downright out of character, and he needed to know exactly what the cause was, so he could destroy it.

“Nothing serious, Eds.” Richie offered that same thin smile, and it set Eddie’s jaw in frustration. Just as he was about to lay into the man, Mike came in through the sliding glass door, wiping the sweat off his brow with a rag.

“Afternoon Rich, how was work?” He called over his shoulder after he spotted Richie, crossing into their kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“Work.” Richie said in a strange tone, taking another drink. “Hey, Mike?” He said after a pause, as the other man appeared in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna invite everyone over for cards tonight. You’ll be here, right? Bill will want to see you.”

Eddie furrowed his brow, looking from Mike to Richie in confusion. They usually played cards on Fridays…

“Actually, guys, I uh…” Mike paused, taking a nervous sip of his water. “I have a date.” He said with a sheepish smile. “Maybe I could get home a little early, but..” His smile grew, obviously lost in thought of how his date might go.

“Call it off?” Richie said suddenly, worry briefly painting his features, and Eddie’s jaw all but dropped at the sight. On any other day in their normal universe where Richie was his Richie, smiling, joking, often highly inappropriate Richie, there would be congratulations and jokes about ‘making it’ and conspiratorial high-fives between him and his good friend. But here in this strange, hell universe where Richie was changing before Eddie’s very eyes into Richard Wentworth Tozier, a serious man, an alien on his couch where his husband should be, he was asking Mike to cancel a date.

“Rich, I- we’ve been planning this for awhile now, I’m very fond of her-” Mike said, rightfully flabbergasted.

“Please, Mike. I’ve had a terrible day. I’d like a night for us. Everyone, together again.” Richie pressed, giving Mike a solemn look. When he seemed hesitant, Richie extended his plea in a small voice. “Please, Mike? Just us losers.” A small smile at the end.

Eddie and Mike shared a look of concern.

“Sure, I guess.” Mike caved.

“Wunderbar.” Richie smiled, feigning his usual playfulness with his terrible German accent. Eddie noticed straight away there was no soul behind it. “Will you call everyone for me, Michael?” He asked before knocking back the rest of his drink. “I’ve got to have a private conversation with my husband upstairs, if you catch my drift.” He added a wink, some of his old energy creeping back into the conversation. Eddie watched the display in abject horror; this wasn’t Richie, this was a ghost trying on his clothing. No matter how much he tried to act like his rambunctious old self, with each attempt at humor Eddie’s worry grew.

Mike raised an eyebrow, finishing his water. “Sure I will. What time should I tell them?”

“Oh, around seven. Maybe earlier. Not before five, though.” Richie said as he stood and stretched, brushing off Eddie’s hand. Mike raised his eyebrows in confused concern and turned to use the phone. He almost reached it before he paused. “Wait, wasn’t Bill still out of town?”

“He got back this morning.” Richie replied, crossing to the fireplace and pulling another cigarette from his pack, before lighting it quickly.

“Really? I thought they were testing their aircraft all week-”

“They finished.” Richie said simply, his tone indicating the finality of the conversation. He had his back turned to both men as he took a long drag. Eddie stood, turning to look at Mike. Mike raised his eyebrow quizzically, to which Eddie responded with a shake of his head.

I’ll find out. Eddie mouthed to Mike. The other man nodded, and left to make the calls.

Richie finished about half of his cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray atop their fireplace. He then turned to exit the room, but was stopped by Eddie’s hand on his arm.

“Rich-”

“I just would like a game of cards, is all.” Richie asserted, not looking at Eddie. “Take my mind off of things.”

He pulled his arm out of Eddie’s grasp, and trudged up the stairs to their room.

“Richard.” Eddie said angrily, stopping at the bottom of the stairs with his hands on his hips. The use of the full name was usually a good way for Eddie to snap his husband back into seriousness; here it was only met with a retreating back. Richie did not stop, just continued until he hit the landing and turned to enter their bedroom, finishing his drink in the process.

Eddie huffed angrily, taking a minute to steal himself before storming up the stairs after him.

Richie stood before their bureau, idly examining a few trinkets spread across its surface. He placed his glass next to a watch their good friend Stanley had given him years ago, at the bachelors party before their wedding. Eddie watched as Richie trailed his long fingers slowly over the face, as if in attempts to memorize its texture.

“Richard.” He repeated. Richie did not turn around. “What is going on?” He demanded as he closed their door.

“Just feeling my years.” Richie said quietly, his shoulders falling.

“You’re thirty seven.” Eddie folded his arms across his chest.

“Touche.” Richie laughed to himself, catching Eddie’s gaze in the mirror above the bureau. Suddenly and without warning he turned, crossing the room easily in a couple of strides, and cupping Eddie’s surprised face in his hands. “But looking at you, dear,” He paused to kiss Eddie quickly. “Your beautiful face,” Eddie rolled his eyes, face reddening, more so as Richie peppered it with kisses. “It’s just reminding me of how old I feel…” He trailed off, gazing into Eddie’s eyes, but not looking, as though his husbands face was not truly there, not looking back at him. He looked instead as though he was glancing back through a pinhole, nostalgia and want written on his features, as his eyes saw not the man in front of him, but the boy he fell in love with. He saw Eddie now as he always did then; young, freckled, glowing. Memories swirled around him abstractly, no specific events coming to mind but rather an amalgamation of the years he’d passed. He thought briefly this was what it must be to have your life flash before your eyes.

After all, he was a dying man.

Eddie watched the display in a cocktail of wonder and horror.

“Richard, I need you to tell me what’s happening.” He said in a near whisper. “I- I don’t know if it’s work, but-”

“No, no, not work.” Richie shook his head, his fondness suddenly dropping off into exasperation as he released his grip on Eddie’s face. “It’s just work, it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t fucking seem like that.” Eddie’s voice raised as Richie turned around again, a hand sliding nervously through his hair.

“It’s just work! I’m just a cog in a machine baby, just a fucking part of the whole damned thing-”

“Richard-”

“Do you know how many men it takes to build a bomb, Edward?” Richie turned back suddenly, a dangerous expression in his eye as he stared down Eddie, still not seeing him. Eddie stared back in shock, bewildered by the strange question and terrified by the expression and the use of his name. Richie never called him Edward, not even in their worst fights, just when he was joking.

“What?” He sputtered, when it seemed the question was apparently un-rhetorical.

“Hundreds. Thousands maybe. I make lugnuts all day, babe, one fucking piece. Someone else cools them down. I operate the press, that’s all I do. All the other tiny pieces and functions, all of them need another person. Construction, assembly, execution… when it’s all said and done there’s so many of us. I’m just one piece. I just pull one lever….” By the end he’d worked himself into a frenzy, hands shaking as they pulled at errant strands of his barely-controlled hair, the curls Eddie had come to love so dearly over all these years protesting angrily against the gel applied that morning. Eddie wanted to jump back to that moment, Richie sitting in his trousers on the end of their bed, shirtless and smiling as Eddie worked the stuff through his hair, jokingly trying to distract him by snapping the waistband of Eddie’s boxers as he tried in vain to control the unruly locks. He wanted to go back so badly, and hold close the man he loved before he could turn into the one he saw now, frightened and frenzied as he rambled nonsense, pacing the self same room. He could not find an answer in his mind as to why his husband had come so undone; but then, he supposed he should have seen it coming, noticed it sooner. Even in that memory of the morning, even in Richie’s light smirk as he snapped the elastic for the twelfth time and looked up at Eddie, he should have seen that heaviness in his eyes. In retrospect he could see it; for weeks now, it had been there.   

“If you think of it that way,” Richie continued, more so to himself. “I’m- not solely responsible…”

“Responsible for what?” Eddie pleaded, shocked by the urgency in his own tone. “Rich, please, what is this about?”

Richie stood, one hand still on his forehead, looking off to the corner of the room.

“Please. Please speak to me.” Eddie begged, stepping closer and taking Richie’s hand in his own, using the other to make Richie look at him. “Tell me what has you so afraid. I- I can see it’s been plaguing you. For some time now.” Eddie swallowed, thoughts racing. “I’ve been- I’ve been frightened too. For awhile now. I couldn’t explain it if you asked but- there’s something in the atmosphere. Like this weight, this… wordless terror. I’ve seen it in others; especially in you. Please. Please tell me. Give it a name, Richard.” He stressed the latter, almost shaking Richie’s face as he held it in his hand, eyes searching the others for some give.

“Fear.” Richie muttered to himself as he placed his hands on Eddie’s arms, still staring at the spot on the carpet.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rich. What is everyone so afraid of?” Eddie pleaded quietly, his hand trailing from Richie’s cheek to his chest, where his fingers brushed the button that proclaimed the numbers that dictated his husband. His Richie, complex, creative, beautiful Richie, reduced to a code. A cog in a machine.

“People are afraid because they make themselves afraid.” Richie said darkly, his tone shifting as he finally made eye contact with Eddie. His grip on the smaller mans arms tightened, and as he spoke he jostled Eddie a bit, his anger and frustration growing with each thought. “Because they do it to themselves, Edward, because they can’t just leave good enough alone. Because they have to take every inch they can possibly have, because there’s no compromise-”

“Chee, you’re frightening me-” Eddie breathed, attempting to pull Richie out of his trance with the pet name.

“Because no one makes any attempts at diplomacy anymore, because they’d rather play dice with our lives than pull their heads out of the sand-” Richie barreled on, Eddie’s feeble words falling on deaf ears as the taller man kept gripping, kept shaking him. “They’re afraid because now- now when it’s too late, far too late to change, to turn back, now they’re asking why-”

“RICHARD!” Eddie found himself shouting, shocking both of them, Richie’s anger lifting and being replaced with surprise, as he looked down at Eddie’s hands fisted in his lapels and gulped, realizing how tightly he held Eddie’s upper arms and letting go immediately, rubbing his hands over the muscles apologetically.

“Baby- I’m sorry-”

“What is this about?!” Eddie returned the jostle, desperately hoping he could shake an answer out of the man.

“I guess it’s too late for vagueness…” Richie nearly whispered, eyes roaming Eddie’s face.

Eddie huffed in frustration. “It sure fucking is.”

“It’s coming.” Richie said suddenly.

Eddie’s blood ran cold.

“No..” He breathed, feeling his knees go weak.

“It’s coming baby, sooner than anyone predicted.”

Eddie shook his head in denial, Richie’s arms around his back now the only thing holding him up.

“We have forty-eight hours.” Richie said solemnly, his eyes as grey as graves.

Eddie’s knees hit the floor.

“It- it can’t be-”

“It is.” Richie repeated, kneeling to pull Eddie back up into a standing position, his limp body refusing to cooperate.

“How- how bad?” Eddie caught his eyes, not moving, not allowing himself to be moved. Richie gathered his strength, both to haul Eddie up to the foot of the bed at least, and to say the heavier truth.

“Bad.” He said simply as he man-handled his husband to their bed. He sat down gingerly next to him, letting the smaller man rest his weight on him. “It’ll be the end… of everything. All of it. Our life as we know it… Gone. It’ll be a holocaust.”

Eddie could feel the world underneath him tipping and swirling as he tried to rationalize what Richie was saying. He knew that the situation was tense, that the enemy had their finger over the trigger-

The enemy, he scolded himself. No one is the enemy. There are no sides in a war that destroys us all.

He used what little strength he could muster to look up at Richie.

“What do we do?” He whispered, his voice shaking. He almost thought he might cry, but he was too shocked to form tears.

Richie raised a hand to cradle Eddie’s face, keeping it there so they could lock their gazes on each other, to help ground him.

“We’re getting out of here.” He said quietly, Eddie’s eyes widening. “Bill and I, we’ve devised a plan. The two of us, Mike, Bill and Stanley, Ben and Beverly and the kids too. We’re all getting out of here.”

“Where?” Eddie insisted, flabbergasted. If it was as bad as they’d been threatened, as bad as Richie had claimed, as bad as he had imagined, there’d be nowhere to go.

“I can’t tell you.” Richie said cryptically, instantly earning an expression of anger. “Baby, Eddie, I can’t tell you but you have to trust me. We’re leaving, tonight.” He squeezed the hand cupped around Eddie’s cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone. “Between midnight and one, we have to be gone. Then we’re getting out of here.” Eddie just looked at him, fear freezing him down to his bones. “You can’t say anything, to anyone. Not even Mike, or the others. Bill and Ben are the only ones who know so far, and we’ve only just told Ben. But you can’t say anything.” Richie looked deep into his eyes, and Eddie nodded robotically. “What we’re doing… it’ll be dangerous. Anyone could be- could be on to us. They could be listening-”

“Richie, hey!” Mike’s voice suddenly filled the house, causing Eddie to nearly jump out of his skin. “Bill’s here to see you!” He continued as Richie wrapped his arms protectively around his frightened lover.

“I’m coming, tell him it’ll be a minute.” Richie called back, his loud voice strange against the heavy quietness that had been with them in the room.

“Chee…” Eddie sobbed dryly into Richie’s shoulders.

“Shhh… hey, I’ve got you.” Richie mumbled, rubbing a hand up and down Eddie’s back to soothe him. “Eds, it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Eddie shook his head, shivers wracking his body as the weight of his fate set in. “Baby, I have to go talk to Bill, but I’ll be back, I’ll be right back.” He gently pulled Eddie upright, wiping away the one tear that had managed to fall. “I need you to be strong for me. For yourself.” He stressed, a hand on Eddie’s knee. “I know you can, dear, you’ve always been. We can do this.”

“I’m so- I’m so frightened, Rich.”

“I am too. But you have to trust me; Bill and I have a plan. We’re going to make it. All of us; we’ll make it.”

Eddie watched, as though underwater, as Richie leaned over and kissed his forehead, before standing and leaving the room. He watched; drowning.

________________________________________________________________

“Well, buddy, you better have some fuckin’ fantastic work stories for tonight, I had to cancel a date for this.” Mike was saying with a laugh as Richie came down the stairs. He locked eyes with Bill over Mike’s shoulder, catching the same look of thinly-veiled worry that had been staring back at him in the mirror the past few days. They nodded to each other as Mike excused himself and left the room.

“Bill.” Richie said curtly, glancing out of a window near his front door.

“Rich.” Bill rejoined, shaking his head slightly to indicate they weren’t in the clear.

“You and Stan are still coming over tonight, right? Mike got ahold of you?”

“Sure did.” Bill said nervously, almost reverting back to the boyish stutter of his youth. “Wouldn’t miss it. Stan says he’s on a winning streak.”

Richie gave a curt laugh, before raising an eyebrow questioningly. “I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it, then.” He kept his tone conversational, plain, and unconcerned.

“He’ll be taking all your chips tonight, either way.” Bill said with a fake laugh as he tugged on his earlobe. Richie got the hint, glancing toward the window again. The slight rustle of a low hanging tree branch was enough to confirm his suspicion. Glancing around for inspiration, his eyes landed on the watch on Bill’s left arm.

“Say, Bill, S’at the watch Stanley got you for your anniversary?” Richie cocked his head towards the garage door.

“Sure is, made by his father, same as yours.” Bill nodded.

“Looks like it’s speeding up again, want me to take a look?”

“Sure, sure.”

