Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bill felt as if a part of him was dying right there, clutching Georgie’s raincoat tightly in his hands. He could feel his friends’ arms around him, offering their support.

That was exactly what he had needed for so long. Comfort for the loss of his little brother—something his parents had denied him, leaving him feeling miserable. Now he had six people who had followed him into a death trap and had just beaten the hell out of a soul-devouring monster.

Those kids were his best friends—his strength, his armor, his lifeline, keeping him afloat right now.

“We need to go,” Eddie’s voice reached his ear softly.

Bill knew they had to. They couldn’t stay there any longer. He didn’t even know how much time they had spent down there. At the very least, six of them were probably being searched for by their families by now.

“What are we going to do about all the bodies? We can’t just leave them drifting here,” Ben said, looking at the floating children.

“We should get out of here and call the police,” Mike agreed.

“J-Just one more moment,” Bill asked, tightening his grip on Georgie’s raincoat.

None of his friends objected, but a few seconds later, Stanley spoke up.

“Guys… you should see this,” said the curly-haired boy, his eyes fixed on the direction where the children were still descending. Some of them were already falling straight to the sewer floor, landing in the stagnant wastewater below. But that wasn’t what had caught Stanley’s attention.

One area of the water had begun to bubble unnaturally, like a hot tub about to boil over.

“It’s not that again… right?” Richie asked as they all straightened up and stared cautiously at the bubbling water.

The water continued to churn until a sudden movement made them all jump. Someone burst out of the water, clearly terrified. It was a boy, coughing violently and moving erratically, as if he had just woken up from a terrible dream.

The Losers took a step back in fear. Eddie even tried to hide behind Richie, only to realize Richie was already hiding behind him, just as scared.

The boy who had surfaced finally stopped coughing and began to look around, taking in his surroundings—until he saw the seven teenagers standing there.

At that moment, anyone still holding a weapon raised it, ready to use it if necessary.

“Where am I?” the boy asked.

“W-Who are y-you?” Bill asked cautiously.

The boy—dark-haired and dressed in winter clothes—was about to answer when a new cluster of bubbles appeared near him. The same thing happened again: bubbling water, a sudden movement, and another boy surfaced, far more frightened, screaming as if he had just lived through an enormous nightmare.

The Losers stared at the new boy, who was trembling—whether from the cold or fear, they couldn’t tell.

“What’s happening?” the boy asked, taking a deep breath as he looked around at everything.

None of the Losers knew what to say, but the first boy was staring intently at the second.

“Teddy?” the first boy asked, and the second turned to look at him.

“Matty? Oh dear, Matty, is that you?” said the boy they now assumed was Teddy, running his hands through his hair, brushing his light bangs out of his eyes. “Matty…”

“Did we already hit them?” Richie whispered, lifting his bat.

“Who are you people?” the first boy—or rather, Matty—asked as he looked at the Losers.

The Losers glanced at their leader. Bill took a deep breath.

“I-I’m Bill Denbrough,” the stuttering boy said.

“Denbrough? Like Zackary Denbrough?” Teddy asked, and Bill looked at him suspiciously.

That boy knew his father—and that immediately put him on edge. Bill tightened his grip on the pipe he was holding.

But again, before anyone else could say a word, another burst of bubbles erupted from the water, and a new kid surfaced—another boy, his hair shorter than the others’.

“NO!” he screamed, snapping his head from side to side as he coughed up sewer water.

“Phil!” Teddy shouted when he recognized him, and the boy called Phil looked over.

“Teddy! You’re alive!” Phil yelled, rushing forward to hug him. “Jesus! I thought that thing had killed you and—where’s Susie?! Where’s Lily?! We’re not at the movies! …Matty?”

Phil looked at Matty, who was still sitting there, barely reacting.

“Son of a bitch, all this shit just to look for you!” Phil shouted, pointing at him—but he stopped short, still not looking at the Losers. “My sister—where’s Susie?! Susie! Susie!”

It didn’t take long for another round of bubbles to rise. A small hand broke the surface, followed by a younger girl who came up screaming. Phil immediately ran to her as she cried.

“Susie! Susie! It’s me, Phil,” he said, and the girl clung to him, sobbing against his chest. It was only then that Phil noticed the Losers’ Club. “Who the fuck are you people?”

“Hey, watch your fucking mouth!” Richie shouted, pointing his bat at him. “Who the fuck are you? And why the fuck did you crawl outta the water after the clown went down the fucking abyss?”

"God, Richie. The are more swear words in english that just ´fuck´, you know?" Beverly said.

“Clown? What are you talking about?” Matty asked.

“Okay, we hit first and ask questions later,” Richie said, raising his bat and stepping forward, but Beverly grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back.

