Chapter 9 – Epilogue
Portland, Maine - Summer 1991
They had come to her in the dark, six scared boys too young to fully grasp what she was offering of herself to save them, and now, at the tender age of fifteen, Beverly no longer remembers what the danger had ever been.
Hell, she barely remembers any of it, or what they did there in the dank, wet tunnels below Derry, but in her dreams she recalls that it was Eddie who came to her first, and Stuttering Bill last of all, but before Bill it was Ben, and now it is Ben and what they'd shared that haunts her sleep and brings her awake damp and needful and hurting.
It is always Ben she thinks of, lying sweaty and alone on her bed, missing the shy, heavyset boy who'd once claimed her heart with a poem she only remembers in her dreams.
"Bevvie, I don't think I can do this," he'd said that first time, looking so miserable her heart ached.
"Sure you can. I can feel it." And she could, too, a hard little nudge against her bare belly button.
"Make me fly," she'd whispered. "Show me how."
"Jesus, Beverly!" He was trembling in her arms, but she sensed this was not from fear but his desire and love for her.
"Show me," she said again, almost pleading. "Feel my hair if you want to. I know you like my hair."
So he had, reaching out to stroke the damp, tangled length of it, his other hand gently finding her breasts, and the nudge against her belly became a bit more insistent.
"Oh, yes," she murmured, her fingers guiding him, and this time – unlike with the others – there was pleasure as well as pain.
Then all too soon it was over, and she felt Ben's lips brush against the hair over her left ear.
"My heart burns there too," he whispered, and in that one shining moment – in the arms of a boy she refuses to forget – Beverly Marsh knew what it meant to be loved.
THE END