The two kept their eyes locked on any open window they passed as they made their way into the garage, where Mike had set up his gardening bench, and Eddie had built his workstation. Eddie worked at a local chinaware store making ceramic figurines, each a tiny, intricate masterpiece. Richie took a moment to admire the small delicate pieces, the wonderful figures each holding the magic that he knew exuded from Eddie’s fingertips. These figurines were one of the things Richie found himself repeatedly falling in love with over and over again. Eddie never failed to amaze him with the things he could create. Every time he set about his work he would come out the other side with a magnum opus. Of course the man was always ridiculously humble about the affair, always blushing and brushing off Richie’s praises, but when he was at the bench, back hunched, glasses on the tip of his nose and his face scrunched up in concentration, he was a God in his element, and no amount of protest would ever convince Richie to think otherwise.

The reverie was ripped from his mind at the sound of Bill closing the door, the click of the latch as it slotted into place disrupting him.

“Rich, we’ve gotta change our plans.” Bill blurted urgently.

“Not yet.” Richie mumbled, eyes still on the line of figurines scattered across the work surface, a hand raised to silence Bill. He ignored Bill’s look of urgency and crossed to the bench, a hand trailing over it’s surface, before his eyes found the answer he was searching for.

Flipping the switch for Eddie’s fine sander, he turned to face Bill with a nod. The sound of the machine filled the room, as Bill crossed over to the bench to stand with him. Richie picked up one of the tools left out on the bench and gestured for the watch, fiddling with it and pretending to fix it.

“Okay, Bill. What’s happened.” He muttered under his breath, just so that he was barely audible to Bill underneath the hum of the sander.

“The guard we paid off- he’s had his shift shortened. He contacted me just a bit ago; he’s gonna be off at eleven instead of one.” Bill basically whispered, nervously watching Richie’s hands as they fidgeted.

“So we move it up a couple hours, big deal.” Richie feigned a shrug, his skittish swallow betraying him.

“Yeah right it’s a big deal, it’s gonna be a lot harder to pull off, you know there’ll be more guards on the field-”

“And if any of those guards stop us to ask, we’ll tell them we’re your family come to see the ships you work on.” He fixed Bill with a serious, placating look, steeling himself. Bill gulped.

“You think it’ll work?”

“It’s got to.”

“Does Eddie know?”

“I’ve just told him. Stan?”

“I have a.. A plan, to tell him… roundaboutly.”

“Mike doesn’t know.”

“Beverly got it out of Ben, but they didn’t speak of it in front of the kids. As long as they were careful…”

“Let’s just keep it that way, yeah? I wasn’t gonna tell Eds, but he looked like he would have about killed me if I kept talking cryptic… Maybe Stan and Mike should just…” Richie trailed off with a sigh. “God, does it even matter now? We just need to get through the evening, and if we’re only seeing each other…”

“Your point is sound Rich, but…” Bill’s fingers flew up to his earlobe again. “We both know there’s still some risk.”

Richie nodded, looking down at the watch and tool in his hands. He set both down on the bench and instead picked up one of the figures perched there. Eddie kept a small framed photo of the two of them at their wedding, surrounded by the rest of their group of friends, on the bench near his workstation. Bill, to Eddie’s right, a proud best man, and Stanley, on Richie’s left, Bill’s counterpart at the ceremony. Next to Bill was Beverly, red hair cascading and held tight in the grip of her then eight month old daughter Amelia, her proud father Ben on Bev’s other side, drink in hand and face frozen in a beaming smile. Beside Stanley stood Mike, a flower from his garden in his lapel, the arrangements on all the tables, and the boutineers of all the attending men in the wedding party. Each of them had a look of elation shining out of their faces, from Beverly’s crooked but blindingly white teeth to Eddie’s squinted eyes behind his spectacles. The wedding had taken place during the brief period in their timeline where they’d both had glasses; just before Richie’s laser surgery and just after Eddie had jokingly tried on Richie’s specs to find he desperately needed them. Richie’s eyes behind the thick frames were magnified, and in them he saw only love. His face was turned down towards Eddie’s, watching the smaller man laugh. He remembered the jab he’d just given Eddie’s side, trying to elicit a tickle-induced giggle for the camera. Richie studied his own face more. Written plainly alongside the endless stream of affection for the boy next to him was also another fountain; one of hope, of power, of bright longing for a future. The man that had gotten married that day had done so with determination to make that lovelight last. He had sworn that day he would love Eddie until he was a dying man, but had failed to consider just how soon that could come upon him.

Next to the photo was a small collection of figures Eddie had saved at Richie’s behest, one’s Richie had insisted were his best works and should be kept at home, instead of wasted in the outside world. Richie knew Eddie had only really kept them to get Richie to stop harassing him about it, but at this moment he was damn thankful to have won that fight. The one clutched in his hand was a small, vanilla painted bear, one Eddie had made clear back in the beginning of his career. It was misshapen in some places, and the paint was faded and uneven, but it was by far Richie’s favorite piece of Eddie’s. He loved it so much mostly because of the way Eddie had beamed when he had finished it, the way he had shyly handed it over to Richie and said Chee look I finished one, the way he had literally glowed with happiness as Richie lifted him in a swirling hug, laughing and kissing his face with praise. He remembered that moment every time he glimpsed the bear that sat on the bench, or sometimes their nightstand, or on the kitchen table. It was sometimes moved around, picked up on a whim and set down absentmindedly. Over the years Richie had developed quite the habit of moving knickknacks when he was unfocused.

Richie looked down at the bear in his palm, and closed his fist around it in determination. He suddenly stuffed it in is pocket, reaching out to grab the other six that sat near it. A bird, a bouquet, a bible, a key, a bicycle, and a slim silvery-black painted miniature vinyl record Eddie had given Richie for a gift one anniversary. In the shuffle it had made its way down here, along with the others, and was now joining them in the lining of Richie’s pockets. He then picked up the frame and began detaching the back, fingers trying to prize it open as Bill watched in slight confusion.

“The plan stays the same.” Richie said, still quiet under the buzzing machine, as he freed the photo from the frame. “We do everything the same, but we leave at ten.”

Bill watched him tensely as he folded the picture and placed it in the breast pocket of the suit jacket he still wore. “Okay. I’ll tell Ben when I get home.”

“Don’t. I’ll tell him when he gets here for cards. Just make sure they’re all packed.” He tapped a finger on the outside of the pocket. “You and Stan too.”

Bill nodded, fingers slowly moving to pick up the watch.

“I’ll see you at seven.” Bill said quietly as Richie turned off the saw.

“Well, Bill, I think you should be okay, but you should have the old father in law check that out when you and Stan go up and see him next month.” Richie said loudly, his raised tone casual enough to be convincing but a bit jarring after the noise. “I’m no horologist, so it’s not gonna be a perfect fix, but it should hold up till then.”

Bill nodded as he strapped the watch back on his wrist. “Thanks Rich. We’ll be over around seven for cards. Hope you’re feeling lucky.” He fixed Richie with a pointed look before turning to exit. Richie took one last look at the bench, eyes scanning over the figures scattered across its top, before deciding not to grab more and following Bill out of the room.

He did not turn to look when he turned out the light, thankfully so. Because if he had, he would have seen the not so slyly hidden face of Henry Bowers as he turned slowly to watch the two men through the window.

________________________________________________________________

“I’ll take three.” Mike mumbled, sliding his discarded choices across the glass table to Ben, who reached into the deck to grab three new cards for him. Mike took a small sip of his scotch as he accepted them, sighing a bit to himself as though he was displeased with what he received. He then dropped a single green chip into their pile in the center. He nodded to Eddie, who was absentmindedly twirling his hand through his fingers.

“Oh, uh, just two.” He took a moment to rifle through his cards before tossing two to Ben. “How much did you put in?” He asked Mike quietly as he accepted his new cards.

“Five.”

Eddie grabbed one of his dwindling stash of green chips and added it to the pile before taking a long drink out of his own glass. They had collectively decided with a silent agreement to crack open the bottle of high dollar alcohol Eddie and Richie had kept since their wedding, citing they were saving it for a special occasion. It had been forgotten when Bill and Stanley’s marriage had rolled around, and decided against each time one of the girls was born, and had remained gathering dust in their curio cabinet since.

Richie had thought tonight was as good as any to polish it off.

“Four.” He said after a swallow of his own, sliding the cards past the pile of chips between he and Ben.

“That bad, huh?” Ben joked, grabbing the new cards for Richie with a small, nervous smile. Benjamin, bless his soul, the only one of them who was still trying to find some kind of lightness in all their intensity. Richie only responded with a non committal noise as he viewed his new hand.

“I fold.” He sighed, laying his cards down and draining his glass.

“Damn shame.” Bill tried a smirk, reaching to deposit his green chip in the pile without trading in any cards. “You were just starting to turn a profit.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll just have to settle it with me next week.” Richie chided, causing silence to fall over the table. Bill gave him a small, quizzical look, as Richie raised his eyes to look at him. They shared that look for a brief moment, before Richie’s words dawned on them and they proceeded to dissolve into laughter. Ben laughed a bit timidly, like he was unsure of whether or not he was allowed in on the joke. Beverly and Mike shared a look of utter confusion as Eddie turned white. Stanley gave Bill an incredulous look, but was unable to decipher exactly what it was that had set his husband off. Bev and Ben’s daughters, Amelia and Lillian, sat undisturbed by the commotion on the carpet, playing with dolls they had brought along boredly.

Eddie cleared his throat as Richie and Bill’s laughter turned from mirth to neurotic bursts. “Maybe we should put up the bottle.” He tried, reaching to the center of the table to replace the stopper. “Um, tea, anyone? I’ve got a pitcher of iced…”

“That sounds wonderful, Eddie.” Beverly caught his eye, attuned acutely to his skittish behavior. “I’ll come with you and get some water for the girls.” Eddie nodded his agreement and the two stood, Beverly gesturing to the girls to come with them as they entered the kitchen. The sound of clinking glasses and pouring liquid pierced the silence that remained around the men in the living room before being broken completely by Mike.

“Bathroom break.” He muttered as he stretched, before standing and leaving the room. Richie waited until he heard the click of the latch before reaching for the bottle in the center of the table, unstopping it, and pouring himself another full glass.

“We finished the calculations.” Bill said after a moment of watching Richie drink. He gestured to Stan, who pulled a small folded square of paper from his shirt pocket. Stan unfolded it and spread it out on the table where Richie could see. Ben hopped the empty seat between him and Stanley that Bev had vacated, and joined the others in looking down at the diagram.

“By we he means I did.” Stan griped. “And I’d still very much like to know what this is about.” Stan gave Richie a hard look.

“You haven’t told him?” Ben asked Bill, brow furrowed.

“Coming from the guy who let it slip to Beverly-”

“She is my wife, you can’t expect me to just-”

“And I am your husband, so please, enlighten me.” Stan cut off Ben, joining him in staring down Bill, who was too busy looking at Richie for defense.

“Go ahead.” Richie shrugged, taking another swig.

“Stan-”

“Here we are, tea for everyone.” Beverly’s voice interrupted Bill, who flipped the paper over quickly in front of him. “Benny, you’re in my seat.” She joked as she handed Ben his glass, handing the other in her hand to Stanley, who was still eyeing Bill for an explanation.

“Sorry dear, just conferring with my financial adviser here.” He joked, elbowing Stan good-naturedly. “He says I shouldn’t bet so high next round.”

“And you really shouldn’t need Stan to tell you that.” She laughed as she sat down in Ben’s old seat. “Common sense should have that covered.”

There was a small smattering of snorted laughter at that, as Eddie came into the room with more glasses in his hands, doling them out to the remaining guests. Richie declined his.

“We ready to get back to it?” Stan said pointedly, practically daring Bill to respond as the the girls resettled themselves on the couch, snuggling up with the arm rests as though they were going to nap. Bill only glanced at his husband apprehensively, appearing like a fish groping for air as he searched for his words. Thankfully he was saved by Richie, who was rifling through his cards impatiently before calling out.

“Mike! Hurry up! We’re gonna get started!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Mike sighed as he turned the corner to re-enter the room, bumping into Eddie as he tried to return to his seat. “Oh, thanks.” He muttered as he accepted the drink in Eddie’s outstretched hand. He took a seat and began conversing with Richie, while Bill and Stan carried on a mumbled but heated conversation to their left, with Bev and Ben still joking around across from them.

Leaving Eddie the only one to hear the doorbell.

He froze as the small ding echoed near him. Placing his full glass on a small table in the entryway, he walked as if in a daze to their front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before flicking the lock.

“Hello-?” He said as he swung the door open, his intended end to the sentence bottoming out along with his stomach.

“Why, hello there Mr. Kaspbrak. Lovely evening isn’t it?”

The sneering face of Henry Bowers greeted him from his darkened doorway, the streetlight of their cul de sac illuminating him from behind and casting an eerie glow around his silhouette.

“Mr. Bowers…” Eddie barely managed, voice wavering as he tried to pull in a breath.

“Say, is your boy home? I have some business to discuss with him.” Henry said casually as he removed his hat.

Eddie turned to look at his friends, all distracted around the table.

“Richard?” He said in a small voice.

Richie turned to look at him over his shoulder, as well as a few of the others, whose faces all dropped as soon as they took in the sight before them.

“Mr. Bowers is here to see you.” Eddie continued, gripping the knob of the still open door as though it were a lifeline.

Richie’s curious expression was instantly replaced by one of white faced anger. He’d become no stranger to seeing Bowers at work, hell, the man was one of his superiors, he had to interact with him regularly. But it was another thing entirely for him to enter his home, as he was doing now.

They could all feel it, the memories of their youth coagulating like sludge as Bowers casually trudged across the carpet, stopping between Bill and Richie, who sat with the diagram face down between them and identical expressions of distaste as they looked up at the man. Eddie remained frozen at the door, unable to make himself move enough to swing it closed.  

“Well, what have we here? A little game of cards, huh Tozier?” Henry said with a smile as he set his hat on the table, over top of the paper.

“Just a few rounds.” Richie forced himself to say, keeping his gaze on the man in front of him, no matter how much he wanted to check on his husband, still frozen at the door. He felt his blood boiling and singing under his skin, his rage over Bowers having the audacity to enter his home just barely being overridden by his terror of their plot being discovered. If Henry somehow caught them in the act, or reported them…

They’d watch the world burn from a prison cell.

He settled for clearing his throat. “Would you care for a drink?” He tried to sound as hospitable as he could.

“That would be excellent.” Henry smiled down at Richie, before turning to look at Eddie. “Does your Eddie here still make that wonderful tea?”

Eddie’s color went yellow as Richie’s jaw clenched, seething at the use of the name.

“He does. I’ll get you a glass.” Richie made to stand.

“Nonsense, he’s got it covered. Isn’t that right, Eddie?” Henry said sharply, eyes locked with Richie’s, who still sat because Henry was now far too much in his space to allow him room to stand.

Eddie stood frozen at the door, his mind fighting a million battles (first and foremost, stopping him from running out the open door altogether) before clicking back on again.

“I’ll be right back with a glass.” He closed the door, composing himself. He caught eye contact with Mike, who had been monitoring him with care. They shared their look, one perfected over many years of friendship and caring for each other, Mike’s raised eyebrow an unspoken question.

