Roger Clemmings looks exhausted. The bags under his eyes look like they’re packed enough to make a getaway to Mexico. Bill isn’t entirely sure that he shouldn’t steal the idea from them but he wouldn’t get far now that he’s behind bars. It’s a passing thought though. Bill sobers up as Roger runs a thumb across his brow in an attempt to stay awake.
“Mr. Clemmings-”
“I told you, call me Roger, please. I’ve represented celebrities such as yourself many times and it feels phony to be called Mr anything.”
“Roger,” Bill corrects awkwardly, “We’ve gone over this story for hours. I’ve answered every single question you have in triplicate. You need to sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I’m sure Satan’s got a suite ready to go.”
“Satan?”
“All lawyers go to hell? It’s a joke, Bill. Jesus. You’d think Richie’s humor would rub off on me but hey, I’m not quitting my day job.”
“Lucky me,” Bill responds through a tight grin.
Roger chuckles a little and Bill isn’t sure if it’s genuine or if the exhaustion is settling in. The longer they sit here the less Bill feels anything is genuine. He’s doing his absolute best not to lie outright. He’s not entirely sure he could sell it. Instead he’s practicing the art of omission. He saw something that looked like an attack maybe by an animal or some creature but he couldn’t stop it.
“The biggest problem we have is why didn’t you report it?”
“I was traumatized,” Bill says flatly and quickly as if trained to respond.
“I’m aware. You’re going to have to find a way to convince a jury of that.”
“Eventually,” Bill sighs.
Bill isn’t completely ignorant about legal proceedings. He did research into writing a realistic crime thriller once but the pacing was too slow for his taste. A case, even a murder case, could take up to two years to get to trial. In the meantime, Bill’s in prison. There isn’t a judge alive that would realistically put out a potential child murderer on bail.
“Eventually my ass,” Roger snorts, “They’ll want to put you away as soon as possible and a small town like this? You best believe they won’t put you on the back burner the way a major city would. Look, not only will I be pushing this case to trial but so will opposing counsel, the parents, law enforcement, hell the town itself will probably be out for blood.”
“What else is new?”
Roger furrows his brow in irritation.
“Okay, that. What is it with that? You and Richie have a hard time in this town or what? I mean, the bully who turned out to be a psychopath I get but you have issues with the entire town?”
Bill doesn’t answer because there’s no point. Of course he has issues with this entire town but Roger isn’t going to understand that. This town was more than happy to sacrifice him and his friends back in the 80's, whether that be to the town bully or grief or their own toxic families. How much had Bill and the other Losers even accomplished by getting rid of It? There were plenty of other monsters waiting in the wings.
The most any of this did was absolve Bill of guilt and stop one of the many predators in this shit hole of a town in Maine. And what good did personal absolution do when he’s sitting here handcuffed to a table?
“Fine,” Roger yawns, “but I’m telling you now that any secrets you keep from me will only hurt your chances.”
Roger gathers up various paper and files into a bag. The man works quickly and the amount of information he’s gathered is staggering though Bill isn’t sure it’s all pertinent. Roger’s efficient and that’s commendable. Bill feels a fleeting urge to share some of the childhood trauma he’s experienced maybe because Roger is so thorough and maybe divulging a few facts wouldn’t hurt. It’s tempting but ultimately Bill says nothing.
“I’ve got a contact that’s working with me on your case. I’ll give him a call, see if he’s still up. Maybe we can finagle an argument for bail. I don’t know.”
Bill feels nervous at the sight of Roger leaving even though he just moments ago told him to get some sleep. Once the lawyer leaves it’s any guessing what will happen to Bill. Sure, he’s in the pokey for now but what if they formally charge him? What if he’s moved to a real prison before morning?
A couple of days ago, my biggest worry was the shitty ending to my shitty movie. How’s this for an ending? Bill slumps back into his uncomfortable metal chair.
It comes back to Bill almost like a punch to the gut. His movie...which stars his wife. He’s got a job and a marriage waiting for him and no one knows the trouble he’s gotten into yet. Not that there hadn’t been opportunities to share this information. His voicemail is full of calls from Audrey and the producers and the director. The movie falling apart isn’t such a big deal to Bill but not once did Bill give Audrey even the slightest clue what he was up to. He just got on a plane and left.
“I’ll let Richie know how things are going if that’s okay, to a point of course, he doesn’t need a full run down. Anything you need from me on the outside?”
Bill nods as his mind searches for Audrey’s phone number.