“Pump the brakes, Richie,” Beverly warned him as she stepped forward. “I’m Beverly Marsh. Bill already introduced himself. Glasses over there is Richie Tozier. That’s Eddie Kaspbrak, he’s Mike Hanlon, the one on the far right is Ben Hanscom, and that’s Stanley Uris.”

“Uris?” Teddy asked, slowly pushing himself to his feet, his legs clearly sore. “Are you related to Stanislaw Uris?”

Stanley froze, moving a little closer to Mike at the sudden mention of that name.

“He’s my grandfather,” Stanley answered, staring at the boy.

“Your grandfather?” Teddy asked, confused.

“Isn’t that your dad’s name, Teddy?” Phil asked him.

Stanley’s mind kicked into overdrive, the gears in his head turning smoothly, lining things up, adding two plus two.

“Teddy short for Theodore?” Stanley asked, stepping forward. “As in Theodore Uris?”

“Y-Yeah…” Teddy replied, and Stanley fell silent.

“Stan?” Ben asked. Stan looked at Bill, who was staring back at him. Then the stuttering boy turned to face the new group.

“W-What are y-your n-n-names?” Bill asked.

“I’m not telling you shit, stutter-boy,” Phil shot back.

“Hey!” Richie protested. “Only I get to call him that.”

“My name’s Matty Clements,” Matty said, fed up with the back-and-forth. Ben’s eyes went wide.

“That name…” Ben said quietly. “He was one of the first kids who went missing in ’62.”

“’62?” Phil asked. “Then what year is it?”

The Losers fell silent for a moment, exchanging glances among themselves before Bill stepped forward again.

“It’s 1989,” he said.

The three boys went quiet, while the little girl continued clinging to Phil.

“Why are kids falling from the ceiling?” Phil asked, looking up.

“How did you know my name?” Teddy demanded, pointing at Stanley. “And how is it that your grandfather has the same name as my dad?”

“I… I think you’re my uncle,” Stanley said. “The one who died twenty-seven years ago.”

“…What?” Teddy asked.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Matty said.

“Can we hit them now?” Richie asked again, but Beverly smacked him.

“I think we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Mike said.

Chapter Text

That morning arrived heavy with unease for Margaret Tozier. After months of feeling restless, that day felt like the peak of her unexplained discomfort.

Something inside her told her not to let Richie go out. Ever since his fight with his friend Bill, he’d been acting strange. She knew something had happened—she knew her son, knew her boy like the back of her hand… and yet something held her back. Something made her stop herself. Something told her not to ask, to ignore the obvious distress her son was in—and that made her feel terrible.

Richie had gone to the arcade that morning. Margaret hadn’t objected. It was summer; her son loved having fun, and video games were his number one choice. She’d even given him extra money so he could enjoy himself.

But Richie still hadn’t come home. The sun was already threatening to set, and Richie was always careful to get back before Went arrived, so they could have dinner together and watch TV.

She was uneasy—afraid, even—because there was a tightness in her chest that barely let her breathe.

That was why she’d made herself some tea, hoping the warm drink sliding down her throat would ease the feeling, despite the heat outside. It didn’t help much.

The warmth in her chest only made the discomfort worse, and she had to set the mug down on the kitchen counter.

She leaned against the cold ceramic and closed her eyes—a mistake. Her mind flooded with a flash of memory: fog, followed by a horrible laugh, and then, to end the vision, a missing child poster with her son’s face on it.

Margaret’s eyes flew open in panic.

No. Her son wouldn’t—he wouldn’t be missing. Her boy would walk through the door any minute now.

Or maybe he was with one of his friends.

Maybe if she called Sonia or the Urises, they’d know something about Richie. She could even call the Denbroughs—maybe Richie and Bill had already made up and were making up for lost time after their fight.

Or maybe Richie was with one of the new friends he’d made that summer—but Margaret didn’t have their parents’ phone numbers yet, so she had no way of knowing.

Or maybe… her boy was out there. Alone. At the mercy of danger.

At the mercy of that… clown.

No.

No, she wasn’t going to leave her son alone out there. Never. She grabbed her car keys and was just about to go out and look for him herself when the ring of the phone stopped her cold.

She let out a shaky breath and walked toward the phone in the living room. She sat on the edge of the couch for barely a second before picking it up and bringing the receiver to her ear.

“Tozier residence,” she said, her voice steady despite her trembling pulse.

“Am I speaking with Margaret Tozier?”

“This is she.”

“I’m calling from the Derry police station,” said a male voice on the other end of the line. A chill ran down Margaret’s spine. “Can you confirm that you are the mother of the minor Richard Tozier?”

No… no… Now they were going to tell her they’d found her little boy’s body. Or that he was missing, and the only thing they’d found were his glasses lying on the ground.

“Yes, I am,” she replied, gripping the receiver tightly.

“We need you to come down to the station immediately,” the officer continued. “Your son is here. We need to ask him a few questions, but we can’t question a minor without a parent or guardian present.”