Eddie shook his head no, before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Nice night.” Henry mused as the group watched he and Richie with trepidation. The girls were settled on the couch, grateful they had gone unnoticed and hoping it would continue. Every once in awhile Ben would steal a glance at them, praying (as much as it hurt him to do so) that Henry’s attentions would stay focused on Eddie. He subconsciously reached a hand down to touch the faint scar that remained on his stomach, and remembered.

“It is indeed.” Richie responded mechanically.

“It’s a night for a tall drink on a porch. And sleep. Nothing else.” Henry gave Richie a pointed look.

“Right you are.” Bill said suddenly, trying to deflect the conversation as he watched Richie’s nostrils flare, sensing his friend’s anger was on a precipice. “Stanley and I are just about ready to head home and do just that.” Bill patted Stan’s leg, but left his hand there, hoping it would help comfort his partner, whose worry was plain. “I’ve been up north all week testing an aircraft, so I’d like to call it an early night. Haven’t gotten much sleep recently.”

“Is that aircraft the one we’ve been hearing about over in operations? The one they’ve said’s capable of even possibly leaving the atmosphere?” Henry questioned him with a raise of his brows.

“That’s uh, that’s the goal. Eventually.” Bill swallowed. “But we’re really not even close to that part yet. It’s mostly been about keeping her in the air.” He said with a timid laugh.

Eddie entered the room again, glass in hand, which was trembling as he crossed the space to give it to Henry. He reached out, slowly, doing his best to quell his quaking nerves as he extended the cup.

“Here you are.” He said, barely making eye contact with the man.

Despite his best effort, Henry took notice of his shaking hand.

“Say, Eddie, you’re a little nervous there.” Henry joked, reaching to accept the cup with one hand, the other coming up to wrap around Eddie’s wrist. Eddie’s hand shook violently, his frayed nerves betraying him. Henry removed the cup from his hold completely, the other hand turning Eddie’s arm just so, so that the jagged scar on his forearm was staring up at them. “You’re very nervous.”

Richie watched the exchange as though through a tunnel, his vision red. His mind filled to the brim with violent memories, each pulling more and more seedlings of anger out of his subconscious.

Thankfully Stanley, ever the observant friend, intervened before Richie could do something brash.

“He’s only upset over how much of their vacation money Richie’s lost to us tonight.” Stan joked. “Bill and I have been making a clean sweep.”

“I can attest to that.” Ben joined in, giving Richie a placating look. Richie missed it, his eyes locked on the hand still closed around his husband’s wrist.

“But we won’t settle it out tonight.” Bill said, looking up at Henry’s back. Bill had never been afraid to look the man in the eye, no matter how much he had tortured their ragtag gang. He only wished now he had the opportunity to. Bowers was still facing away from him, attention fully turned to the small man trapped in his grip, who was gazing at his face like it was a theatre screen displaying a particularly sickening sequence.

All his life Bill had sworn to keep any need for that expression from ever touching his friends.

“Next week. I want to give Richie here another shot.” He continued, urging the man with all his mind power to turn around.

“Next week?” Bowers turned just slightly to look at Bill over his shoulder, not releasing Eddie’s hand. “You certainly plan ahead.”

Bill swallowed, refusing to address the menacing intent in the statement. “A week? Nonsense. We play cards on a regular basis.”

“Shame you aren’t settling it tonight.” Henry shrugged. “A lot can happen in a week.”

Henry made eye contact with Richie.

“A lot can happen in forty eight hours.”

Bill’s stomach dropped.

“Not much that can sway me from collecting.” Bill managed a skittish laugh. “Though I’m sure Richie would take the gamble on that.”

“Oh I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d think Mr. Tozier here would gamble on most anything.”

Bower’s kept his eyes locked on Richie’s, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly around Eddie’s wrist.

Almost.

“Well.” The hand finally released, falling to Henry’s side. “I’d better head on home. Nice evening for a bit of a walk.” He raised the glass he had been holding and downed it quickly. He replaced it on the table, lifting his hat, his eyes on the paper underneath it. He made as if to scoop it up, but it was quickly snatched by Stanley.

“Better not lose this. I’d rather get my payment from Rich in full. He’ll swindle me, I have no doubt.” He tried to joke, but the power of it died out.

“Keep an eye on him then, lads.” Henry smiled, placing his hat back on as he turned, stopping to step even closer into Eddie’s space. “Have a good evening, Eddie.” He said lowly, eyes boring into the smaller man, who was nearly quaking. Bowers then turned fully to exit, finally stepping away from the table.

“I’ll walk you out.” Richie muttered, more so to the table than Bowers, as he stood quickly and followed the man to the door.

Henry stopped once the front door had been opened and he was stood on the porch.

“I’ll see you at the factory tomorrow?” He said pointedly, glancing down the street.

“Of course.” Richie said mechanically, imagining himself slamming the door repeatedly on the parts of Bowers that still remained in its path.

“Clear night.” Henry said as he looked up at the sky, a smattering of stars visible beyond the haze of the streetlights. He paused for a beat, clearly taking his time and enjoying letting Richie stew. He knew what his superior was doing; he got the message he was sending loud and clear. What Bower’s didn’t understand, however, was just how stubborn Richie could be. “Good night for stargazing.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Richie said quietly.

“Ever think about what it would be like? To be out in the beyond, among those stars? If there’s a life out there?” Bowers took out a cigarette and lit it.

“It’s crossed my mind once or twice.”

“Yeah.” He took a drag. “I don’t doubt it.”

With one last glance up at the sky, he walked away, a trail of smoke following him down the street.

Richie waited until the man had turned a corner before ducking back inside, slamming and locking the door. His friends had remained frozen in their places, listening intently to see if they could hear the hushed conversation.

Eddie still stood, frozen in the same place, his wrist held close to his chest and his face vacant. Richie turned, his back against the door, sighing as the tension dropped away in waves. After a moment the two made eye contact, Eddie’s awareness returning to him, before appearing as though he would burst into tears in that moment. Richie rushed forward, pulling his lover into his arms. He wound an arm around Eddie’s middle, the other coming up to cradle the back of his head and card lightly through his hair. Beverly watched the exchange for a moment before turning to Ben, and in one swift movement they had both arisen and crossed the room to check on the girls, who looked frightened and bewildered. Stan and Bill were holding each others hands in a death grip, while Mike looked at them imploringly for an explanation. When it seemed none would come, he spoke.

“Eddie, are you alright?” Mike stood, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder as he stayed wrapped in Richie’s arms. Eddie simply shook his head, face still buried in Richie’s chest. Richie stroked a hand through his hair, whispering encouragements occasionally as Eddie trembled. Mike rubbed a small circle with his thumb, sighing in frustration. “Anyone want to tell me why Henry Bowers was just in your house?” He looked at Richie, Bill, and even Ben behind him who all looked guilty. The three of them shared another look with each other before Richie spoke.

“The time is now.”

“The time for what, exactly?” Mike pressed, taking caution not to tighten his hold on Eddie’s shoulder in frustration, concentrating on keeping the touch comforting.

“Mike, I’m sorry, we should have told you sooner about this. We were trying to keep it as quiet as possible, so we figured the least of us that knew the better, but we’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Leaving where?”

“Far from here. Look, we don’t really have time to get into the details, but Ben and Bill and I have been planning this for a few months now. We’ve bribed a lot of people over at the factory, we’ve got a ship filled with supplies waiting for us, and we’re getting in it, tonight.” Richie rubbed his hands over Eddie’s back, hoping to help the man compose himself. “We have to go soon, because if there’s one thing I know for sure, that was no coincidence. I think Bowers is on to us.”

“Rich, this is a lot-”

“I’ll say.” Stan cut in, looking angry. “You didn’t think to let us all in on this?”

“It was to keep you safe-”  Bill tried defending himself, still gripping Stanley’s hand.

“What I don’t understand,” Mike said loudly, commanding the conversation again. “Is why it’s got to be tonight.”

“I think you know why.” Eddie said quietly, voice muffled by Richie’s suit jacket.

Beverly went white, Lillian clutched in her arms.

“It’s coming.” She looked at Ben, who nodded.

Mike’s anger dropped, fear replacing it instantly.

“How long?”

“Bowers didn’t pick an arbitrary number.” Eddie said bitterly, standing up straight, wiping quickly at tear tracks down his cheeks.

The room remained silent for a moment as the severity of the situation sunk into the adults. Richie silently fussed over Eddie, wiping his face and fixing his hair, occasionally dropping a kiss on his forehead as Eddie gathered himself.

Bill eventually broke the silence.

“We should head out now. I’m not sure how much time we’ll have before-”

He was cut off by the tone of the house phone.

It rang loudly from the corner, its shrill tone cutting to the core of the frightened adults, sending shock waves back into Eddie as he looked at Richie, fear plain on his face. He shook his head quickly.

“Don’t.”

“Eds, I’ve gotta answer it.”

“Don’t, let’s just go.” He pleaded. Richie shook his head before letting go of his husband and crossing the room to answer the phone.

“Tozier residence.” Richie said dryly. The rest of the group waited with bated breath, unable to hear the other end of the conversation. “Tonight? I’ve already gone to bed.” Richie’s eyes darted back and forth, his hand coming up to scratch his left ear, as it always did when he was trying to think of a lie. He made as if to speak again, before the dial tone sounded, signaling the end of the call. He replaced the phone slowly, heart rate increasing. “That was my work.” He addressed the room. “They’re sending a car for me. Production services wants us all in tonight.”

“We need to leave now.” Bill said, standing. “Stan, go get our bags from the car. Ben, I suggest you get the girls ready to go, you’ll follow us in yours. Mike, can you pack quickly?” Mike nodded numbly, his mind racing to struggle to accept what was happening. “Rich, go get the car started. I’ll help you pack it.” Everyone began a mad scramble through the house, collecting various items and packing them into cars. Eddie stood frozen through the chaos, eventually slowly moving to clean up the abandoned glasses left on the table. Richie found him and stopped him, gently placing a hand on his arm.

“This is foolish, isn’t it.” Eddie said dejectedly. He looked at Richie, sadness filling his eyes. “We’ll never be back here again.”

________________________________________________________________

“Here. Gate 6A.” Bill said quietly as he pointed at a diverging path in the road they had been following. Richie made a sharp right, glancing in in the rear view to make sure Ben had followed. The headlights behind him curved, hugging tight to their path without wavering. They continued along the road for a couple of tense minutes until they came upon a section of fence. Richie pulled up to it slowly, killing the engine and the lights as they approached. He looked into the rear view again as Ben swung up behind him, the headlamps illuminating the silhouettes of Stan, Mike, and Eddie in the backseat. Richie caught Eddie’s worried gaze, hoping to infuse as much courage as possible into his husband.

But as Ben’s lights clicked off, Eddie’s fearful gaze becoming shrouded in darkness, he thought perhaps he didn’t have much in the first place.

He undid his seat belt, swallowing thickly. He shared a nod with Bill, who climbed out of the passenger side. They closed their doors softly behind them as Ben emerged from the drivers side of his own car, Beverly staying inside with the nervous girls.

Ben approached the fence, fingers trailing over the thick piece of locked chain that held the opening closed. He continued to look beyond the barrier, eyes alighting on a large, circular aircraft a few hundred yards away from them on the field.

“So there it is.” He said quietly as Bill came to stand next to him.

“There it is.” He agreed, Richie joining them.

A small pinprick of light suddenly appeared from the shrouded area of black night beyond the fence, west of the aircraft.

“Is that out contact?” Richie whispered, recognizing the light as the short flash of a handheld light.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Bill nodded, turning to the car. “Stan, flash the lights, just once hun?” He whisper-yelled. Stan nodded nervously, climbing over the front seat to reach up and flash the headlights. When he sat back down, he placed a hand on Eddie’s quacking knee.

“It’s gonna be alright, Eddie.” He said calmly.

Eddie so badly wanted to believe him.

The light returned, illuminating a razor thin beam as it cut through the darkness from the same source. Instead of being a staccato beam, it remained lit, as the holder began walking towards their small group gathered on the other side of the fence. Mike could tell from the tense set of Bill’s shoulders that something was amiss in the situation, and was about to throw open the door and emerge from the car when the hand- and face- the light belonged to was thrown into relief by the new proximity.

“Evening, Mr. Tozier.”

Next to him, Eddie gave a small, terrified sob.

“You know, when I said it was a nice night for a walk, I didn’t think you would have walked this far.”

Stanley’s blood ran cold at the sound of the dry, short laugh that accompanied the statement.

Mike’s mind stopped altogether when he noticed the gun.

Eddie made another noise of fear, this one much louder, as he presumably saw it too. Bowers took notice, raising the flashlight he had in his right hand to illuminate his face, a small smile of victory playing on his lips. He slowly cocked the pistol clenched in his left. Mike had to physically restrain Eddie from leaping over him and out of the side of the car. The last thing they needed in the situation was Eddie’s brash behavior, the way he always got when his emotions were pushed.

“So here’s how this is going to go.” Henry lowered the light, sounding almost bored as he continued. “You three-” He gestured broadly at Ben, Bill, and Richie, earning a sharp intake of breath from the group as they each collectively braced themselves for the worst. “Are going to stay where you are, very quietly. You two gentlemen-” This time, he swung the light, shining it on Mike and Stanley’s faces. “Are going to get out of the car and join them.” He reached into his pocket for a small key, used it to unlock the chain, and opened the fence to step through.

Richie was fuming, every muscle in his body screaming to rush forward and tackle the man to the ground, to pulverize every possible piece of the other man until there was nothing left.

Bowers clearly noticed.

“Then, after I join our little Eddie here, you will all get in your other vehicle and follow us to the authorities.” He finished, his smile growing as he turned to Richie, his satisfaction being fed by Richie’s look of sheer rage.

“Why him, alone?” Ben said, voice unwavering.

“Because I have a strong feeling our testy Richard will try any manners of funny business. Though I’m sure those thoughts are flying right out of your head now, aren’t they?” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Most of them.” Richie said, his words poison through gritted teeth.

Bowers stepped closer, gun trained on Richie’s chest.

“I thought I made myself clear to you enough times today Tozier, but apparently I’ll need to remind you, bluntly.” He moved forward again, a small yell erupting from Eddie in the backseat as he attempted to scramble his way out of the seat. In a flash, Henry turned, eyes locking with Eddie’s, his hand flying up to aim, Richie rushing with a shout to throw himself in between them-

But the gun did not go off.

Richie lowered the arms thrown up to shield himself to see Bowers, pivoted from where he stood, gun raised and aimed directly at Eddie’s head, which was just visible over Richie’s shoulder. Eddie had fallen back into his seat, his arms held tightly by Mike and Stan to keep him from jumping up again (and to haul him down for cover if necessary).

