Chapter One
It started as any typical day. I was getting my coffee from the local Starbucks, glancing down at my phone to see a ridiculous—but yet quite funny—picture my brother sent me before receiving a phone call.
(207)-159-4557. Derry, Maine.
I couldn't explain as to why just seeing this unknown number, as well as the town name and state, put fear and dread into my heart. It was enough to unsettle me, though, to where people noticed my face.
"Ma'am? Are you alright?" a man asked me. I looked over at him, my large burgundy tinted sunglasses obscuring his view of my face and making my vision of him an odd, almost bloody color. I faked a smile, putting my acting skills to the test.
"Yes, I'm fine. Just got lost in thought." I clutched my purse tighter, putting it back up to my shoulder. The man looked at me for a moment longer before a look of realization swept across his face.
"Hey, wait a minute," he said as the ringing on my phone stopped. "You're Michelle Tozier, aren't you?"
I nodded my head. "Yes, that's me." I kept the smile plastered onto my face.
"Oh, God, I'm a huge fan. I watched you and your brother's show every week when it came on."
"Really?" the smile was somewhat real at this point, though I kept it plastered as my phone began to ring once again. As the man went on about his favorite episode, which just so happened to be the one where Richie first guest starred all the way back in season one before becoming an off and on guest and then eventual regular, I glanced down at my phone once more out of curiosity.
And there it was again. (207)-159-4557. Derry, Maine.
"…Anyway," the man finished up. "I hated to see the show end."
"Well, it was a sad day for everyone. Eight years is a long time, you know. We hated it too, but it was time." I shrugged, muting my phone.
"I agree, eight years is a good run. Anyway, Ms. Tozier, I'll get out of your hair but before I do, would it be okay if I got an autograph and a picture?"
"Of course." I started to dig around in my purse for a pen as the man took one of the many napkins around his iced coffee—thankfully he layered them so thick that the many outside layers were dry—and handed it to me to sign. "May I ask your name?" I smiled softly.
"Oh, uh yeah. Yeah, it's Paul. Paul Knightly."
I nodded my head, muttering his name under my breath so it would be easy for me to remember. I wrote, "To Paul Knightly, fancy bumping into you here," and then, of course, every actor's go to, "Best wishes, Michelle Tozier."
After doing so, I handed the napkin off to Paul, who had his phone out and at the ready for a picture. I leaned in, taking my big sunglasses off while plastering another big smile on my face, and let him take about three or four pictures. Paul then thanked me for my time, we shook hands, and I told him goodbye as he excitedly ran to his car, putting his phone to his ear, no doubt calling someone like his wife to tell her what just happened.
I looked down at my phone again, and once again, there was that number.
Walking out towards my car, I finally answered the phone.
"Hello?" I answered. Almost immediately I regretted it, feeling my stomach sink, even though I didn't really know as to why.
"Michelle, it's Mike." A male voice spoke over the other end. I furrowed my eyebrows, racking my brain. "Mike Hanlon. From Derry."
Goddammit, why did the name sound so fucking familiar?
It then hit me. A picture of a young boy, black, about thirteen years of age and wearing a simple white shirt and jeans came to me. Mike fucking Hanlon, I scolded myself. The fucking homeschooled kid. You know exactly who the hell this is. "Mike, oh my God." I finally responded. "Holy shit, hey. It's been a while."
"It's been about 27 years," Mike confirmed on the other end of the line. I thought to myself before small bits and pieces popped into my head of the summer of 1989—the rock fight, swimming in the quarry, my first kiss, my first period, my brother confiding in me for the first of many, many times after. That, for some reason, was all I could remember but at least they were all quite nice memories. Save for the first cycle I ever went through.
Mike's tone, however, wasn't as happy as mine. It was quite grim, if I could be honest, and it concerned me. "Yeah, that sounds about right." I nodded, biting my lip. "Is everything okay, Mike? You sound a little… I don't know, I guess upset? I think that's the word I'm looking for here."
"It's back, Michelle. Bad things have been happening."
"Bad things? Like what? What're you talking about?"
"You need to come back. Remember your promise?"
"Promise?" I whispered, and a sharp but yet soft residual pain was felt in my left hand. I glanced down at it, looking at the old and faded scar there. "I don't… I don't remember a promise…" my voice trailed off.
"Haven't you ever wondered why? Why you don't remember a lot of your childhood?"
"Well, my therapist said I was blocking a lot of things out, especially after the first divorce and I-I just figured…"
"You need to come back, Michelle. I'll text you with all the details. Do you think you can make it tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. I'm not shooting anything at the moment,"
"Okay. Good, I'll see you then."
The other end of the line went dead, and I removed my phone from my ear. I stood there, extremely confused but yet also extremely terrified at the same time and let myself get lost in thought. Before I could really come up with anything conclusive, however, I heard tires screech behind me, as well as someone laying on their horn. I screamed, dropping my coffee as I did so, and turned to see an angry woman almost red in the face.
"Get out of the way, you dumb bitch!" she screamed. I hurried out of the way as she hurried her way to the drive through, almost hitting me again the process. I placed a hand on my chest, calming myself down for a moment, recollecting my thoughts.