“My son is at the police station?” Margaret asked, alarmed.

And look… the truth was that Margaret had always assumed Richie would end up in police custody someday. She herself had been arrested once, back in ’66, when she’d run off to an illegal party with Lily, Will, and Wentworth. But she had never imagined it would happen this soon—not at thirteen, but at sixteen.

“We need you here urgently,” the officer insisted.

“I’ll be there right away,” she replied before hanging up.

She jumped to her feet and rushed to the car. She moved quickly down the driveway to the sidewalk, climbed into the vehicle, and started the engine without wasting a second.

As she drove through town, something made her blood run cold: unusual police activity. Patrol cars were moving, all of them, in the same direction.

The Barrens.

“God, Richard… I hope you didn’t do something stupid enough to mobilize the entire Derry police force,” she muttered to herself.

She turned onto another street and sped up—but something caught her attention. As she passed a house she knew far too well, she saw a woman walking down the garden path. The woman recognized Margaret’s car and immediately hurried out into the street. Margaret instinctively slowed down and started rolling down the window.

“Andrea?” Margaret asked.

“I’m going to ask you something, and it might sound weird, but… did they call you to pick up your son from the police station?” Andrea Uris asked, leaning against the car.

“Stanley too?” Margaret asked. Andrea nodded. “Get in—I’ll give you a ride.”

Andrea quickly moved around the car, climbed into the passenger seat, and Margaret pulled away almost immediately.

“I don’t like this. Why would our kids be at the police station?” Andrea asked. “Do you think it’s just the two of them?”

Andrea knew, just as well as Margaret did, that the group had fallen apart—that they weren’t what they used to be. Both women had confirmed it at the bar mitzvah, when Richie had been the only friend of Stan’s to show up.

“With these kids, you never know,” Margaret replied.

They reached the Derry police station before long, parked outside, and headed inside. The moment Margaret stepped through the doors, she noticed how crowded it was.

“Andrea… it wasn’t just our two boys,” she said, and Andrea followed her gaze.

There was Sonia Kaspbrak, red as a tomato. From anger? From the heat? From wearing that awful workout set? Who knew—but the woman was standing there, facing the kids.

The kids.

“Richie!” Margaret didn’t waste a second, running toward the six boys—filthy and clearly beaten up—but her focus locked onto her own child.

“Mom!” Richie shouted, immediately throwing his arms around her.

“God, Richie, what happened to you?” Margaret asked, holding him tightly.

“That’s exactly what I’d like to know,” Sonia said from behind her. “Just look at what your son and his disgusting friends did to my Eddie!”

Margaret finally looked at the smaller boy. He had a few bruises, sure—but good Lord, he was smeared with some kind of foul substance. His face showed signs of having been scrubbed with what looked like an entire box of tissues.

“Sonia, I already told you to calm down.”

That voice belonged to Sharon Denbrough, who was walking over calmly, holding a bottle of water. She walked straight past the furious Sonia and went directly to her son.

“Here you go, Bill,” Sharon said, handing him the bottle before gently brushing a hand through his hair.

Margaret knew all too well how Georgie’s disappearance had affected Sharon and Zack—how they’d turned into ghosts inside their own home. She herself had taken Bill in a couple of nights before his fight with Richie.

A flash of yellow caught her eye. There—behind Bill, on one of the waiting room chairs—lay a dirty yellow raincoat.

Oh…

“Benny!”

Another adult voice cut through the station. A brown-haired woman hurried toward the chubby boy in the group, looking almost as worried as Sonia—though thankfully, not nearly as suffocating.

“Where is my son?” Andrea asked, and it was only then that Margaret realized Stanley was nowhere to be seen.

“Mrs. Uris?” A police officer approached the group.

“That’s me,” Andrea stepped forward.

“Your son is in the infirmary right now. He had some cuts around his face—he’s being treated as we speak,” the officer informed her.

“What?!” Andrea raised her voice and looked back at the rest of the kids. Oh, calm, collected Andrea Uris now had a flat, furious stare. “Where the hell were you and what the fuck were you doing?”

“Andrea, language,” Margaret whispered—though she wore a faint, amused smile she tried to hide from the kids and the other mothers.

Andrea took a deep breath, clearly counting to ten in her head, but her gaze returned to the group of children, now huddled together like soaked chicks. Bill had his head down. Ben fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Eddie hid half a step behind Sonia. Richie was still clinging to Margaret. Beverly and Mike stood in silence, still on their own.

“Mrs. Uris, please follow me so you can see your son,” the officer said, clearly deciding it was best to separate her from the group. “This way.”

Andrea followed the officer, leaving the others behind in silence—though it didn’t last long before Sonia started complaining again.

“I told you not to hang around with those troublemakers anymore,” Sonia snapped, pulling another tissue from her purse and wiping at her son’s face. Eddie immediately protested.