“Still don’t understand, boy?” Bowers said venomously. “You’ve lost. Now if you don’t cooperate with me you’ll get your man pack in more than one piece.” He stepped closer again, the butt of the gun practically resting on Richie’s shoulder as it stayed trained on Eddie. “Is that what you want?” Henry whispered. “Would you like me to break him again?” He sneered. Instantly the memories came flooding back to Richie’s, and for that matter, all of their minds. He shivered in fear, his head pounding, and he was fourteen again, watching his best friend scream in pain as his arm was snapped, four boys much bigger than any of them pinning him down and pulling him apart. He was fifteen, staring at the strange misshapen scar as Eddie cried and languished over it, knowing he was doomed to live with it the rest of his life. He was thirteen, watching Ben stumble into the river with a gaping wound in his stomach. He was twelve, watching Beverly’s hands shake from across the cafeteria as she endured another string of insults unfairly thrown her way, her bruises stark and fresh against her skin. He was sixteen, hauling Mike away from a fight, the two of them running like their lives depended on it as Henry screamed profanities after them. He was eighteen, driving Stan at sixty miles per hour through their residential zone to the emergency room on the third night of Hanukkah. He was thirty seven, watching a gun be trained on the face of Bill, his Bill, one of his closest and most trusted allies in all his life. He was overwhelmed, completely terrified, as he felt the weight of the weapon over his shoulder. Henry would always have that power over him, he languished. All their years as children spent attempting to get out from under Henry’s hellish reign of the school yard, only for him to become Richie’s supervisor, to continue to torment him in small, destructive ways years into their adulthood. His constant jeers and jabs at Eddie, who used to come pick him up or bring him lunch, his constant need to drop into the dress shop Beverly ran just to tell her horrible, vile things, his insistence on driving slowly down the street next to Mike just to make him uncomfortable, just to put him on edge. He was overwhelmed, by all of it. The constant torment had worked.

In that moment, Richie felt like they had truly lost.

Thankfully for him, for all of them, Stanley hadn’t.

“Because if you keep pushing me-” Bowers had continued, unheard by Richie through his haze. “I will.”

Stanley curled his fingers around the door handle, silently thanking God that Richie was far enough to the side.

“If you’d like him to last the little time you have left,”

Stan pulled, ever so slightly, the latch releasing.

“I suggest you and your friends listen to my instructions, and-”

Stanley slammed the door into Henry’s side, taking extra effort to knock his knees out of place. Richie lept into action, hands immediately reaching for the gun to wrench it out of Henry’s hands. They flipped, Henry’s back hitting the car as Richie fought him in his daze. Bill and Ben erupted, Bill literally diving over the top of the car to grab Henry’s neck in a choking headlock. Ben jumped into the fray, helping Richie as he wrestled the gun from Henry’s hands, which were immediately restrained by Ben. Richie did not hesitate, disarming the gun before grasping the butt in his hand and clocking Bowers in the side of the head, knocking the man out cold. The three men panted as they let go of Henry’s limp body, pausing only for a moment to watch it slide to the ground. Richie then dropped the gun immediately, the cold metal suddenly searing his hands. Bill collected himself quickly.

“We have to go.”

Richie found himself nodding, his brain kicking into overdrive as Bill turned to pull the gate open all the way. Ben dashed back to his car, hopping in and turning it on. Richie followed suit, immediately, feeling Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, a silent need for affirmation that Richie was okay. He placed a hand over his husbands as Bill climbed back into the car, revving the engine and driving as fast as he could take it, his eyes locked on the aircraft swiftly approaching.

As soon as they hit the field, searchlights locked on them, a guards voice raising a call over the speakers as the security scrambled to meet them.

“UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES ON FIELD. UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES ON FIELD. APPREHEND IMMEDIATELY.”

Ben and Richie pulled up to the ship haphazardly, skidding to a stop and not bothering to kill the engines. Everyone scrambled to jump out of the cars, trunks thrown open. Beverly and Stanley grabbed the girls, immediately boarding the ship with them. Ben and Bill followed them, as many bags as they could carry in their hands as they ran up the small ramp of stairs leading to an opening in the craft. None of them had time to stop and process what exactly they were getting themselves into, in the most literal sense. None other than Bill had been anywhere near the machine, which looked so unlike anything they had ever seen that they couldn’t even come up with something it was akin to. Mike and Eddie grabbed what they could from their trunk as Richie checked Ben’s car for any left behind items, double checking the backseat in case the girls had left some treasured toy. Bill came back out of the craft, running to its base to detach a strange array of pipes and pumps running into the side. Eddie and Mike ran up with their bags, throwing them inside carelessly as they turned to grab more. Richie was behind them with the last from their car, handing it up. Before they could all ascend, guards came rushing from the dark, batons drawn and poised to fight. Mike pushed Eddie, who was at the top of the ramp, back up into the aircraft, as he, Richie, and Bill remained to fight off the guards. It devolved into a good old fashioned fist fight, their blows earning them more ground as the three men moved higher up the ramp. Bill hit a switch on its side that caused the steps to start ascending into the machine. He then landed a kick to the chest of the last guard, who fell off the end of the platform. He caught one last glimpse of the ground as metal came up to meet metal, and knew, heavily in his heart, it was the last time he’d see the soil of his home.

________________________________________________________________

“How are we looking?” Mike asked, looking up from the small guidebook he was holding.

“So far, so good. It’s holding steady, just like the tests.” Bill replied, eyes on a screen of data.

“Think we’ll be able to maintain that?” Stan asked the question on everyone’s minds.

“I couldn’t say for sure.” Bill answered honestly, looking up at him. “But I’m hopeful.”

Stan took a moment to process his thoughts.

“If you’re convinced, that’s enough for me.” He finally said, crossing the small space of the hull to sit on the low bench where Eddie and Richie were huddled together. On the other side Ben and Bev were sat on the floor, each with a dozing child in their laps, Ben’s slack face nodding every so often, signaling how close he was to joining them. Beverly had remained silent with her face trained on the small viewing screen the entire time they’d been flying.

“Where are we headed, anyways?” Eddie asked timidly. “It’s stars. Stars so far away…” he trailed off as he too gazed at the screen.

“See the bright one? To the right, in the corner?” Richie said, his head chin tucked over Eddie’s shoulder. The two hadn’t let go of each other since boarding. Stan and Mike shifted so that they too could look at the screen. “That’s our destination.”

“We’ve been researching it in our division.” Bill said, joining them as they all looked at the star. “It’s got life on it, like us. It’s so damn similar to our planet, it’s frightening.” He folded his arms over his chest. “We’ll get there soon enough.”

“What is it?” Bev piped up from her corner. “What’s it called?”

“It’s the third planet from the sun. It’s called… Earth.”

“That’s where we’re going.” Eddie breathed.

Richie nodded. “To a place called Earth.”

________________________________________________________________

authors notes: okay so this is OBNOXIOUSLY late to the party but im so glad this is finally done! this very much got away from me and i wrote waaaaaayyyyyy too much so here’s this whole damn ass thing lmao. anyways i rlly hope u love it and that it suits u! i got the idea and ran too too far with it. thank u so much for bein patient, i was on a long work trip this past week and a half, so getting the last couple of scenes written didn’t happen until today //: i may need to go back thru and edit but ANYWAYS !! thank u for reading and i hope yall enjoy <3 i may end up doing an anthology series of one shots based on twilight zone episodes, so if you guys are interested in that message me and beg me to do it!!! i live to please <3 

tags list: @stennbrough @s-s-stutteringbill @gazeboseddie @misssiriusblack @mythgirl96 @crackhousetozier @reddieaddict @wincestklaine @beepbeep-losers @ayyyymichele @ttrxshmouth @megelizabethvh @tapetayloe @flickerflies @ghostbustermike @i-is-gazebo @reddiesetrichie @jessicarayheyman @r-u-reddiee @wyttolff @gayzier @hanscombeverly @kaspbrak-is-our-king @babybyelers @28shoes @nicoperryy

[tmariea]

We Have No Need to Swim

For Sormik Week Day 4 - Loss

Summary:  What if sea monsters are water seraphim who went down into the ocean and never came back up? They sunk down to the depths to escape the pain of malevolence and grief, and there they fell anyways. They lurk in the darkness, lithe and sinuous, with milky blind eyes and wavering points of bioluminescence, ready to consume anything that comes too close. There is no happy ending.

WARNING: Major Character Death

Read on AO3

It is around year five hundred that the question comes to Mikleo – is there anything left to explore?  Somewhere along the way, he lost count of how many times he had crossed the continent.  He had documented every known ruin, and then gone back to document how they had changed with the deterioration of time.  He had published innumerable books and papers on the subject, reread and reworked them often enough for the words to lose their meaning.

What is one to do when the world loses that fantastic glimmer?  When the one thing that could bring back the light of discovery and novelty slumbers on, for ages unknown?

In the kinds of worries that strike late in the night, pulling sleep from his grasp, he wonders if even Sorey’s return can bring back his sense of wonder.

Other times, when those thoughts crept up the back of his spine, he would seek out Lailah or Edna.  Each were a comfort but in very different ways.  This time he doesn’t.  This time there is a restlessness in his feet that he hasn’t been able to quench for decades, though not for lack of trying, and so he packs a bag and heads out, on the hunt for even one last unseen corner of his world.

He keeps moving, through daylight and under the trail of stars.  The same trail of stars they had watched overhead one night in Lastonbell.  Mikleo had wanted to scream at Sorey for leaving, had wanted to kiss him and beg him to stay.  He hadn’t.  He had been so full of hope, then, full enough to drown out the worries.  He feels he’s done well at keeping hope, but even best efforts can be eroded with time.  He keeps moving; he doesn’t look at the night sky anymore.

He walks and walks until his toes meet the edge of the ocean tide, and looks across.  There is nothing but water as far as the eye can see.  And that is when Mikleo gets an idea.  What exists under the ocean, where no one has ever seen?  It is not as if he has ever had trouble breathing within his own element.  He leaves his pack on the shore, aside from a small notebook and some charcoal that he can use artes to protect from water damage, and takes his first steps into the surf.

It is beautiful in the depths of the ocean, like nothing Mikleo has ever experienced before.  It feels new.  The light is different in the way it shifts under the force of the waves above.  The creatures are different, in the schools of fish that come swimming up to him cautiously and curiously, only to dart away at the slightest movement.  He spends days carefully sketching them in his book, barely shifting aside from his hand.  The press of the water on his limbs feels like an embrace, and the way his hair drifts in the currents feels like gentle fingers on his scalp.  It’s been eons since he felt these things, and he is loath to give them up.

He doesn’t.

Mikleo leaves his spot near where he entered the water and begins to travel down the coast.  He is fascinated by the geography of the ocean floor, the way the water shapes the sediment, and the rocks.  Gentle waters create sloping sands which lead back up to the surface.  Where the waves are harsh, they crash against the rocks above.  There is the sound of their beat in his ears, murkier waters before his eyes, and plenty of rough ground to stumble on under his feet.  When it gets too bad, he swims instead.  Sometimes, cliffs drop sheer into the water, and if he goes far enough out, there’s a cliff under the ocean as well.  That drops off harshly and into darkness; Mikleo decides to leave that place be, for now.

He loves feeling the barest changes in pressure as the tides roll in and out.  He’s always had a faint sense for the moon, but here it is stronger than ever.  He can feel the way it shapes his environment, shapes the water.  The moon, he thinks, must be a water seraph.  Then, he laughs at himself for the fanciful notions.  That is the kind of image Sorey would have loved, he thinks, then notices the past tense and corrects himself.  Sorey will love that image, some day.

He jots a note in the back pages of his book, separate from his observations of the ocean floor, and then tamps down anything he might feel on the matter.

Mikleo hasn’t been keeping track of time well, but he thinks he has spent a few months under the water when he comes upon the ruin.  He can feel his heart soaring, in a way that it hasn’t in ages.  This is a new ruin, new history, new things to explore and build theories on.  It’s exactly what he had been missing before.  He wonders who lived there.  He wonders how this place came to be under the sea.

There is an open archway leading inside, and Mikleo walks through, after taking a moment to brush his hands along the frame.  Between the creatures that have made their home there, he can make out patterns.  They are long since worn down by the constant sway of the ocean, but he will have to come back later, to see what he can find.

Just inside the hall, it is dark.  Not much sun finds its way to the ocean floor anyway, and none inside this ruin.  Mikleo summons mana in his palm, calling on it to glow.  Once he has a sufficient ball, he sends it towards the ceiling, and then makes a second for himself to carry.  Even this doesn’t fully illuminate the space, although he gasps in delight at the what he can see.  The ceiling soars several stories high, and is decorated by delicate, beautiful vaulting.  In a way it reminds him of the Sanctuary in Ladylake, but there’s something slightly different, too.  He will have to swim up and examine them later.  For now, he heads towards the ground story walls, where his light catches on the curves of engravings and casts the dips into shadow.

Mikleo is examining the fresco he found - which is a fascinating mix of styles, parts harkening to Temperance of Avarost while others, strikingly, bear a resemblance to the art which arose during his own Age of Chaos despite the fact that it must be thousands of years old - when he feels a domain brush his own.  It’s the last thing he expected to find down here in the depths of the ocean.  He whirls to face the room, hair floating softly in the eddies caused by his sudden movement.  His eyes strain against the darkness, as the outline of a figure wavers across the vast space.  He summons his staff and holds it at the ready, waiting for the figure to approach.

It is a woman who comes into his light, moving in a way that glides more than she walks or swims, with tendrils of blue hair drifting around and in front of her face.  As they shift, he can see that the tips of her ears have turned to fins, and the pupils of her eyes are slits and milky with near-blindness.  She raises a hand in greeting, and there are blue webs between her clawed fingers, blue fins along her forearms, and the glint of scales visible through the patches in her deteriorating robes.

“Can you put out the light?  It’s too bright,” she says.  Her voice sounds scratchy, unused, even through the way the water distorts sound.  He suspects if it was not their element, they would not be able to understand each other at all.

“Ah, okay,” Mikleo says and lets the light above them shrink and fade.  He lets the one near him fade, but not go out, and keeps his staff at the ready; while the seraph might be acting calm, she looks as if she has been tainted.  “Who are you?”

“My name is Amelia.  Although, it has been a long time since I have had reason to say it.”

“I’m Mikleo,” he ventures, for the sake of politeness, and then wonders if a half-tained seraph would have any care for manners.  He nearly snorts at the strange thought, but holds it in.  For a moment more, the two of them look at each other, just as wary as before, before Mikleo asks the question burning in his mind, “How did you come to be here?”

Amelia blinks, and the fins on her arms twitch, as if she is anxious or unsure.  “We came here to escape the malevolence of the world above, when it became too much.”  She must have some sight left, despite her milky eyes, because her face twists and she laughs as Mikleo winces.  The laugh is a hollow, grinding thing, like waves against the rocks.  It is not pleasant, but even more than that, it is frightening; it contains no emotion at all.  Mikleo clutches his staff until his knuckles turn white, and wills himself to hold his ground and not take a step back.

“It didn’t work, as you can see,” she finally finishes, once her bout of strange laughter is done.

“The world above is much more pure now,” Mikleo blurts out.

She stares him down, without blinking this time, and then says, “That is a nice thought.  I am glad.  But it is not one for me.”

A moment of silence passes, and then another.  Amelia does not seem inclined to say more, or to move just yet.  Finally, Mikleo clears his throat and asks, “We?”

“There were more of us once.”

And he knows.  He knows exactly why there are no others here with her.  He asks anyway, “How?”

She laughs her awful, soulless laugh again and Mikleo forces himself not to cringe.  “How am I the only one left?”

That wasn’t what he had meant, but he is not willing to correct her.