___
Bev isn’t surprised to find herself at Richie’s door again. She still hesitates to knock given that it’s after ten but then again Richie doesn’t strike her as the type to curl up into bed before two in the morning. When Richie answers it’s clear she’s right. He has a drink in his hand and a cell phone tucked between his shoulder and ear.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bev whispers, “I can come back later or-”
Richie shakes his head and waves her in. She stands there awkwardly as Richie closes the door with his butt and continues his phone call.
“Tell them I had a death in the family or some shit. I don’t care. I need time off.”
Richie walks towards his bourbon bottle and gestures a glass toward Bev. She quietly replies with a no thank you and Richie doubles down on his glass instead.
“For the last time, I am not on a bender. Fuck. A guy takes ecstasy on accident once and-”
Bev tries to stifle her confused expression but doesn’t manage. Richie tries to assure her by mouthing that it’s ‘no biggie’ before taking a big gulp of his drink. It occurs to Bev that she doesn’t know much about Richie and who he is now. Or any of the other Losers for that matter. Seeing Richie drown himself in cheap liquor doesn’t feel very promising. Richie looks manic too, sweat deflating his hair, and he won't sit down.
Bev quietly crosses the room and takes the bourbon bottle away from Richie. He barely registers this and instead continues to pace the floor, his drink dangerously flirting with the rim of the glass as he moves.
“I promise, I will never cause trouble like this again. I swear. And I will come back. But I have to stay here for a while and I don’t know how long that is. I’m sorry.”
Richie hangs up and leaves the phone on the end table. He runs his fingers through his messy hair and Bev puts a hand on his shoulder.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Just career stuff. It’s fine. It’s not worth talking about but,” Richie rouses a smile, “I think we should talk about you coming around to my room again. If you’ve got a crush on me I’ve got some bad news, Bev.”
Bev smiles back before taking Richie by the hand and sitting with him on the bed again. It’s a comfortable spot for them now as it seems even Richie calms down upon taking a seat. Bev gives Richie’s fingers a soft squeeze.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks, “It’s going to sound a little stupid but-”
“I swear to God whatever it is it isn’t as stupid as what I did today so- ah, fuck me, nevermind. You first.”
“What did you do?” Bev asks, her interests piqued.
“No deal. You first and then I will give you my exclusive.”
Bev considers this for a moment and decides it may not be bad to allow precedence for herself. She lets go of Richie’s hand and brings her knees to her chest. She suddenly feels like a teenager again both a little ashamed and wildly excited to share her news.
“I slept with Ben,” she says quickly.
Richie hoops and hollers at this. His wolf whistle is impeccable and Bev can’t hide her grin as she shushes him.
“It’s complicated!” she argues as Richie settles.
“Why? Even if I was straight enough to shit football jerseys I’d still say he’s hot.”
“This isn’t about how Ben looks. It’s about Ben being… Ben,” Bev changes the mood by how quiet the end of her sentence becomes.
Richie puts his humor aside and Bev retracts her emotions as quickly as she displayed them. She sits properly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The idea of looking openly wounded feels physically painful, even in front of Richie and especially when he’s taking her so seriously.
“I’m still married,” she covers, “But I really do like Ben... I think. We haven’t seen each other in almost thirty years so I don’t really know-”
“Bull shit,” Richie lays back on the bed with a heavy sigh.
“Excuse me?” Bev sounds a bit offended.
“I mean it’s convenient bull shit but it is what it is. I tried to tell myself the same thing about Eddie; how could I possibly have feelings for him when I haven’t seen him in almost three fucking decades? But goddamn, he’s still the same pocket sized little weirdo and I love him.”
“Richie,” she interrupts awkwardly, “I don’t know that I love Ben. It’s not really the same thing.”
Richie turns a light shade of embarrassment across his cheeks. It’s hard to tell underneath those thick frames of his but Bev catches it before Richie throws his forearm over his face.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just a selfish prick. I’ll shut up.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
It’s makes Bev smile to hear Richie chuckle at that. She then decides to follow suit and lies down next to him. The ceiling in his room is covered in aging paint and little grooves.
“So, how do you feel about ol haystack Ben?”
“I don’t know.”
That’s the truth on a larger scale. As to why Bev doesn’t know is more complicated. At some point she’ll have to talk to someone about her soon to be ex husband. The idea of opening that can of worms makes her stomach lurch but it’s a reality she’s doomed to face. It’s not as if she can just put Tom in a box and ride off into the sunset right? It can’t be that easy but then that doesn’t mean Bev can’t try to make it that easy.