“Sonia, lower your voice,” Margaret said. “At least the kids were together, wherever they were…”

“‘Together’ doesn’t explain why my son looks like he was attacked by a landfill,” Sonia spat, pointing at Eddie, who sneezed weakly as if to prove her point. “And now you’re getting sick. Where’s your fanny pack, Eddie?”

“Sonia, please,” Sharon said softly but firmly. “The kids are scared.”

“Of course they’re scared! Look at them!” Sonia waved her hands. “Eddie almost fainted when I saw him like this.”

“Eddie almost faints when he sees a pigeon,” Richie muttered before he could stop himself.

“Richard,” Margaret said, lightly smacking his arm.

“Ahem.” Ben’s mother cleared her throat, drawing the other women’s attention. “I’m Arlene Hanscom—Ben’s mom. Your kids became friends with mine and… well. Yeah.”

Arlene slowly lowered her gaze, realizing the silence had only made things more awkward.

“Nice to meet you, Arlene,” Margaret said quietly.

That was when Margaret’s attention drifted to the two kids who were still standing alone. Her eyes immediately fixed on the boy—he reminded her of someone all too familiar.

“Hanlon,” Margaret said softly, just loud enough for Mike to look up at her.

But nothing more was said, because an elderly man arrived, calling the boy by name. And then Margaret recognized him.

Leroy Hanlon.

A flood of memories slammed into her all at once.

The fog.
The dagger.
The clown.

Instinctively, she pulled Richie closer against her, and the boy noticed.

“Ow, Mom, my arm,” Richie complained.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Margaret said, loosening her grip on him and straightening up.

“Maggie, are you okay?” Sharon asked, noticing that Margaret looked anything but calm.

“I think so…” Margaret rubbed a hand over her face.

“Beverly! Beverly!”

Margaret turned toward the voice—and this time she saw a face she knew all too well, hurrying toward them.

More memories came rushing back.

Laughter. Hugs. Fights. Shouting. A relentless glow. Reconciliations. Promises. Secrets. Even blood.

Margaret let the air leave her lungs and took a step forward.

“Lily…”

Lily Bainbridge had been called crazy more than once—many times, in fact. Most of them completely unjustified. Still, she had often wondered if she really was crazy for leaving Derry just to move to the next town over. Bangor was a nice town. Quiet. Quiet enough for someone who had grown up in a place like Derry.

Lily always told herself she hadn’t run away from Derry—that she had simply moved on. That relocating twenty minutes away didn’t mean anything. But deep down, she knew the truth: she needed to be far enough to breathe, and close enough not to feel like she was erasing everything she had lived through there.

She knew that leaving Derry completely would make her forget. She’d proven it when she, Marge, and Will finally lost contact with Ronnie a year after she left. So Lily chose the closest place possible—a town where she was reminded almost every day of where she’d been born.

She lived alone, just three blocks away from a massive sign that read “You Are Now Entering Derry.” She passed it every day on her way to work at Bangor’s city hall. It made it easier not to forget so quickly. The fog was still there in her head—but on a good day, it was easy enough to see with the help of a flashlight.

Lily also had one more tie to Derry.

Not long after Ronnie left, one of her father’s cousins came to Derry after being widowed. Her name was Gretchen Gates. She didn’t come alone—she brought her daughter Elfrida, Lily’s cousin. The two quickly bonded like proper cousins do.

There were group outings, after Lily introduced her to Marge and Will.

As adults, Lily left—mainly to experience the Forgetting somewhere not too far from Derry—and ended up staying.

She returned for Elfrida’s wedding to Alvin Marsh. Lily hated her cousin’s husband. Elfrida was light, flame, spark—and that spark began to fade after the wedding.

Lily came back to meet her sweet niece Beverly when she was born.

A couple of years later, Lily returned for the funeral of Will Hanlon and his wife. That was also the last time Lily saw Marge.

She learned that Elfrida had been committed to Juniper Hill, and Lily cried.

Lily didn’t attend Elfrida’s funeral last October, after she took her own life. Something about Derry terrified her then, and she couldn’t understand why she couldn’t cross the invisible line between the two towns.

But that afternoon was different.

“Hello?” Lily answered the phone in her quiet house on her day off.

“Am I speaking with Lily Bainbridge?” a female voice asked on the other end of the line.

“Yes, this is she.”

“I’m calling from the Derry police station. Are you a relative of the minor Beverly Marsh?”

“Yes—yes. She’s my niece,” Lily replied, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Is she okay?”

An alarm went off in her head. Why would the Derry police be calling her? Beverly was supposed to have a father at home… well, a poor excuse for one.

“You need to come to Derry,” the woman on the line said. “Something happened, and the minor needs an adult present. Her father isn’t in any condition to do so right now… and he’s currently in custody.”

Oh God. Damn you, Alvin Marsh.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you for letting me know,” Lily said before hanging up.