Amelia shrugs.  “Some fall faster than others. Those who hold sorrow or darkness in their hearts, perhaps. I'm one of the lucky ones. Or maybe, I'm not.”

Suddenly Mikleo doesn’t want to talk to this woman anymore.  Standing in front of him is a fate that he has spent his life pushing back against, that Sorey had sacrificed himself to prevent.  And here it is still.  He feels the last five hundred years spent alone - and for what? - laying heavy on him.  He feels sick to his stomach.

She studies him for a moment more, eyes narrowing and ear fins twitching.  “Stay away from the depths,” she warns, and it sounds like mourning.  “Stay away from the older ones, the darker ones.  There is nothing left there.”  And then, Amelia turns and walks away, out of his light, and taking the feeling of her domain with her, wrapped tight around her shoulders like a cloak.

In the time that Mikleo spends scouring every inch of the entrance hall and the rooms nearby, he does not meet Amelia again.  It seems she is just as content to stay away as he is to have her gone.  Although, he does always keep the senses in his domain alert for any other surprises that might come along.

From time to time, schools of fish swim in and out.  These he likes, and always takes some time away from his study to coax them close and let them swim between his fingers and hair.  Their cool, smooth bodies and vibrant, tiny lives are grounding.  They move so fast, reminding him of the time passing in a way that he often forgets.  He tries to rack his brain for how long he has been under the water, and comes up short.

He doesn’t mind that as much as he thought he would.  He remembers the way time was starting to drag before he came down into the ocean, so he could do with a little bit of feeling like it’s flying by.

At any rate, the ruin is vast and there is much more to be explored.  By questing with his own domain, he believes that there are several upper stories and a basement, perhaps two, in this vast place.  Upper floors are the way to go, he thinks as he approaches a grand, soaring stairway and begins to ascend.  Superstition can’t help but tell him that there will be darker things, more things like Amelia, down below.

And yet, something in him is still not surprised when, several rooms into his grand exploration of the second floor, he finds a monstrous creature.  Or, really, it’s not so much that Mikleo finds the monster, than the monster finds him.  He is narrowly saved by the feeling in the water of the thing’s passing, and reflexes which make him bring his staff up to block as it rams into him.

This thing is all teeth, rows and rows of them, and tiny, milky eyes, and wicked-sharp looking spines.  For half of a panicked second, he remembers a frightening, hollow laugh, but then he realizes this thing is small, and for all its fierce appearance, not very powerful.  Mikleo gathers the water before him, chills it hard and fast enough that it freezes despite the salt in the water, and waits for the monster to attack again.

It circles for a moment before charging again, and runs head-first into Mikleo’s ice spear.  It shakes itself, shrieks in a way that makes the water all around him shudder, and then turns tail to slink off.

Mikleo is careful, reaching forward with all of the senses at his disposal before he tries to enter the room the monster came from, again.  It seems to be empty.  He guides one of his lights inside, and steps up to the doorway before he freezes.  Inside, there is a dark purple miasma slowly pulsing and twisting in its own mindless hunger.  There are eons of hurt here, little eddies and pockets of it that drift about on the currents like dark jellyfish.  They had always known they needed to purify the land, but who would ever think to purify the sea?

His heart thumps madly, painfully in his chest. There has been so much work done, to purify the land.  And yet, this reminds him of nothing so much as the cities of Glennwood when he and Sorey first set out from Elysia centuries ago.  And this is just one room, in one ruin, in the vast ocean.  How much of the water is infused with malevolence, how much of it has he touched?  If things are still like this here, how in the world will Sorey ever cleanse enough of the world to wake?

That is not a thought to be thinking.  Instead, he swirls the water in the room into a cyclone to chase away the patches of malevolence.  It goes streaming past him as he directs it away.  Inside, there are more fascinating carvings, similar to the ones in the grand hall below.  Even without looking closely, he has a thrill up his spine that these ones might help him unlock answers.

He decides, even though there is malevolence here, that he will stay.

Mikleo hasn’t written in his notebook as much as he once has.  The beginning, when he flips through, is packed full of sketches of fish and notes in a tiny exacting hand on comparisons of art and architecture between historical periods and the periods in which he has lived.  The notes are still tiny and exacting in the later half, but it certainly took him several times the amount of time that it did to fill the front, especially since he’s collected plenty enough on the art style here to put together some answers.  When he reaches the last page, he finds a note, to tell Sorey that he once had the silly notion that the moon was a water seraph.  Until then, he hadn’t even remembered the thought.

Mikleo looks at the page for a moment, decides that he will not write anything more there, and shuts the book.  He slides it into the pouch on his belt, still wrapped in magical protections.  The thought that he should return to the surface for another is gone from his mind almost as fast as it came.  Besides, it’s become hard to write anymore with the webbing slowly creeping between his fingers.

There is a day, when he leans close to a section of wall, to examine an old trap.  It’s no longer a danger to him - the rope connecting the mechanism has long-since rotted away.  But it’s fascinating anyway.  As he looks, his eyes begin to hurt.  He rubs them, feeling his fingers skim along the tiny ridges forming underneath.  The ridges had concerned him once, but not anymore.  The touch does not help with his eyes, though.

He thinks that maybe he has been looking at fine detail too long, and that they need a rest.  He turns away from the wall only to come face to face with one of his glowing spheres.  The light is harsh on his hurting eyes this close.  He’s always kept two with him, one for up close and one to illuminate the wider spaces, so he thinks it might not be a bad thing to put one of them out for now, while he rests.  He lets it fade, and breathes a sigh of relief.

He has been practicing finer control of sensing his surroundings in the water.  There are things his eyes miss these days; probably his eyes have always missed things, but the water - it’s in everything.  It misses nothing.

That is probably the reason he feels the creature in the water first, knows the shape of it to be like a man, before he ever senses the domain of a seraph.  He is shocked; the last time he felt something of the like was when he met Amelia again a few months - years? - ago.  Even then, she had hardly felt like a seraph anymore, and certainly nothing like this one, who is pure to the core, and in some way familiar.

He decides his curiosity is enough to venture up from the basement level where he has spent most of his time lately, back up the grand staircases and out to the hall, where this one waits.

As he makes his way through the series of halls and rooms, he feels something flash by his cheek.  It makes beautiful trails in the water with its passing.  It takes him a moment to realize it’s a fish, and he feels something strange in his chest when he can’t remember the last time he saw one.  He does remember, though, feeling them dart around him, and in and out of his fingers.  When the next one passes him by, he snatches it from his path, with the aid of the webbing on his fingers and a twist he makes in the water.  He feels it wriggle against his palm for a moment, the smooth, coolness of its scales.  He wonders what it might be like to eat it, but then he lets the fish go and continues on.

There in the entrance hall is the owner of the domain.  He senses it is a man, shorter than him but not by much, and sees with what failing eyesight he has left that the man is swathed in blue.  Although, it is hard to tell through the light.

“Mikleo,” the man says.

He blinks, tries to think when it was he last heard that name.  He tries to think of who this man is.  He looks up towards the ceiling, and remembers this man in a similar place once, another grand room with grand vaulting and a sweeping roof.  “Uno,” he says back.

“I was sent to look for you, by Lailah and the others.  Although, Edna claims no interest in this endeavor.”

“Ah,” he says, and his mind runs through a hundred bored expressions, more often than not hidden away a moment later by an umbrella.  He thinks he says, “that’s just like her,” but when he looks back at Uno, blinking against the lights the other seraph has brought with him, he can’t be sure.

“They want you to come home.”  His senses in the water tell him Uno’s mouth and eyes are twisted with some kind of emotion.

Before he can even truly feel the word on his tongue, he’s saying, “No.”

“Brother,” Uno says, “can you truly say that this is you speaking, and not the malevolence?  I know the things it will make you do.”

He wracks his brain, his memories of the world above.  Edna is easy, since Uno mentioned her, she is her teasing and snide comments, but also in the way her voice cracks when she is truly worried for someone she claims not to love.  Lailah, she is warmth, and bad jokes, and a teacher despite her sometimes childish ways.  Zaveid is an old, solid presence, for all he tries to hide it under all of the flirting.  The memories are warm, but his heart twists in his chest to think of missing them, to think of how they would see him now.  He clutches his elbows, feeling the scales there under his fingertips.

And then, and then there is the one who is not there.  Sorey.  He is ruins, and bright green eyes, and falling asleep together as children.  He is sparring together, and tickle fights, and the only person Mikleo has ever kissed.  He is books, and a heart that welcomes in all he meets, and he is sacrifice.  And he is gone.  For more years, more centuries, than he ever got to live.

He no longer trusts that Sorey will be coming back.

His heart twists again, and it’s worse this time.  There’s a name to it, too.  Loneliness, sorrow, despair.  All feelings that spawn malevolence; all feelings malevolence spawns.  It is a vicious cycle, he thinks, and it is not a new thought.  He has thought it many times over the years, but this is the first time that he adds, what a cruel world .  Perhaps it is better to stay down in the dark and the silence.  He can’t escape it now, oh no, but he would no longer have to see others suffer for it.  No one would have to suffer when he, too, succumbs.

Finally, he looks back to Uno, who has waited in silence for his answer.  “I am the one speaking,” he says, as clear and as strong as he can.

“It would be a shame to lose a good water seraph. And a good friend.  You won’t reconsider?”

“No.”  He waits, for Uno to say something else.  When there is only silence, he adds, “I’m tired, Uno.  Tired of waiting for something which will never come.”

There must have been something in his face, because Uno sighs, and nods.  “I have strict orders to bring you back, you know.  But if this is truly your choice, I will respect it.  Lailah will roast me alive when I come back empty handed.”

“I am sorry,” he says, and he does feel it.

He watches, as Uno turns to go.  A moment later, he calls, “Uno!” and reaches to his belt for his notebook.  It’s been eons since he’s thought of the thing, but hearing him speak about returning empty handed reminded him.  At least some part of him must have remembered, though, because his artes are still firmly in place to keep it safe from the water.  He holds it out when the other seraph turns back to him, feels a second set of artes wrap around it, and lets go of his own.  “Give this to him,” he says.

Uno nods, takes the book, and turns away again.

He stays to watch Uno leave.  This won’t be the last, he thinks.  Lailah will find another water seraph to come retrieve him, and the next perhaps won’t be willing to leave him in peace.

Perhaps it is time to move on.  He walks out of the ruin once he can no longer feel Uno’s domain.  The light outside is nearly blinding, and so he closes his eyes, puts out his own lightt, and uses the water to guide him.  Where to go, which will be dark and hidden?  There are further depths, down the cliff in the water.

As he glides through the towering gate, he stops for a moment to run his hands along the sides, to feel the patterns under his fingertips between the creatures clinging there.  He never got the chance to come back and examine them.  He thinks he should be disappointed by this, but instead he just feels empty.

Later, when he reaches the cliffs, he doesn’t bother to create a new light for himself.

Light is a thing he knows as glowing points of blue.  They adorn his body in swirling trails, occasionally flicking in and out of vision as his body undulates in the current.  Other creatures come to it.  They slink through the darkness, into his small light, with eyes blurred and senses dulled and he eats them all.

Which is why it is so strange when another creature comes that makes its own light.  It’s a small thing, although not as small as some, but its light is so bright as it floods his milky eyes.  They feel like they’re searing out of his skull.  He hasn’t seen anything this bright since the days of sunlight.  That is a word that the ancient parts of him know, that the rest of him no longer understands.

But this creature, this man, is sunlight.  The brightest, most wonderful and most painful thing he has ever known.

He freezes when the man reaches out to touch him.  Nothing has touched him like this in eons, with gentleness and no fear.  “Oh Mikleo, what has become of you?”  Sound does not carry right through water, but he hears anyway.

That word, that name.  He’s heard it before, perhaps in a dream.  In a dream of sunlight, and air and this man.  There is noise in his head now, beating on his skull.  There are words there, trying to fight their way out of a mind that no longer understands, a mouth that can no longer shape them.  His heart beats fast.  He can feel this man’s heartbeat in the vibrations of the water.  It is fast too, but familiar, and that hurts.  Everything is hurt and confusion.  He wants it to all be quiet and dark again.

Because if it is not quiet and dark, then he has to remember what he was, what he has become, and what could have been – what they could have been.

The man is still touching him.  He’s speaking again, and no, no, stop, no more words.  He cannot take more words – they claw at him, wrench out these feelings that he cannot bear.  But he hears them anyway, because the world is not kind or merciful, and the man says, “I have searched for you for so long.  Won’t you come home?”

And there is a wave of anger.  “I have no home.  You left!” screams the ancient part of him.  Tries to scream it through his mouth, but it comes out as a roar.  There is no sound in the water, but the vibrations shake the stones on the sides of his trench; they come crashing down.  The man doesn’t flee; he clutches closer.

That touch seems to burn, that light burns, those thoughts crashing through his mind burn him from the inside out.  The ancient parts of him are still screaming.  They are crying and wailing and trying to claw their way out of these scales and fins and this cloud of darkness.  Anguish and the most bittersweet joy rise up and crash over him like waves, and he’s going to be dragged under.  He just wants it all to stop.  He reaches forward, to impose silence and darkness and a stilling of his thoughts in the only way he can now.

Somewhere in the depths of the ocean, a light goes out.  It is unnoticed, but for the small flock of creatures that had begun to swim towards its alluring glow.  They turn back now, interest lost.  Beneath them, a creature settles back into the darkness and the solitude, and wills his thoughts to stop and his heart to turn to stone.

[machetelanding]

For more than a decade, despite the increase in domestic population, the number of movie admissions sold has stalled. For some time that fact was papered over. Premium pricing through gimmicks such as 3D and IMAX were at least able to increase annual box office revenues (a bit). Nevertheless, the movie business is no longer a growth business, and 2017 is beginning to look like the year when the industry will have to finally come to terms with that.

Globalism was supposed to save Hollywood. The exact opposite ended up being the case. The worldwide audience became the tiger held by the tail; for the global village is one that demands shockingly expensive spectacle, which means huge investments, all-in gambles, that cannot begin to see a profit until $600 to $700 million in tickets are sold.

Worse still, leftwing filmmakers were counting on these oh-so sophisticated internationales to make political diatribes profitable, to appreciate their cinematic calls for multiculturalism, moral equivalence, anti-Americanism, and statism. Whoops! Turns out the rest of the world is even more addicted to mindless escapism than us rubes.

And so, over the last ten years Hollywood slowly painted itself into a corner, where at the expense of everything else, only $250 million franchises, low-budget horror, animated films, and raunchy R-rated comedies can make any money. But today about half those franchises are flaming out and R-rated comedies are in a coma.

Oh, there will always be movies. But let's face it, other than the pretentious, wankfest indies America's foo foo critics pretend to like and the thrilling exceptions that used to be the rule — Dunkirk, Baby Driver — going to the movies anymore is like going to Six Flags; an expensive ride on the latest CGI rollercoaster, something that is no longer about affirming the soul or a relaxing good time. Instead of coming together to explore our shared human condition, we buckle in to overload the senses.

Anyway, let's look at all the suicidal mistakes made by the film industry…

1. The Death of the Movie Star

The men who made Hollywood — the Selznicks, Warners, Mayers, Cohns, Goldwyns, Thalbergs, Zanucks, Schencks, Zukors, Laskys and Laemmles — quickly figured out that the movie star was the key to the world. Not just to box office success, but the key to shaping our culture, fashion, politics, Americanism, and even our humanity.