“Ben isn’t the kind of guy I’m used to,” she safely skirts the real issue, “and to be honest, I still have some feelings…”
“Well, I don’t know how long you were married to whatever the fuck his name is but you said you were happy when you came to town and yesterday you made your divorce sound overdue. Must be a Six Flag’s level emotional roller coaster you’re on.”
Richie assumed Bev meant Tom. She didn’t.
“His name is Tom. And those leftover feelings aren’t for him. Fuck Tom.”
“Then who..?”
There’s a beat of silence as Richie puts things together. Bev feels ridiculously embarrassed by the fact that he can make the right assumption. At the same time though, it spared her from having to say it herself.
“Bill?” he asks and Bev can feel his eyes on her, “Does he know? Does Ben?”
“Bill and I kissed. Before we headed to the cistern. So I think Bill knows,” she responds flatly.
“Beverly, you saucy minx,” Richie makes an attempt at levity before immediately regretting it, “Sorry. I’m an idiot. Ignore that.”
It’s too late though and Bev feels her defenses cracking. Richie wasn’t trying to insult her but the joke still hits too close to home. Somewhere in the back of her mind Tom’s voice steadily grows stronger. Her father’s voice joins him. What kind of married woman kisses one man and sleeps with another? What kind of whore plays the field? What bitch throws herself at a married man?
Bev sits up and pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her bathrobe. She lights up and starts to drain the cigarette on her lips as fast as possible, thinking only of lighting the next then the next.
“Bev?” Richie sits up with her, “This isn’t the 50’s. You can’t smoke in here.”
She ignores him and sucks down nicotine spitefully. Her hands start to steady and the ghosts of her past begin to silence.
“Are you okay?” Richie asks cautiously, “I’m starting to sense that maybe there’s more than a love triangle going on here.”
That shocks her nerves all over again.
Bev debates taking the stump of what’s left on her cancer stick and shoving it into her thigh. She hasn’t done that since high school but she remembers the feeling and her skin has kept track with little round scars. Back then she didn’t know why she would suddenly feel so angry and small but it makes sense now. Bev always knew her dad was bad but now she remembers just how bad and all that pain makes more sense.
The fact that she married Tom, a carbon copy of her father, makes her skin crawl and she’s not sure there’s enough nicotine in the world to make her forget that he’d touched her.
Bev puts the cigarette out on the carpet grinding it out with the toe of her slipper. She then immediately goes to light a second.
“Hey, stop! Stop!” Richie implores her and grabs her by the wrist to keep her from lighting up.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Bev recoils out of instinct and is now standing, holding her wrist to her chest.
The pack of cigarettes are splayed out on the floor and the lighter lays abandoned on the bed. Richie looks equally abandoned as he stares at Bev. It makes her feel like a freak. The wounded sneer that she’d made dissipates into something almost apologetic.
“I should go,” Bev says quietly.
“Bev… where’d those bruises come from?”
Bev is mortified as she realizes how on display the green and yellow prints are. It’s clearly in the pattern of a hand wrapped around her wrist. It’s Tom’s fingers still pressed into her skin. She quickly drops her arm and lets the sleeve of her robe follow.
“Bev, is Tom… did he-“
Beverly ignores Richie’s attempt to make verbal the very thing she wants to keep secret. She drops to her knees and scrambles to recollect her cigarettes. She throws them into her pocket and makes way for the door.
“Wait! Hold on! Just wait!”
Richie tries desperately to follow her. She knows it’s not his fault. She knows he wants to help but she can’t stand the thought of him knowing any more than he already does. What he’s already pieced together is more than she wanted to give. She had come here to talk about Ben and ultimately gave herself and her fucked up marriage away.
Beverly holds the door closed. She grips the knob with everything she’s got even as Richie tries to open it. He helplessly bangs on the door.
“Bev? C’mon Bev! I’m sorry!”
He stops eventually and Beverly lets go of the handle. Quietly she returns to her room and locks the safety latch. The loneliness of her suite overwhelms her. Her tears are hot, burning and shameful. Her throat makes noises like a hurt animal. Bev’s never felt more ugly in her life.
—-
“Are you sure alcohol is a good idea?” Mike asks Eddie, “since y’know, you’ve got a hole in your cheek?”
“If I can make out with Richie I think can handle a beer.”
“...what?”
Mike doesn’t get an answer though as the bartender comes around with his drink. It’s an old fashioned. The rind on his orange spice looks a bit spotty but he doesn’t say anything. It’s a dive bar after all.
Mike goes to take a sip and Eddie suddenly comes back to life.