She stared at the phone for a few seconds after the call ended, as if expecting it to ring again and turn the whole thing into a mistake. It didn’t. The silence of the house crashed down on her.

“Shit…” she whispered.

Lily jumped up from the couch and went straight to the bedroom. She opened the closet and grabbed her thin sweater without thinking. She didn’t get ready, didn’t look in the mirror for more than a second. She just grabbed her keys, her bag, and left—

Then came back in when she realized she wasn’t wearing shoes.

When she finally got back outside and into her car, she took off immediately.

The drive to Derry felt short. Too short.

The sign appeared in front of her, just like always:

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING DERRY.

Lily tightened her grip on the steering wheel. The air grew heavy, almost sticky, and that familiar sensation—the fog—began to seep into her thoughts. It wasn’t forgetting yet. It was worse: memories trying to break through.

Marge’s laugh.
Will’s calm voice.
Ronnie’s smile.
Rich’s laughter.
Phil’s sharp voice.
Susie’s curiosity.
Teddy’s sarcasm.
... Matty’s hugs.

Lily inhaled through her nose and slowly exhaled through her mouth, just like her therapist had taught her.

Then she saw the next sign:

WELCOME TO DERRY.

And she remembered more.

The blood.
The fear.
The clown.

“Not now,” she muttered, forcing her eyes back to the road, tightening her grip on the wheel. “Please, not now.”

The police station looked exactly the same as ever. Too white. Too bright. She parked without thinking and rushed inside, her heart pounding against her ribs.

“Beverly! Beverly!” Lily shouted as she moved through the officers pacing back and forth.

And then she saw her.

Marge Truman—no, Margaret Tozier now—was standing there. Older. More tired. But unmistakable. Time hadn’t managed to erase that.

“Lily…” Margaret said.

The world stopped.

Lily felt something loosen in her chest, like she’d been holding her breath for years and was only now allowed to let it go. She swallowed.

“Marge,” Lily replied.

They stared at each other for a second too long, saying nothing—until the red-haired girl stepped forward and broke the silence.

“Aunt Lily?”

Lily looked at her and took a few steps closer.

“Beverly, sweetheart. Are you okay?” she asked, crouching slightly to look at her niece more closely. “What happened to you…? What happened to all of you?”

“That’s exactly what we’d like to know, but no one has told us anything,” Sharon said out loud—loud enough for the officers nearby to hear.

“Now that everyone is here,” the chief of police said as he approached, Andrea at his side with Stanley walking next to her.

The poor boy had bandages wrapped around his face. Margaret’s heart jumped.

Where the fuck had the kids been all afternoon?

“I have to inform you that the minors will need to be questioned.”

“Questioned for what?” Arlene asked.

“Because your children reported finding bodies in the sewers,” the officer explained.

“What they what?!” Sonia screamed, looking seconds away from fainting.

“And on top of that,” the officer continued, “two of them are suspects in the assault of Alvin Marsh.”

Lily looked at Beverly, who was staring straight at Bill. Bill returned the look—enough to catch Sharon’s attention.

Richie opened his mouth, about to say something, but it was Margaret who spoke first.

“Oh, shit.”

Chapter Text

One advantage of growing up a Loser—and spending a summer as the prey of a strange, cruel, carnivorous thing—is that you develop an exceptional talent for lying.

And there’s no better place to put that talent to the test than in front of the law… right?

“I want you to know, Beverly,” the female officer said as she sat down across from her at the cold metal table, “that you’re safe here. We just need you to tell us what happened.”

“Is it really necessary to do this now?” Lily cut in, placing a protective hand on her niece’s shoulder.

“It is, ma’am. It’s crucial,” the officer insisted, though her gaze softened as she looked back at the girl. “Beverly, can you start?”

Beverly took a deep breath, lacing her fingers together in her lap. The silence in the room weighed heavier than any accusation.

“My dad… was furious,” she began, slowly lifting her gaze. Her light eyes met the officer’s. “He didn’t like that I had boy friends. This afternoon, when I tried to leave, he snapped and attacked me.”

“Son of a—” Lily muttered, turning her eyes toward the wall, her face twisted with rage.

“I just defended myself,” Beverly continued, her voice a whisper packed with quiet strength.

The officer’s expression shifted. The professional mask softened, replaced by attentive compassion. She leaned forward, closing the distance.

“Beverly, I know how hard this is,” she said gently, “but I’m going to need more details.”

“We need the full truth,” another officer said, fixing his stare on Bill. “Because we have two witnesses who saw you enter the Marsh residence and leave running minutes later.”

“B-Beverly and I w-were supposed to m-meet,” Bill explained, fighting to keep his voice steady. “When s-she didn’t show up at the meeting spot, I got w-worried.”