And so it was until the 1990s. Believe it or not, we used to go and see Eddie Murphy movies, Sylvester Stallone movies, and Goldie Hawn movies. We liked Harrison Ford and trusted his choices. We loved Chevy Chase and trusted his choices. This reality was good for everyone because you didn’t need $250 million in computer effects to put butts in seats. All you needed was Bruce Willis or Steven Seagal or Sigourney Weaver. All you needed was John Candy trying to get it right or Kathleen Turner merely showing up.

Fearing their $20 million salaries and growing power, Hollywood killed the movie star. But without the face on the poster selling tickets, all that's left to sell is the narcotic of CONCEPT, which must get bigger and bigger and more expensive in order to feed the fix.

2. Partisan Politics

Movies have always been political, have always had something to say. But it used to be that for every leftwing High Noon you had a response in the form of Rio Bravo. And look at what this healthy competition created — two masterpieces, both of which are political as opposed to partisan or divisive.

Today, movies and actors go out of their way to create ill-will through insulting and divisive commentary that attacks more than half the country. Sure, in their time, John Garfield, Humphrey Bogart, Charlie Chaplin, Katherine Hepburn and many others were leftwingers who advocated for their respective causes. But they had class. They never insulted or demeaned those who disagreed with them. Creative giants, leftists such as John Huston, Orson Welles and Elia Kazan, managed to have their say without throwing poop.

And that is all the difference in the world.

Insulting your own customers is not only bad business, it cannot begin to make up for a deficit of talent.

3. The Death of Censorship

Just because I believe that certain things should be legal — porn, getting drunk, loveless sex, homosexuality — that does not mean I believe those things are healthy for our society. Quite the contrary. I side with freedom because the messy and oftentimes tragic results of freedom are almost always preferable to the result of government control (see: Obamacare).

The same goes for censorship. I'm not for any form of movie censorship, but that doesn't mean I'm unaware of how lifting censorship, removing all barriers, has greatly diminished the art form of the motion picture.

There are exceptions (DePalma, Scorsese) where excess can be in and of itself art, but for the most part the depth, creative energy and artistic breakthroughs required to find another way through subtext are almost always preferable to text.

Had Alfred Hitchcock been allowed to get his full freak on, does anyone believe Psycho, Rear Window, North by Northwest, Vertigo, Strangers On a Train, Notorious, Rebecca, or Rope — all violent films stewing in sexual, and sometimes homosexual subtext, would be anywhere near the classics they are today?

Almost always, limits benefit art. There are no limits today and creative laziness is the result. For this reason, movies are not even sexy anymore.

4. The Leftwing Sycophants Who Cover the Movie Business

Whether it is Deadline, The Hollywood Reporter or Variety, whether it is pretty much every critic you read at Rotten Tomatoes, the people whose job it is to cover the movie business are almost all leftwing Social Justice Warriors, all sycophants who refuse to challenge the status quo or speak truth to power.

Yes, there are people on the political right like myself who sometimes cover these things, but we are all on the outside looking in. The publications within the bubble, however, are all bubbled themselves, and all about protecting the bubble. The only time they raise a fuss is when Hollywood is not leftwing enough — We need more homosexual movies! We need more trans movies! We need more women and minorities! We need more Stephen Colberts! Trump is icky!

A perfect example was published over the weekend when two new movies released on more than 3,000 screens tanked. The franchise wannabe Dark Tower failed to clear $20 million; the oh-so topical and critically-lauded Detroit lit itself on fire with $7 million.

But how did Deadline spin these dual duds…

For the second weekend in a row, Sony figured out a way to work around the Rotten Tomatoes system to get a lackluster title to open. Last weekend, it was the Emoji Movie, which posted an OK $24.5M in second. This weekend, it’s their Media Rights Capital co-production The Dark Tower, which is taking No. 1 with a modest take estimated at $19.5M. …

Call it what you will, but it’s distribution’s job to open a movie. In the case of Sony, they held back reviews as late as they could for Dark Tower and Emoji Movie and got them started so they could last the rest of the month. Again, not a wondrous result with Dark Tower, but here it sits in first place.

It gets worse…

Kathryn Bigelow’s Detroit from Annapurna, despite having the best reviews and audiences scores out of this weekend’s wide entries – respectively with an 88% certified fresh and A- CinemaScore – didn’t find that love spill over into its opening weekend, which looks to settle at $7.25M. Not a fantastic start for a movie which cost between $35M-$40M. …

Once moviegoers leave Detroit, they’re amazed. The trick for Annapurna is to keep word-of-mouth alive[.] … We hear the original 20 runs of Detroit held quite well.

For the sake of context, let's look at this very same Deadline writer's analysis of a movie that opened in January of 2016. Both Detroit and 13 Hours are topical, controversial, and political. Both are modestly-budgeted ($40 million for Detroit; $50 million for 13 Hours), but that is where the similarities end.

13 Hours, Michael Bay's Benghazi story, is aimed at conservative Middle America. Detroit is aimed at the Black Lives Matter crowd.

13 Hours opened cold in only 2,389 theaters. After a limited run to boost publicity and word of mouth, Detroit opened in a whopping 3,007 theaters.

Over at Rotten Tomatoes, critics buried 13 Hours with a miserable 50% rating. Critics lauded Detroit with a 88% fresh rating. Nevertheless…

13 Hours opened to much, much better $16.5 million 3-day when compared to Detroit's miserable $7.3 million 3-day opening.

And yet…

This weekend Paramount launched Michael Bay’s 13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi, drawing more noise from the CIA, Republicans and Democrats than moviegoers with a middling 4-day opening of $19M.

But despite audiences embracing the Michael Bay film with an A CinemaScore, bureaucrats have had a heyday kicking 13 Hours around like a political football. And it’s never good when partisan factions get their hands around a movie. Such squabbling is one of the chief factors seen in 13 Hours coming in under its $20M-$23M four-day projection.

This sort of partisan spin and wishcasting from those who should be telling cold truths is part of what's destroying a cowardly and out of touch film business desperate for any kind of affirmation that encourages them to never change.

5. The Death of the Women's Movie

After the studio system gasped its last in the mid-60s, the leftists of New Hollywood took over, and while they had an incredibly creative 10-year run, these oh-so progressive leftists also killed the women's picture.

In the hands of leftist Hollywood, in the hands of a Hollywood where more women and feminists are in charge than ever before, how freakin' pathetic is it that a Wonder Woman is a revelation, a cultural epoch, a record scratch in Hollywood history.

Sorry, but no it's not.

When patriotic right-wingers ran Hollywood, when those stodgy, old and backwards "sexist" conservatives were in charge, up on that big screen, women enjoyed real equality. They were goddesses — tough and beautiful, independent and accessible, whip-smart and classy, in charge and selfless, sexy and decent.

The list is endless… Garbo, Davis, Crawford, Grable, Stanwyck, Simmons, Kerr, Hayworth, Lamar, Hepburn, Rogers, Colbert, Bergman, Bacall, de Havilland, Fontaine, Hayward, Taylor, Dietrich, Loren, Lombard, Garland, Loy, O'Hara, Pickford, Harlow, Day, Monroe, Kelly, Gardner, Leigh, Swanson, Holliday, Grahame, Reynolds, Neal, Saint, Caron, Wyman, Wood, Tierney, Darnell, Goddard, Grier and Arthur.

What do we have today? An aging and increasingly unappealing Meryl Streep and a whole host of cookie cutter babes (many of whom look like 14-year-old boys) all-too eager to degrade themselves, to act like sexist men. Hollywood uses these girls for nothing less than chum, and every year wonders why they can't find even five decent choices to fill the Best Actress category.

Oh, yeah, you've really come a long way, baby.

6. A Bubble That Has Lost Touch With the Audience and Now Makes Crap

The movie industry has lost complete touch with its audience. Gone are the talent scouts looking to build a farm club by spreading out across the country in search of The Next Big Thing. Instead it is an incestuous bubble that only reproduces within the family, within the rarified zip codes of Manhattan and Los Angeles.

7. The Death of Comedy

What in the world happened to the family comedy? The romantic comedy? The high school comedy? The ethnic comedy? The guy comedy? The snobs vs. slobs comedy? The stick-it-to-the-man comedy?

I'm no prude. I love The Hangover and American Pie. But every comedy today is man-boys and their body fluids, gross-out and heartless.

I don’t want to walk out of a theater feeling like I need a shower. And judging by the endless string of R-rated flops, we are all tired of this soul-killing garbage.

8. The New Production Code Is Much More Stifling Than The Old One

The old Production Code that guided the movie business throughout much of the golden era was more about how content like sex, violence and human sexuality was presented. In other words, these topics were not placed off limits. Hitchcock was allowed to make clear that Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint did it, he just couldn’t show them doing it; Hitchcock could make clear Martin Landau and James Mason were homosexual lovers, he just couldn’t show it.

Today's Production Code is an unspoken one. Nevertheless, it is much more fascist and creatively stifling than its predecessor because you cannot work around political correctness, you cannot turn text into subtext when certain subjects are placed completely off limits. For instance, unless you are black, you are no longer allowed to tell certain stories. A movie that told the truth about transsexuals being mentally ill could not be made today. Certain special interest groups cannot be satirized today. Conservatism cannot be portrayed as having any good ideas today. Every Western must apologize to the Indians. The list is endless and grows by the day. Just look at this stupid controversy surrounding HBO's Confederacy.

You can argue that anyone can make any movie they want. Sure. And that was true back in the studio era. But within the system, within the mainstream, you risk the same thing you did in 1955 — being blacklisted, shunned, and personally destroyed.

9. An Expensive Bad Time

With insanely high ticket and concession prices, movies are no longer accessible to millions of Americans. Like major league baseball, the theater experience is not only expensive but becoming more and more elitist, with high-priced luxury theaters becoming their own form of skyboxes.

For those of us who do gamble a hard-earned $80 for family night, we are forced to deal with the stress of theaters that do not police the talkers and texters; we are forced to gamble all that cash on an industry with a 15% success rate when it comes to producing a satisfying product.

Pathetic.

[backtothestart02]

The Burglar in My Kitchen - 2/?

A/N: Finally an update! Chapter 1 can be found here. It should be all wrapped up on Tuesday (I hope). Enjoy.

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing again, as always. ;)

Early the next morning, six a.m. to be exact, Iris woke up to the gross realization that she was sweaty and sticky. She couldn’t recall having any nightmares, but she did remember tossing and turning a lot after the startling introduction of their late night guest.

Barry Allen.

She’d thought of him a lot before she drifted off restlessly into three hours of quasi-slumber. Her dad had said he’d moved when he was ten, so that had to mean she knew him to some extent when they were children. She couldn’t recall a Barry Allen at school though, not one that could match the description of the tall, lanky man sleeping on her living room couch.

Maybe he was shorter when he was younger – well, obviously, Iris. She’d rolled her eyes at herself and shook her head. Most kids weren’t tall at ten. He could’ve shot up in high school when he was nowhere near her vicinity. He could’ve even attended a different elementary school than her. She certainly didn’t remember him or this Henry that her dad talked so fondly about visiting their house. It was perfectly reasonable that they lived farther away.

Her dad did say they still lived in Central City though. Was there more than one elementary school in Central City? The knowledge escaped her. She certainly didn’t ever remember writing an article on more than one local elementary school whenever she wrote about simplistic things.

Not that any of this mattered. She probably wouldn’t see him that much once the week was out, if he even stayed that long.

She thought about how often she saw Jerry though – often. Whenever she went to the precinct to see her dad, in fact. With only one CSI working all the cases at the precinct, he had to work very closely with any cop investigating a homicide or any crime that required testing or analysis. If Barry was skilled enough to get hired at CCPD, that meant she wouldn’t be able to avoid him.

She wondered why that bothered her so much.

Her eyes flashed open, her consciousness fully awake, when she heard the sound of water coming down the hall. It was from the nearer bathroom, not the one in her dad’s room, so she knew it had to be Barry, and it made her groan.

Her dad almost always left for the CCPD before she left for CCPN, which meant Barry would have to leave with him. If Barry Allen was already in the shower, it meant he would be gone before she could see if his eyes widened at the sight of her in slightly more revealing clothing than her usual work attire.

She wondered why that troubled her so much too.

It wasn’t like she never got hit on. In fact, she and her best friend Linda were often the prime targets at the newspaper. It had been very flattering and boosted her ego tremendously when she first started there, but soon enough it grew tiresome because she wanted to be credited more for her work than her appearance. And she was, Linda reassured her in those early days. She was one of, if not the best journalist there, certainly the most daring in her field. A fact her father did not hesitate to frown upon even as he congratulated her every success.

I wonder if Barry would be impressed with my reputation at the newspaper, she contemplated thoughtfully, and then promptly stripped away the blankets covering her body. Why does it even matter, Iris? She seethed at herself.

She got up and strode over to her closet, much as she’d done just a few short hours ago. Except this time she went to choose her outfit for the day. Then she waited impatiently until the water stopped and Barry Allen’s footsteps sounded down the hall and the stairs to where her father no doubt was waiting in the kitchen.

…

“Wow, what’s up with you?” Linda asked, watching with amusement as Iris West deposited herself at the desk opposite hers.

“Nothing,” Iris grumbled, taking a long swallow of her very strong, very dark morning coffee, and then darting her tongue out quickly when the temperature proved too much to handle.

“Hot?” Linda asked, taking a careful sip of her own beverage.

“Scathing,” her friend admitted, her lips twisted ruefully as she set her cup down away from her computer.

“Going to tell me what’s up?” She pressed again.

Iris sighed and propped her elbows on her desk, caving to the desire to vent. “Why the hell not?” She blew out a puff of hair, causing some strands to fly to the side of her face.

“Ooo, language.” Linda grinned. “I’m intrigued.”

Iris rolled her eyes and set her chin in the palm of her hand. “My dad brought in the new CSI last night to stay with us for a few days.”

Linda’s eyes widened. “Barry Allen has been hired already?” she asked, gawking. “It’s only been a few hours. He must be really good.”

“Well, I don’t know if he’s been officially— Wait.” Her eyes narrowed, analyzing the girl across from her. “You know about him?” Linda nodded. “How? You do Sports,” she spat. “I’m the one who usually ends up at the precinct.”

“But you didn’t know,” Linda realized, a smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. “Did you?”

Iris’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Eddie Thawne told me.”

“Eddie Thawne?” Iris asked, clearly with disgust. “What does he have to do with sports? Or wait, let me guess, you’re dating him.”

Linda laughed. “Hardly. His cousin happens to be the new assistant coach to our much esteemed Central City Falcons. I stopped by last week to get some info on him since, as you know, he is much cloaked in mystery.”

Iris nodded absently.

“What do you have against Eddie anyway?” She took a sip of her drink. “He’s very pretty.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “He also keeps a tally of all the arrests he’s made. That’s the equivalent of boasting about how many women you’ve hooked up with in my opinion. I don’t care how pretty he is, nobody likes someone with an ever-present inflated ego.”

Linda shrugged. “He seemed alright when I talked to him.”