“You know I went on a date with him today? Dinner. I went to dinner with fucking Richie Tozier. I don’t know what I was expecting after making out in a closet-“
“Wait a minute-“ Mike tries to interject but Eddie’s rant keeps going.
“I mean I felt something then but this dinner? This excuse for a date was so awkward and quiet. Quiet, Mike. Do you know how weird it is to sit with Richie and he doesn’t say anything? At all?”
“Eddie!” Mike borders on shouting and some of the regulars eye him for it.
“What?” Eddie asks blankly.
Mike carefully assesses the room. It looks like a handful of factory workers and a retired old guy. All of them are sporting stubble, sweat and trucker hats. They’re either hypnotized by the football game playing on the big screen or the pool table. It’s not the worst scenario but it’s not ideal. If it had been a bit earlier in the day they’d be amongst the swinger crowd and this conversation could be louder but they’re not.
“If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about then you’re going to need to lower your voice. A lot. And follow up question; are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?” Mike says in a hushed tone.
Eddie looks a little lost.
“What do you mean?”
Mike tries not to roll his eyes because he’s pretty sure Eddie isn’t purposefully being clueless. The guy just really likes to talk in a long, ridiculous stream and when he’s cut off it’s like someone ripped the rug right out from under him.
“You and Richie,” Mike says even quieter, “you two are- uh”
Mike feels inclined to make a gesture here instead of saying anything concrete but what gesture to make is beyond him. Instead he helplessly looks at Eddie hoping he’ll fill in the blanks without saying anything out loud.
“Oh!” Eddie’s eyes light up, “yes! I mean no. I don’t know? As it turns out my entire life is a lie so I could be or I may not be. Isn’t this shit supposed to be fluid? I thought I read somewhere that it’s all a spectrum.”
Mike is flabbergasted into silence and it allows Eddie to continue his mile a minute rant. He mentions something about generational differences and a Ted Talk. All of it makes Mike’s head spin. By the time Eddie goes to catch his breath Mike’s old fashioned is gone.
“Eddie,” Mike takes his chance quickly, “I think I’m more shocked at the you and Richie part. Maybe not so much the other…thing.”
“Are you trying to say that me being gay doesn’t surprise you?”
Mike hushes him and makes the effort to subtly point at the burly men sitting within earshot. Eddie is not nearly as subtle as he whips around entirely and stares at them.
“Mike, I have literally speared a demonic spider clown in the fucking chest and given my dying mother a sponge bath. A group of glorified lumberjacks does not scare me.”
If Mike had any drink left he’d have choked on it from that comment. Instead he awkwardly clears his throat. The other men in the bar haven’t noticed Eddie yet and that’s for the best. Maybe Mike is being a bit overly cautious.
“The scariest thing, and I am aware of how stupid this sounds, is that I have no idea who I am anymore. And it’s not just maybe possibly being interested in Richie. It’s my whole life, Mike. I am in a mid life fucking crisis. Oh my God. I thought I was too sensible to have a midlife crisis. Oh God am I going to have to get a sports car? They’re death traps!”
Mike calls to the bartender by name. She’s not wearing a name tag but Mike knows she goes by Mary. Her full name is Marilyn and she’s twenty eight but looks thirty five. She’s still attractive but having a teen pregnancy aged her. Her son is...Adam? Mike is sure it starts with an A. It’s weird how many stories are burned in Mike’s brain and yet he’s featured in none of them.
Mike politely asks Mary if she’ll get down the half empty bottle of tequila from the shelf. She raises an eyebrow at the suggestion but Mike reassures her that he’ll make sure the little guy gets home safe. That’s enough for Mary and she leaves the men with a couple of shot glasses.
“That doesn’t seem safe. Or legal,” Eddie comments as Mike pours them both a shot.
“Mary knows me enough. I don’t drive home. And sure it’s not legal but a small town means a lot of under the table favors.”
Eddie nods as his fingers wrap around the small, slightly overfilled glass. He and Mike clink glasses and throw them back. Eddie coughs a bit as he resurfaces and Mike winces at the burn.
“You’re not sure about yourself,” Mike comments, “I feel that.”
Mike is already pouring the next shot but Eddie hesitates. He’s quiet now and Mike supposes it’s because he’s listening.
“I remembered everything that happened that summer. I never left Derry so the memories never left. I built my entire world around being ready for It.
Everyone moved away so quickly after the first time. It was like destiny. You were the second to last one. Do you remember that?”
Eddie shakes his head.