“Worried over a simple delay?” the officer asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“It w-wasn’t just any delay,” Bill replied, holding the man’s gaze. “Beverly had t-told us what her father was l-like. I went to her house and… I s-saw Mr. Marsh on the b-bathroom floor.”

“And the girl? Where was Beverly?”

“S-She wasn’t there. The house was e-empty,” Bill lied—aware that no officer had seen the horrific message It had left written on Beverly’s wall. He felt his mother’s warm hand squeeze his in silent support. “So I ran out to l-look for her. The f-first thing I thought was to go to R-Richie.”

“And why did you go to you, Richie?” the officer asked, turning to him and his mother.

“The arcade’s close to Bev’s place, and Bill knew I was there,” Richie explained, unusually serious. “He was a mess—said Bev’s dad looked like he was dead or something, and that she was gone. We bolted outside, hit the nearest phone booth, and started calling the others. We had to organize a search.”

“And that’s how you all regrouped?” the officer asked, now turning to Eddie and his mother, Sonia.

Eddie nodded, nervously fiddling with the strap of his fanny pack.

“Richie called me,” he said. “He said Beverly was in trouble. That she’d disappeared. She’s our friend. We couldn’t just sit around and do nothing.”

“And what exactly did you do?”

“We started looking for her,” Mike cut in from his side of the table. His grandfather, seated beside him, nodded gravely. “We thought about dividing the town into sections. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“And where did you finally find her?” the officer asked, looking at Ben, whose mother had a firm hand on his arm.

“We found her in the Barrens, near the old quarry,” Ben replied, his voice steadier than he felt. “She was hiding. Very scared. She was shaking.”

“Was she injured?” the officer asked.

“She had marks on her arms,” Ben said, lowering his gaze.

“When you found her, did she mention anything about her house?” another officer asked, turning to Stanley, who felt his father’s presence solid beside him.

“She told us she’d escaped,” Stanley answered precisely. “She said her father became very violent, tried to attack her, and she defended herself—but she got scared that he might get back up, so she ran without looking back.”

“And none of you thought to return to the Marsh house to check on Mr. Marsh’s condition?”

“I was terrified,” Beverly replied. “We didn’t know what else to do.”

“They’re children,” Lily cut in again. “You can’t expect seven frightened kids to go back to the place the girl just fled from.”

“So if you didn’t return to the Marsh house,” the officer continued, “where did you go?”

“The Neibolt house,” Eddie answered.

“Eddiebear, I’ve told you hundreds of times not to go anywhere near that house!” Sonia shrieked.

“Ma’am, please,” the officer said firmly.

“But why Neibolt?”

“Because we knew no one would look for us there,” Ben replied. “We needed somewhere to stay while we figured out what to do.”

“But something happened there that led you into the sewers.”

“Henry Bowers,” Mike said firmly. “He must’ve seen us go into the house and… followed us.”

“Had you had problems with Henry Bowers before?” the female officer asked.

“He bullied us at school,” Richie said. “He and his pack of idiots used to beat us up and chase us all over Derry.”

“And when you encountered Henry Bowers, what condition was he in?” the officer asked.

“He was covered in blood…” Stanley answered, swallowing a sigh as he ran a hand over the bandage on his head. “Soaked in it. He was acting insane. He attacked us.”

“How did he do this to you, Stanley?” the officer asked.

Stanley bit his lip.

“Bowers chased us to a well,” the boy began. “We climbed down because it was the only way out. We had no idea it would lead to the sewers, but I got separated from my friends by mistake. Bowers caught me and started to… to run his knife across my face and—”

“That’s enough, Stanley,” his father said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This is not the time for my injured son to be talking about his wounds. He should be seeing a doctor.”

“And he will, Mr. Uris. I promise.”

“But we still need to know what happened once you were in the sewers.”

“We f-found the m-missing children,” Bill said, lowering his gaze. “I-It was like a v-villain’s lair. There was s-so much trash, and th-there was my b-brother, Georgie…”

Bill’s mother bit her lip, tears beginning to form as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“And you ran from there?” the officer asked.

“We fought Bowers before he could hurt us any more,” Beverly said, nodding as she ran a hand through her hair. “He dragged Mike off to the side…”

“And then I pushed him, and he fell down the well…” Mike finished.

The officer—a white man—looked like he was about to speak, but Mr. Hanlon opened his mouth first.

“Self-defense,” Mr. Hanlon said.

“That’s not in question, sir,” the officer replied.

“It better not be.”

“So Henry Bowers fell down the well?”

“All the way down,” Richie said seriously.

“So the chief of police’s son chases children, and the ones being questioned are them?” Maggie snapped. “Of course—he’s his son, so he’s not here. Where the hell are the Bowers?”

“Ma’am—”

“I demand to speak to him… no, better not. I don’t want him protecting his son,” Maggie said, crossing her arms.

“Butch Bowers is dead. He was murdered,” the officer said suddenly, cutting her off.