“That’s because you weren’t allowing him to talk about himself. He was forced to give information on something that had nothing to do with him other than being related to the star of your article.”

“Wow.” Linda sank bank in her chair and crossed her arms beneath your breasts. “You’ve really got it bad for that Barry Allen, don’t you?”

Iris nearly choked on her coffee. “What?” Her eyes were wide with shock and disbelief. Her jaw dropped. “How…How can you even say that? I’m just annoyed that my dad—”

Linda grinned. “Iris, I’m your best friend. I know you.”

She scoffed. “Not this time you don’t.”

“No?” She raised one eyebrow.

“No.” Her eyes narrowed. “I almost pummeled him last night with a baseball bat.”

Her jaw dropped. “What did he do? Diagnose the true cause of your fish’s death?”

“I...no.” She scoffed, annoyed. “Besides, my fish aren’t dead, Linda.”

Linda snorted into her drink. “Yet.”

“I take care of my fish.”

“When is the last time you fed them?” She folded her arms on her desk and stared Iris down, daring her to respond honestly.

Iris glared, but then shook her head, determined to change the subject.

“Barry almost got pummeled because he was stealing an orange out of my fridge.” She decided to ignore how pathetic that excuse sounded in the light of day.

“Your fruit are that precious to you, huh?” she teased, which only bothered Iris more.

“I didn’t know he was going to be there, Lin. My dad never said anything.”

Linda’s voice took on theatrical tones.

“So, you decided there was only one way to prevent the unthinkable from happening. You were going to pummel to death the fruit burglar who dared to enter your place of residence.” Her voice resumed its normal tone. “Is that it?” She took another sip of her drink.

Iris tried to maintain her anger, but her best friend made it impossible. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms beneath her breasts.

“You think I’m exaggerating?” Linda nodded once. “It’s just weird, Lin. Apparently my dad has known Barry’s dad for years and known Barry for years too, and yet he never thought to bring it up. Ever. In all these years.”

“Never?”

“Well, his dad – Henry Allen – is an old friend of my dad’s from college who apparently stitched him up a bunch when they were younger and my dad was a daring rookie on the force. But…” She shrugged. “Aside from that? No. Nothing.”

“Hmm.”

She leaned forward across her desk.

“The reporter in me is screaming, Lin.”

“And what about the woman in you?” She gave her a crooked, devilish grin.

Iris blinked. “What are you talking about?” she asked, sounding mystified but unable to meet her eyes for a moment.

Linda’s grin widened. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t think I do. I mean I…”

“What do you think of him? This…Barry Allen.”

“I don’t even know him,” she said, her voice and facial expression insisting that should be enough.

Linda shrugged. “You know a little.”

“Not enough,” she finally said.

“Yeah.” Linda nodded. “Enough.” Iris’s mouth opened, but she kept going. “You know what he looks like, what he sounds like, how he reacts to a woman in pajamas threatening to pummel him with a bat – the silver one right, not the plastic?”

Iris sank into her chair, resigned, and nodded. “The silver one.”

“I’m guessing you saw a touch of personality too when things got cleared up. Did he – at any point – boast about his skills as a CSI?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Did he hit on you?”

She sighed. “No.”

“Did he disrespect your dad or make assumptions of anything he was entitled to while he’s staying in your house?”

Iris avoided her eyes again.

“What’s your point?” she muttered.

Linda suppressed her laughter just barely.

“As a woman, not a reporter, not as someone immediately jumping to conclusions about anything, even just based on his looks… What do you think about Barry Allen?”

Iris recalled how disappointed she’d been when she realized she wouldn’t be able to show off some extra skin that morning before Barry left for work with her dad.

She looked at Linda and said nothing, but the look on her face was enough confirmation.

Linda laughed once, freely, letting her know she knew.

“You’re into him,” she said. Iris’s lips parted, but she didn’t say a word. “Like I said,” she took another sip of her drink and booted up her computer. “I know you.”

…

That afternoon on her lunch break, Iris marched over to CCPD, determined to prove her best friend wrong. She couldn’t be right about this. Iris was not the type of girl to be into someone based on one crazy interaction. It didn’t matter that she found out his favorite food, how he reacted to a legitimate threat, and some of his family history, as well as how respectful and apologetic he could be whether he’d done something wrong or not – which was generally not something she’d expect even on the first date.

You’re thinking in terms of dates now, Iris?!

She was furious with herself.

The truth was she didn’t like how Linda had put her on the spot. She had never been in denial of her attraction to a guy before. She wasn’t as bold as Linda, the girl who spotted a guy and immediately pursued him, but she sure as hell didn’t deny how she felt about a guy either, at the very least on a physical level.

Linda had to be reading her wrong; and if she wasn’t, there was only one way for Iris to know for sure.

She would have to get all her reporter urges out of her system. She would have to invade this Barry Allen’s personal space and ask him all the questions that were gnawing at her, questions that had absolutely nothing to do with the possibility of her physically attraction to him.

She would become Barry Allen’s worst nightmare. If he still wasn’t repulsed after that and his record came up clean…

Well, maybe I’ll…think of something when the time comes.

But that time was not now and—

She stopped dead in her tracks when she was halfway across the lobby of CCPD. Barry was standing with her dad by his desk. They were talking seriously about something, Barry’s arms folded across his chest, nodding every so often at what her dad was saying. Then he grabbed a file off her dad’s desk, opened it, and presumably started talking about its contents. Her dad nodded along and they began conversing again.

She stood there, perplexed, watching the two interact. She didn’t know what she expected. For Barry to be failing miserable perhaps? For him to be a total basket case? He clearly wasn’t. He looked to be very much on her dad’s level. There wasn’t a hint of annoyance or embarrassment from either. When Singh came over to join them, there was a similar attitude between them.

Iris was about to turn away, guilt flooding through her for assuming the worst, when a familiar voice stopped her.

“Iris!”

She looked up and spotted her dad walking towards her, a welcoming grin on his face. She put away her swirling emotions and met him halfway, embracing him.

She looked over his shoulder before they parted and spotted Barry watching them. He quickly looked away when their eyes met, but the moment couldn’t be erased. Just like the fluttering in her stomach couldn’t be ignored. She would just have to hope the sports news Eddie had given Linda last week would be enough to keep her occupied when Iris returned to CCPN later.

“Hey, baby,” her dad was saying. Iris refocused and looked up at her dad, smiling brilliantly. “What brings you here?”

“I’m uh…” Her eyes went past him to Barry, who was watching them again and quickly looked away as soon as she caught him for the second time. She looked back at her dad. “I’m on my lunch break. I just thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

Joe smiled warmly. “That’s really sweet, honey. You know I always love seeing you.” She forced a smile as his lips twisted ruefully. “Unfortunately I have a heavy work load today, since we got called out for a double homicide as soon as we walked in this morning.”

Her jaw dropped. “A double homicide?”

“Mhmm.” He nodded.

Her mind started swimming with a different set of questions.

“Anything you can give me for a story?” she asked, a sneaky grin on her face.

Joe laughed. “Well, as I said, I’m a little busy right now, honey.” She pouted. “But Barry was with me on the scene, so I’m sure he’d be more than happy to fill you in since he’s going on break now. In fact, he’s done for the day.”

She felt the blood rush out of her face. “Done?”

“Yeah.” He eyed her curiously. “He was working Jerry’s shift more than shadowing him so far today, so Singh has basically ordered him to go home and do more observing tomorrow, less participating. I’m pretty sure that’s just code for not wanting to look like in front of pushover for new hires, but he’s clearly impressed. I’m sure by the day after tomorrow, or maybe even sooner, he’ll be handing over the paperwork for Barry to fill out to become a full time employee.”

“I…see.”

Concern etched across Joe’s face.

“Are you okay, honey? You don’t look so good.”

Her eyes refocused on him, and she gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine, I promise. I was just hoping to spend some time with you.”

Joe’s gaze softened.

“Tonight after dinner,” he promised. “We’ll spend some time just you and me, okay?”

She nodded. Her smile soft but still forced.

“Sounds good.”

“Alright, well, I should go then.”

“Okay.” The smile was starting to hurt. “I’ll see you later.”

He nodded once and then started to turn away when he remembered.

“You really should ask Barry about the case though, honey.”

Barry looked up at the sound of his name, and Iris panicked. Which was ridiculous, she scolded herself, since she’d come over with the intent of interrogating him anyway.

“That boy is so excited about the case, it’s unreal. And it’s a murder.”

Red flags went up.

“Why is he excited about it?” she asked, trying to sound only vaguely interested.

“According to him, the cause of death is cyanide, but they both have gunshot wounds to the head delivered post-mortem.”

“That is odd.”

“It gets weirder.”

She crossed her arms, intrigued.

“How so?”

“Well…” he hesitated, suddenly aware of what he was doing. “I really shouldn’t give you too much information on a case, Iris. Especially since it’s not even solved and we still have to catch the killer.”

“Dad,” she whined.

“If this gets out in the media, our guy might run. The last thing we want is to lose the culprit because he ran as soon as the story hit.”

“So I won’t publish the story until you solve it. Problem solved.”

He sighed.

“I don’t even remember all the details. If you have to know, you should ask Barry. Like I said, he’s very excited about this one.”

“Well, I am too, so—”

“It was a hit man,” Barry said, surprising both of them as he’d done the night before.

“A hit man?” Iris’s jaw dropped. “How do you know?”

Barry sidled in close to her. Joe started to shift away, not even bothering with a good-bye.

“They both had folded notes in one hand that read the same thing.”

“What did they say?” She couldn’t hide her insatiable curiosity.

“‘Our father killed us,’” he said.

“And why is that odd?” Her brows furrowed.

“Their father lives in London.”

“He could have traveled and no one knew about it.”

Barry shook his head.

“Joe checked it out. It’s impossible.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s been in a coma for the last six months.” Barry’s intrigue and excitement were brimming not so subtly in his riveting green eyes.

Iris glanced down to what he was clutching in his hands.

“Those don’t happen to be the files on the…”

“Cyanide case?” He lifted them slightly. “Yes, they are.”

She swallowed, her fingers tingling with excitement.

“You want me to tell you more about it?” he asked. “I could give you some quotes for your article.”

You’re not even assigned to this story, Iris, she told herself. But Barry doesn’t know that, and how exciting would it be to bring back full details on an untold double homicide with mysterious circumstances? It was an opportunity she could not resist.

“I…would love that,” she said, wondering why it was suddenly so hard to breathe.

“Great.” He grinned, dimples forming in his cheeks. The butterflies returned. “Let’s go up to the lab, and I’ll show you the samples I tested.”

He led the way, and she followed, just barely managing not to skip on the way to the staircase. There was nothing quite so thrilling as the opportunity to get hands-on with an intriguing new story.

Except, of course, the company of the very attractive man who promised to deliver details to the story she sought after.

*Also available on AO3 and FFnet.

[peanutdracolich]

Peanut Dracolich Watches Horror: Child’s Play

So besides knowing that this was the movie that introduced Chucky and vague knowledge that Chucky was a murderous doll, and one of the big horror franchises (though not one of the best regarded) I went into this blind.

I’m going to give the final overview first, since it’s not got as many spoilers (though a spoiler for the final overview I didn’t like the film that much), and then the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of it before my play by play reactions.

Overall: I was not impressed. The film was almost so bad it's good; like it might be fun to watch and laugh at with a group of people. But as a horror film nah. 0 feet raised with fright (like with Alien 3). Honestly I think Alien 3 if you stopped near the hour and a half mark (the length of Child's Play) is a better horror film, and it was strictly a mediocre film even with Charles Dance. This one... well I enjoyed it more than Halloween, but I personally hated Halloween, and I'd put this well below Ft13... and I don't like Ft13; though on the 13th I will be watching Ft13 part 2 if all goes according to plan.

Still the film relies upon Adult Fear, but is not enough of a psychological film to truly capitalize on it. You've just got a killer doll that, as far as killer dolls go is relatively non-creepy. As a concept the story is good, but the idea is far better than the implementation.

My final verdict is... I wasn't scared. It plays on adult fears, but it also has enough bad moments. I'd say watch Fright Night (by the same director) over Child's Play, while also not scary it was a much more fun movie; or watch Child's Play with a group to enjoy the bad. It was in fact bad enough but in good enough ways to maybe be so bad it's good. Still if I was rating it out of ten it'd not do too well.

The Good:

Adult fears are scary. It is a natural thing to be concerned about child endangerment. Kudos on using it.

Chucky’s penultimate fight. This is actually a pretty good fight, that puts me in mind of the Terminator and when Chucky is by and far at his most bad ass. It’s a good and enjoyable scene.

The Bad:

Adult fears are mitigated by the heavy supernatural. Child is left alone with dangerous thing, scary. Child is wandering downtown alone, horrifying. Child has a killer doll chasing him to steal his soul... actually less scary than if he was chasing an adult because the movie has managed to convince you it will stick to the standard ‘no child will be harmed’ rule.

Chucky’s final fight. His threat has been narratively void for a while now. This is just padding the film an extra 10 minutes. Die already doll.

The Ugly:

Adult fears make me feel worried in an unclean and unfun way. The final fridge horror of ‘they’ve got no proof it was the doll, everyone will still think it was the boy’ leaves a bad after taste.

Chucky’s other fights. The special effects are admittedly good. The basic filming choices and choreography of people’s interactions with the doll when they are not in full use is bad, and even with good special effects half of Chucky’s fights look comical, and only one of them doesn’t leave me taken out of the atmosphere of horror (a bad thing). I think the director would have been better off making a more openly comedic film that more directly poked fun at the horror genre... like Fright Night... which was made by the same director 3 years earlier.

The Play by Play:

I know nothing about Chucky. Dolls are creepy, but as a child Chucky always seemed to be trying to be creepy too much and didn't look normal enough to be creepy in that way. Dolls were admittedly less creepy as a child, but the commercials (admittedly for later films in the franchise) came off as rather humorous and not scary.

So while I'm gong on about how the later films looked, from commercials, to be child friendly entertainment about a doll murdering people (I can't remember how old I was when I first watched evil dead, but given things I watched as a child... I found films with death to be child friendly), the film has been playing. Eddie has ran off on his partner, and the partner has been shot, and the criminal is now... praying to Satan? I think he's praying to Satan to becme a doll. This is simultaneously better than expected, and silly and something I'd have totally enjoyed as a child (though I'd have taken it as just a magical chant). A quick google tells me he's praying to a god from voodoo which actually makes it a little less fun (in the same way if he was praying to Zeus it'd be less fun for the demonization factor).

So already this film is much scarier for me now than it would have been as a small child. The Good Guy is the kid's TV show hero, he has Good Guy cereal, he dresses like the character from the show, so that makes it extra scary... as an adult. As a kid I'd have noticed less. And oh the kid is not making his own breakfast, he's making his mom breakfast in bed at 6:30 AM. This makes it less terrifying that he's being made to feed himself given he obviously cannot.

Lot's of adult fears, not managing to get your child what he wants for his birthday, having to work through it to make ends meat, having... That doll is such an ugly doll. It's not a creepy doll that feels like it's watching you, ready to eat your soul, it's just a bad looking doll. It does look better than my memories of commercials as a kid, less beat up and repaired.