“Bev went first but that was expected after what happened with her dad. Bill left next. I guess the trip him and his parents took helped them sort their troubles. Ben was never meant to stay more than a year once his dad got restationed. Richie’s dad got a job offer a state over that made twice his current salary. And then it was you and me and Stan. Mostly you and me.”
Eddie concentrates trying to rouse a memory but to no avail. Mike sees the sheepish resignation in his eyes as he gives in and takes another shot.
“It’s okay,” Mike reassures him, “It's not like you all left on purpose. And you didn’t forget out of negligence. It just is.
We all promised to stay in touch but once someone left they never called to leave a new number. It happened with Bev first of course and at first Richie thought it was because she didn’t care anymore. Ben knew better though. He piped up that Bev would never abandon us. So when Bill swore to call and that if he didn’t then it meant something had happened, we knew.
Now we had no idea of knowing exactly what happened when someone left Derry until Ben came up with the idea of getting just far enough from Derry to see if anything happened. We argued for days over the dangers of it. We thought maybe we all died if we left Derry, how were we to know?
So one night I snuck out from the farm and walked. For hours. That was the first time I came across the tribe. I won’t bore you with the details but the short of it is that I learned from them. They kept themselves far enough to not get hurt but close enough to remember. If I had gone any farther out I may have forgotten everything.”
Mike takes his second shot now. The burn is softer this time. He takes the opportunity to check over Eddie. He’s still quiet and calm. It’s like he’s absorbing all this information but what it’s going toward Mike isn’t sure. One of the factory workers hollers in excitement. Mary subtly pushes the bucket of peanuts at the bar closer to Eddie but he doesn’t notice. Mike feels it’s safe to continue.
“Everyone left knew they’d forget once they got out of Derry but it wasn’t anyone’s choice to stay or go. It was life. Except Stan. He was the last to leave because it took him so long to find a way out. He and I would have gone to high school together but he found a program for early college credit out where his aunt and uncle lived. Not that it mattered. Once Ben got the news he was out Stan stopped making a show of sticking around. He wanted to forget. I was surprised he’d even told me goodbye.”
Mike loads up a third shot for himself and Eddie takes his second. Once the glass is empty Mike fills it again. The alcohol keeps him weighted and that’s good. With how empty sharing is making him feel it’s nice to have something to keep him from floating away.
“For a while it was you and me and Richie really. Although it was hard to maintain much of a presence between the two of you. You were always arguing. Like a-“
Mike laughs because he suddenly gets it. Richie always teased people but he teased Eddie more. Eddie always took the bait. There was the more subtle stuff too like if one of them said they liked or didn’t like something the other would adjust accordingly. It was an effort to impress each other. Be more likable. Not that either would admit it.
“You two fought like a married couple,” Mike finishes the sentiment, “I guess I never really thought about as you two being, well you know. I thought I blended into the background because maybe we weren’t really good friends but I guess I was just a third wheel.”
Mike chuckles again.
“I probably could have spared myself the savior complex if I’d known that.”
Eddie’s been flirting with the shot glass but he stops now. He doesn’t drink it but he does turn fully toward Mike. His eyes look serious maybe even calculating and it’s surprises Mike.
“What do you mean?” Eddie asks.
Mike stares at the bottle between them finding it less heavy than Eddie’s gaze. The tequila is hitting him now, making his body lighter and the low bar lights fuzzy.
“I guess I figured that saving Derry was the only way I could stay important. Like if I didn’t stay behind and gather everyone when the time came, if I didn’t find answers, then I never really mattered. I think maybe Stan and I both felt like that, like we were the background characters of the Loser’s Club.
We didn’t really know at the time but there was that love triangle with Ben and Bev and Bill and then the tension with you and Richie. I just wanted my friends. I wanted to matter.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t get married or have a family. Not just because of It. I think maybe I was waiting for you all to come home… so I could know that you cared. That maybe y’all loved each other and loved me enough to come home.”
Mike nearly falls off the bar stool as Eddie throws his arms around him. He doesn’t say anything but holds him tight. Mike doesn’t care anymore about the potentially dangerous guys around them or the tequila sitting in front of him. He leans into the embrace Eddie gives. Eddie pats him reassuringly on the back.
“I love you, Mike,” Eddie says into Mike’s shoulder, “all of us love you. I’m sorry we were too involved in other shit to let you know that.”
If ending It wasn’t enough to give Mike peace this was enough and how funny that it comes from Eddie? Little, wheezy but long winded Eddie.
“Also can we go now?” Eddie asks still mid hug, “I feel like my center of gravity just told me to fuck off.”