“What?” Maggie frowned.

“We believe Henry was responsible. His car was found outside the Neibolt house, along with two other bodies.”

Both Richie and his mother stared at the officer, stunned.

“Holy shit,” they both said at the same time.

“Was he arrested?” Mr. Uris asked.

“He’s in custody, but not here. At Juniper Hill.”

“Then he’s completely unhinged,” Mrs. Hanscom said.

“That would be accurate. He wouldn’t stop talking about how a clown made him do it.”

“A clown?” Lily asked, her right hand twitching with a sudden tremor.

“A clown,” the officer confirmed, nodding at Lily. Almost immediately, she sighed. “Mrs. Bainbridge, we contacted you because you’re Beverly’s only remaining relative. For now, the best course of action is for her to stay with you while we handle the situation with Mr. Marsh. Believe me, Mrs. Bainbridge—we’re on the side that best protects Beverly.”

“I live outside of Derry,” Lily said.

“Then you’ll need to stay here for a while—at least a few weeks—while the investigation continues,” the officer replied.

Lily nodded briefly.

“May we leave now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Come on, Beverly,” Lily said as she stood, clutching her purse. Beverly followed her lead.

They left the interrogation room and stepped into the main hall, where the other parents were arguing, the kids standing off to the side. Among them all, Lily spotted Maggie—who noticed her at the same time.

“Beverly, go be with your friends for a moment, okay?” Lily suggested. “I need to talk to someone.”

“Yes, Aunt Lily,” the girl said, walking over to her group of friends.

Maggie moved to the side of the room, Lily close behind. They stopped in front of a wall, both frozen—neither knowing what to say.

“Did they tell you what the Bowers kid was saying?” Maggie asked quietly.

“The clown,” Lily said flatly.

“The clown, the sewers, the lair, the kids…” Maggie let out a low growl, almost to herself.

“You knew?” Lily stared at her.

Maggie sighed and ran a hand through her blonde hair.

“This whole year has been absolute shit for me, Lily,” Maggie said. “It’s like there’s this thick fog in my head… I don’t remember things clearly, but at the same time I feel like I do. It’s strange.”

“It happens to me too,” Lily admitted. She stayed quiet for a few seconds before adding more softly, “Your son looks so much like you.”

Maggie let out a short laugh.

“Total surprise, because Richie has Wentworth’s full-on frog face,” she said—but the smile slowly faded. A chill ran down her spine, dragging a blurred memory with it. "That's what It told me, that my son and his friends would bring him death..”

Lily frowned.

“Do you think it’s dead?”

“I have no idea,” Maggie replied, frustration sharpening her voice. “What about you? Did you believe everything your niece told you?”

“Part of it, yes… but getting into the sewers through a well?” Lily shook her head. “And you—did you believe Richie?”

“Richie can’t lie,” Maggie said, a half-smile that never reached her eyes. “When he tries, his leg starts shaking like there’s a motor inside it.”

“We need to talk to them directly.”

“Yes—but it has to be without the other parents around,” Maggie lowered her voice even more. “And that’s going to be a nightmare. Right now we’ve got two major problems: Mama Bear Kaspbrak and General Uris. They won’t let their kids out of their sight for days. Maybe weeks.”

Maggie started walking toward where they had last seen the kids.

“Where are they?” she asked when she realized they weren’t there.

“They were right here a second ago…” Lily looked around, confused.

“Shit,” Maggie muttered, stomping her foot hard against the floor before raising her voice toward the group of parents. “Hey!”

Several heads turned.

“The kids are gone!” she shouted.

And chaos exploded instantly.

Everyone started talking at once—questions, accusations, overlapping voices. The noise swelled like an uncontrolled wave.

Everyone except Leroy Hanlon.

The man approached Maggie and Lily slowly, with a calm that felt completely out of place amid the uproar.

“Leroy…” Lily began softly, guilt creeping into her voice. “About Will, I—”

“It doesn’t matter right now, Lily,” he cut her off—firm, but not unkind. “We need to find those kids. Right now.”

He was about to move when a coughing fit hit him, forcing him to step back and bend over. The two women exchanged a look.

“You stay here,” Lily said firmly.

“We’ll look for the kids—including your grandson,” Maggie added. “We’ll come to your farm if we find them, because I doubt they will start looking anytime soon.”

“Go,” Leroy said once he caught his breath. “And find them.”

Both women rushed out of the police station.

“Your car or mine?” Maggie asked.

“Mine’s closer—and I don’t think Derry’s changed enough for me to get lost driving,” Lily replied.

They got into Lily’s car, and she pulled out into the streets of Derry.

“Where do you think they went?” Lily asked.

“No idea. Richie’s mentioned some kind of clubhouse, but I don’t know where it could be,” Maggie replied with a shrug.

“Covering all of Derry is going to take a while,” Lily said as she drove through town. “I never imagined my niece would end up tangled in that damn prophecy.”