The doll is trying to make the small child help him. And the babysitting friend of his mom is really careless of his new toy, hitting its head into everything while walking. No wonder the doll turns murderous. I mean that's just not how you take care of a new toy.

And Chucky is now watching the news as he wanted... Maggie (babysitter) assumes that this is Andy (small child) doing stuff. Still we're almost 20 minutes in and something scary needs to begin.

And as I type that, there is the pitter patter of Chucky feet after the child has been put to bed and the babysitter is alone in the other room. We start getting music to put nerves on end, a scene made for it at last. Pacing wise I feel less primed than usual, the opening didn't prime for horror, but still the scene is doing well and a priming isn't actually necessary.

Still this is so putting me in mind of Scream and the films it was mocking the sort of 'something has fallen' 'phone rings' scares without the general build of terror of something like Alien or Evil Dead. I am startled, I am physiologically affected (the music and Maggie's panic does that and I'm trying to let it affect me). And then Maggie is hit by the hammer and for a moment I feel fear... when she stumbles into a wall and then redirects herself towards the window to fly out of it I just sort of laugh because it makes no sense for that to have knocked her out of the window given the scene from the front. I am not scared because special effect fail that while not actually as bad as the xenomorph rotoscoping, is just something that pulls you out of the film with its ridiculousness and makes things... Farcical.

I will try to get back into the horror mood. I mean it's not late enough I'm getting sleepy, but I am alone, in a dark room, with a cat occasionally moving about in the darkness to make sounds of something creeping towards me... I am doing my best to be in a horror mood, but it's more adult fear that the detective thinks that the small child might have done it than horror fear. In fact the cool down scene has not made getting into horror mood after that fail easier.

Still the adult fear becomes a horror fear when the music changes and Andy looks at chucky's feet and sees the flour. Andy must die now. The film relies on adult fear, which is not a bad thing, but does mean it would not have scared me as much as a child.

Andy's mom does not believe that Chucky is alive. Poor kid, and silly woman. Not only is he alive but he has massively superhuman strength, and the ability to strike someone so that they fall backwards into a wall and thus fly out the window beside their shoulder. The choreography was bad.

Now it's time for a day of school... except that Chucky has Andy sneaking out. Yay adult fear! The child is now on a street full of drug dealers, and the homeless, and... I'm just sort of worried for the child.

Andy goes to go pee, and Chucky goes to kill his former partner. The Chucky PoV is sort of nice. The rats are cute, the murder method (stove gas + fire) is one that doesn't have the issue of Maggie's death and thus works better for horror as it doesn't pull you out, and with an armed escapee and a kid in close proximity the adult fear is strong. Kid don't run towards the sound of gunfire! Kid stop! No! The armed, drugged out dude does NOT fire on the kid while trying to figure out who is in his run down hideout, and the kid walks away before he does fire causing an explosion. Is this the most realistic explosion? I can't say off the top of my head, but it doesn't pull me out like Maggie's death (or most of the death scenes in Halloween) so kudos. The fact that I'm still thinking about Maggie's death does however pull me out.

And now Andy is being questioned by the police at the precinct. He says that Chucky scared Maggie out of the window. His mom is terrified that they're going to take her son away. The adult fear is palpable. Kid tells about Chucky and the psychiatrist asks to take him for a few days. Of course kid did say that Chucky would kill him if he told so... ADULT FEAR.

We go home and the mom realizes something. The batteries aren't in. Maybe he son is telling the truth and it really is a demon doll. And we get a legitimately good moment when she goes to confirm. For the first time in the movie I truly feel tense and my attention engages. And... So there's a traditional issue of horror movies about showing the monster. The murderer in Friday the 13th is sinister until we learn he's an aging lady. Michael Myers is scary until he picks up a dude and gets ninny slapped. Alien is very sparing in showing the xenomorph. Frankenstein holds back on overusing Boris despite his pure menace. Chucky is almost scary until his physics defiant struggles look more comical (as they don't look like they're supposed to be physics defiant) than scary. How the monster is shown can make or break a movie, and Chucky has, when shown, not helped the movie much.

As we shift to the mother's battle, and attempts to get the detective to believe her, the adult fear is actually fading and wiht that fading... there's just not much fear. The music and general scene dressing is supposed to be scary, the fact that she's in a horrible part of town, but... There's just not a lot of fear. Well to be fair it's supposed to be prepping, but it doesn't prep well. And attempted rape time, only to be saved by the detective man.

So this brings up a comparison to Alien 3 and its attempted rape scene with someone saving the heroine. I liked that one better. It was a moment that established character for both the convicts and her rescuer, character that we had been hinted at but which still established things. Here it lacks some of its strength. You know it's not going to be gone through with (it's not that sort of film) and it doesn't really further anything except a brief attempt at using rape to do a quick and easy scare because rape is scary and traumatic. Over all it feels cheap here, cheaper than in Alien 3.

Still we get a good scene soon to make up. Again the more they show of chucky the less scary he is, but when he's almost entirely shadowed and rising up in the car to murder someone he's scary. When he is poorly stabbing at someone with no success... I think it's actually supposed to be funny. I don't know but I'm laughing. I have laughed more at this movie than been scared of it. But hey the detective is now a believer, it only took a doll trying to murder him a lot from inside of his car while he was driving it.

We see Chucky's old home which fits the serial killer he was supposed to be and has what I assume is (at least the movie's version of) Voodoo imagery, especially once it becomes blatant voodoo imagery. And someone is coming up behind the mom. It's obviously the detective but he's still scarier than Chucky. They must look for the Voodoo Priest.

The Voodoo Priest considers Chucky an abomination, and the Voodoo Priest prepares to... um... call the cops? He picks up a phone to stop Chucky, not you know using magic of some sort, but... phone. Still Chucky has prepared he has Voodoo Priest's Voodoo Doll of Voodoo Priest. Why he has a voodoo doll of himself I'm unsure, maybe there's a reason? It seems silly from most depictions of voodoo and I have always heard that voodoo dolls aren't really from voodoo so it just seems reeeeaaaaly stupid. Still Voodoo Priest sics him on Andy telling him that he can only get out of the doll's body (which is becoming human and vulnerable) by transfering his soul into Andy's... Chucky then finishes him off because of course he does.

Adult fear is supposed to have returned. Especially when Chucky starts breaking into the mental asylum (I think, I mean it's a place for mentally unwell... small children? with doors that only open from the outside and bars on the window and... surgery rooms for... dissecting them?) the kid is in. He gets into Andy's room and... Andy tricks him with pillows under the bed. This place creeps me out with the amount of scalpals just laying about the place, and low security for... wait if you're in the hall you can just go into the OR where they have an electroshock machine that uses lethal voltages? I... I... I don't know whether to laugh at this film for being so what the bad place, or try and take it seriously. I'm not sure I can, but I think it expects me to. I can't speak for the rest of the series, but I think this one expects me to take it seriously.

The film's reliance upon 'oh excrement he's after the child' is undermining it a bit here in that... I don't honestly believe anything bad will happen to the kid. And then just as I'm trying to get back into the horror it shows Chucky's knife that looks rather colorful (red and white pattern on the blade, a pattern that looks almost plastic) and I start to laugh a bit. Of course Chucky does manage to hit the boy on the head with a bat and knock him out which ought to be putting the child, whose body he hopes to inhabit, in some serious danger. But it's hollywood head wounds and that's an 'acceptable break from reality'. The artificial thunderstorm looks silly but that too is acceptable, and the ritual actually has some tension and horror to it... except that you can't believe he'll succeed on a child; the rule is children don't die. There are films that make exceptions to this. That gets terrifying. This film doesn't seem to be one.

Now that it's the nice detective hunting Chucky in the house after the ritual you feel a bit of fear for the detective. Though there's enough of a romance subplot you expect the mom to save him when he gets in trouble and that's exactly what happens. Chucky continues to be more comical than scary the more they show him, and the mom looks more inept than struggling which again undermines the horror. Andy gets a good pre-killing one-liner and the doll burns.

But because they don't check the body well, this isn't the end. Horribly burnt the doll comes for one last attempt, and looking like Freddy Krueger's midget cousin Chucky is finally almost scary. All the doll horror is gone. He's just a burnt undead midget. Who stops stabbing halfway through a door, because... um... stabbing the part the screams are coming from is a bad idea? He's an incompetent one. Still Chucky's undead body being shot piece by piece is almost a good scene. I say almost because it lacks the build up to make it so. While in theory the events have happened, they've made me laugh too much.

And when the film doesn't end and the detective man's partner comes you know the doll has one more one last return from death. Yes I know Jason and Freddy do this, and they were told they had to get the heart, but... eh it just feels like they're stretching it to make it an hour and a half at this point. Like the killer doll, the movie has outlived it welcome but just won't stop.

The kid leaves the room, waiting and watching for the sign that the doll is still in fact alive, just like the viewer is, and it ends with the child's face.

[jetom3]

The Edge

I stood on the edge. The very edge. That place between Earth and sky where the ground dissolves into nothing one molecule at a time, even as I shift my feet. I am on the line, the line which I am now blurring. There is nothing below me. Nothing important anyway.

How did I get here?

I remember brief flashes, visions forming in the air before me like long forgotten angels begging to be heard and loved once again.

There was a man, and a road. A journey. A flash. A crash. Silence.

Silence. Always the silence. The silence which blankets my mind- smothers the screams from my soul. The silence which shouts too loudly. The emptiness which insists on intruding into my core.

How did I get here?

I look over the edge again. There is something down there. Too far, deep below… a darker patch of white.  What does it want? Does it have the answer? I doubt it. I don’t really know my own question. Could I ask it? Ask the silence? Ask the void? Can I ask if I can ask?

I feel dizzy, light headed. If my head is light, can I fly?

How did I get here?

It was a normal day- if there is any such thing. If normal means dull, frustrating, occasionally funny. I had left for school at the normal time, early. Too early for my neurons to be firing on all cylinders. I am the morning zombie shuffling up the road to the bus stop, a slice of almost cold toast in one hand and a straining bag over my shoulder.

Loud music pours into my skull from the head phones resolutely plugged in against the world. If I just focus on the beats, the world will fade away- it won’t be this early, I won’t be this tired. I won’t have a full timetable to deal with, no homework deadlines to fret over.

Then the bus comes, and I climb aboard with a flash of my pass. The driver nods in an annoyingly cheerful fashion. Doesn’t he know that I am in the throes of teenage misery? I don’t nod back. My small act of sullen defiance trying to encompass my depth of negative towards Wednesdays. They really are the worst day of the week: almost halfway there, tantalizingly close to the weekend, but not enough to be happy about- yet just far enough from Monday with its weekly renewed pledges of a positive outlook.

 I was late, again. Late buses, oversleeping, traffic- will I never be on time? I am shouted at by my teacher for missing registration, for sloppy uniform, for not listening. I deserved the last one, giving her the thousand yard stare which says “I’m sorry Miss but the world inside my head is far more interesting than anything you have to say”. Eventually she gives my attention up as a lost cause and moves onto some other unfortunate. A year ago her scolding would have made me feel some kernel of guilt. Now I just can’t bring myself to care. I am past the age of easy indoctrination.

There is so much noise, voices raised, then raised again to be heard by their friends who were trying to reply. All of them yelling, everything so important it must be said then and there. The strictest confidences hollered for all and sundry. Why not- since nobody is listening anyway. I ignore them as well, lost in my own head. A song from earlier plays around and around my mind, irritating and reassuringly familiar. I think someone called my name but by the time I turn to check, whoever it was has been dragged under the waves of people.

In school everyone can hear you scream… just nobody cares.

One lesson, another, another. So much information. My mind absorbs as much as it can, before reaching saturation point.

And then the hands line up, the stars align and the planets spin in perfect choreography, and the school day comes to the end. I am free, free as a bird, except I am a bird who will return to the cage at the same time tomorrow.

I get out of the gates; feel as if chains I had forgotten about are suddenly loosened. My limbs are lighter, the cobwebs cleared from my mind. Is there more oxygen just beyond the school limits? I think so.

I look around the car park. I’m supposed to be picked up by my friend’s dad. With my mum at work that’s the only way to get home. The only trouble is my friend hasn’t been let out yet, and I can’t quite remember which one her dad is. There are so many adults hanging around, spotting their kids in the crowd, leading them away by the hand, smiling or scolding over uniform, homework. The hundred little things which make up life.

Scanning the car park again, I frown in concentration. I have always been bad with faces- practically notorious for it. He had dark hair?

A man in a cap approaches. A red cap, pulled low with a blue logo that looks like some sort of tree. It covers his hair. Is this my friend’s dad? He says he is, says he got a text from my friend, that she will meet me in the car. I nod- that’s quite like her. She probably left her pencil case or a book and had to go back for it.

I follow him to the car. Get inside. He closes the door.

A thought tugs at my brain. This car is a slightly different colour to the one I remember. It’s a bit dirtier too. That’s odd. Her mum is usually so particular. I stare out the window at the crowd of students milling around. There are less of them now, parents claiming their children, ushering them home. Where is she?

How did I get here?

I can’t see her yet. She wouldn’t take this long just to get a forgotten book. This car is too dirty. The colour not quite right. He was her dad- he had to be. Didn’t he?

I reach for the door handle. The child lock snaps down. The engine starts. And I finally remember what her dad looks like.

In school everyone can hear you scream… nobody cares.

 He drives, and drives, and drives even further. He’s not heading towards my house. He’s not going near anywhere that I know.

The car is filthy, I can see some of the dirt rubbing off onto my leg, and I shift uncomfortably. He glances at me in the rear view mirror. I freeze.

Always when I watched films I shouted at the girl for not escaping, not fighting back or trying to run. But now I am locked in the car. I can’t think. Hundreds of cars drive past, a woman turns to look at me from another vehicle. What does she see? A captive, a terrified soon to be victim, or just another moody teen?

Everyone in the world rushes past me, no one stopping to listen to my pleading. I try to mouth ‘help me’ but the woman is already gone. Nobody else takes the time to glance in my direction again.

We are nearing the edges of town. Surely my friend back at school would be wondering where I am by now.

The car slows as we reach a crossroads. He is looking each way, his attention divided.

I attack the door, hitting it frenziedly. The car starts to move forwards. I use my fingernails to dig under the child lock. It hurts. Prising it bruises my fingertips. I crack a nail. I cuts deep and blood beads up.

I can’t get out. I can’t get out. I can’t-

CLICK

Yes! Oh please let me out.

The man swears as the lock pops up, he starts to turn, one hand on the wheel as the other reaches for me. The car continues rolling forwards. He grabs my wrist.

Desperately I wrench backwards.

And then I see it. The other car. Going too fast towards my prison. And I know. I know it will hit. I know we will be smashed. I’ve seen it on TV. The car wrecks, the victims, the mangled remains. Is that how they will find me? Will I be trapped with this man for eternity- locked in some embrace forced upon us by cruel fate and harsh physics.

I close my eyes.

The image stays behind them. Imprinted on my mind.

His angry face, contorted and desperate. The red blur to one side which is the other vehicle. The dirt on my leg.

I stand on the edge. The very edge. That place between Earth and sky where the ground dissolves into nothing one molecule at a time, even as I shift my feet. I am on the line, the line which I am now blurring. There is nothing below me. Nothing important anyway.