“At least I’m glad she made friends, considering…” Maggie started to say, then immediately regretted it.

“Considering what?” Lily asked—but Maggie went quiet. “Marge.”

“This town is a shithole, Lily, you know that,” she rushed out, looking at her friend. “People talk and spread rumors. Awful, unfriendly things about your niece. I don’t believe any of it—honestly, it makes me sick when grown women say those things. That’s why I can’t stand Sonia Kaspbrak, seriously. But now she has friends. She has my Richie and his three friends. Now we know Will’s kid is there too, and that other boy I don’t know—but I know that with them, she’s actually safe.”

There was a brief silence between them.

“Lily, believe me—if I’d known she was your niece, I would’ve opened my house to her like I do with every one of Richie’s friends,” Maggie said, feeling a tight ache in her chest.

“I believe you,” Lily replied. “Maybe after all this we could—”

“Stop!” Maggie suddenly shouted, startling Lily, who slammed on the brakes.

“Goddammit, Margaret,” Lily snapped, turning to look at her friend—who was staring at something outside the car.

“The bikes,” Maggie said, pointing.

They were at the water tower—their old hideout. On the grass lay five bicycles scattered on the ground, with a sixth still upright among the mess.

“The kids’ bikes,” Maggie said. “They’re at our old hideout.”

“Why would they be here?” Lily asked, parking properly.

They both got out of the car and hurried forward.

The last time they’d been there was shortly before Lily left Derry. Lily, Marge, and Will had climbed up there to get drunk—Wentworth and Jessica had been there too. It had been a good night.

“Is this their clubhouse?” Lily asked.

“I doubt it,” Maggie replied as they entered the water tower. “Wentworth’s clinic is nearby—he would’ve seen them around here, or at least the bikes.”

“God, this place stinks. When was the last time anyone cleaned in here?” Lily frowned as they started climbing the stairs.

“It feels like a time capsule,” Maggie said, watching the steps—then she crouched. “Hey, my turtle earring! I thought I’d lost it.”

She picked it up, but it snapped in half in her hand. Maggie made a small pout—but when she looked up, Lily was frowning at her.

“Sorry,” Maggie muttered, continuing upward. “Ugh, I feel like I’m going to catch an infection down here… Great, now I sound like the whale.”

“Marge, please,” Lily said.

“What?” Maggie snapped. “I’m nervous. My son disappeared, then possibly fought some horrifying beast, disappeared again, and now we’re in our old lair. And on top of that, I’m seeing you again for the first time since Will and Jessica’s funeral—how the hell do you expect me to react, Lily?”

“Marge, wait,” Lily said, stopping.

“It’s Maggie now.”

“Shh. Listen,” Lily whispered.

The silence was enough to hear voices and movement behind the door leading to the top.

They exchanged a look, and Lily pushed the heavy door open.

There they were—the seven missing teenagers.

“Mom,” Richie said.

“Aunt Lily,” Beverly said.

“What are you doing up here, guys?” Maggie asked.

“Smoking weed,” Richie replied, his right leg bouncing—until Eddie elbowed him hard.

“We were just getting some air, Mrs. Tozier,” Stanley replied.

“Do you have any idea how worried you made us?” Maggie asked, looking from her son to his friends. “Bill’s parents are at the station. Stanley’s parents. Eddie’s mom. The hamster-cheeked kid’s mom. Mike’s grandfather. All of them worried sick. I was worried. Lily was worried.”

Lily chose to stay silent, letting the woman who actually knew how to be a mother handle this part. But something else caught her attention.

The old tent was still there—worn, frayed in places, clearly ancient. It surprised her that it was still even usable. But that wasn’t what made her pause.

There was movement inside it. Soft sounds.

“Who’s in there?” Lily asked, pointing at the tent.

“No one.”

“Air.”

“A family of raccoons.”

The kids answered all at once, and that alone made both women suspicious.

“Richard, what’s in the tent?” Maggie asked—but Richie didn’t answer.

“What tent?” Richie said.

Stanley’s snort was so loud it was impossible to ignore.

“Alright,” Maggie said calmly. “If there’s no one there, then there’s no problem if I hit the tent with a stick—”

“No!”

A chorus of voices burst out from inside the tent, making both women jump and stare at it.

“Whoever is in there,” Maggie said in her most authoritative mom voice, “come out. Right now.”

A few seconds passed.

Then the tent flap slowly opened.

A child stepped out—soaked clothes, very small, thin, dark circles under his eyes.

And in that instant, Lily felt her body nearly give out.

Maggie watched in confusion as the other kids stayed frozen outside the tent—but Lily looked like she was about to collapse.

She stepped forward, pushing past Maggie.

“Matty?” Lily asked, staring at the boy.

He looked back at her, confused—but didn’t look away.

“Lily?”