I watched as my split coffee began to inch its way to the storm drain that was placed on the curb opposite me, and I couldn't explain why it gave me the creeps. All I could picture was an old, old—but extremely close friend of mine—Bill Denbrough, crying out for someone in my mind, but I was fuzzy as to who he was calling out for. All I saw was his neat brown hair and blue eyes, and one phrase that stuck in my head.
He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts…
I hadn't spoken to Bill since I was in the movie about his book, The Black Rapids. The last time we spoke was at the 2012 premiere, even though we promised one another we would stay in contact. Bill was one of my closest friends, but for some reason I could only remember him in little spurts and bursts. I couldn't understand why and thinking about him for longer than a moment hurt my head.
"Fuck me, man," I muttered, shaking my head. "Fuck me,"
I dug my wallet back out of my purse, walking back into Starbucks.
/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
"Well should we both get a rental or just get one car and carpool?"
"What's the point in getting two cars, we're going to the same damn place?"
I shrugged my shoulders, twisting the spaghetti noodles around my fork. "Because you drive like a fuckin' maniac."
Richie scoffed, mocking offense. "No, I don't."
"Oh really?" I rolled my eyes at him.
"Yes. I drive like a maniac. Not a fuckin' maniac, get your facts straight."
I snorted, taking a bite of my food. Being a twin had its perks, but when your twin brother was Richie Tozier, who liked to hold the fact that he was ten minutes older than you over your head, sometimes it was definitely a curse. In the best of ways, of course.
Once a week when he wasn't on tour, since Richie and I lived near one another as I moved closer to L.A. after my first marriage went into shambles, we would have dinner together with my family. Richie was a bachelor, whereas I was a married woman of three years—though that relationship was about to be on the rocks. It was something I felt in my gut. My husband, Robert, and I had been drifting from one another since 2014, and since those two years the two of us don't really talk like we used to. We live in the same house, but we no longer sleep in the same bedroom. We haven't since 2015. From what I knew, Robert hadn't been home yet, which I know bothered the kids. My youngest was turning three this year, and part of me felt as if she understood better than she let on, but Vanessa was not one to talk much, if at all, all the time, especially if she was sidetracked by her older brother whom she absolutely adored.
"Mom? Do you think I could go with you?" My eldest, Lucille, sipped her water. Lucy was in her early twenties but was putting herself through college and her own acting career, and because of this I allowed her to continue to live in my home—she paid for the things she wanted and contributed to the household in the form of groceries, so I had no issues with this whatsoever. They say daughters, especially the firstborn daughters, look like their fathers. This was somewhat the case with Lucy, what with her having her father's light colored hair, facial shape, eyes and smile—everything else was all me.
Richie and I both looked at her for a moment, as she hadn't really said anything the entire time we were eating dinner.
"She speaks," Richie took a bite out of his garlic bread. I, myself, sat there for a moment, sighing.
"Not this time, Lucy. It doesn't feel right, I'm sorry. Maybe next time, okay? Besides, don't you have an audition tomorrow?"
"I mean, I can postpone it." Lucy shrugged. I stared at her.
"No, you cannot postpone it, Lucille. I will not allow you to. This is your future, and it was a part you've been excited about for a long time. Your uncle and I can handle it, alright? Don't worry, we're going to be fine. We'll most likely be back in a couple days."
"Yeah, Lucy, don't be like your uncle and choose your occupation at the last second. There's room for only one failure in this family, and it's me." Richie grinned after making the joke, even though I kicked him under the table, making him grimace in pain right after.
"That's why you don't write your own material," I snickered, going on with the joke even though I didn't believe him. Richie was a talented comedian and had been since we were kids. I think sometimes he just didn't see his potential. Richie took his beer bottle, tipping it in my direction in agreement.
"Well, what about Robert?" Collin, my middle child, piped up. Collin inherited a lot more of his father's looks than Lucy did, being almost his literal twin save for a somewhat thinner face—including the way his mop of hair sat on his head. Instead of being a lighter color, however, Collin took from my side of the family and had the chocolate brown hair as well as the blue eyes. I stopped for a moment. "I mean, what's he going to do? Who's going to watch Vanessa? Because I'm going to go to that concert tomorrow night with Johnny and Annie. I've been waiting for months to see Panic! at the Disco and I really don't wanna miss out—"
"I know, Collin. I know. You are not going to have to watch your sister." I shook my head.
"I am, apparently." Lucy muttered, playing with her food. I sighed.
"Lucy, I'm sorry but you can't come. I'll explain everything after the fact."
"Yeah, sure. The one time you decide to go somewhere in six years after you and Dad divorce, and none of us can even go. I'm done with dinner; I'm going to my room." Lucy stood up, tossing her food in the trash before setting her plate and fork in the sink and heading upstairs. I sighed, looking over at my brother, who shook his head in response.
"She'll be fine," he muttered. I shrugged. Collin finished his food.
"Mom, can I go upstairs and play video games? I'm done."
I looked over at him. "After you do dishes, Collin, it's your turn tonight."
A soft grumble emanated from my soon to be eighteen-year-old as he got up from his seat and made his way into the kitchen. I grabbed my phone, unlocking it.
"Calling Robert?" Richie took a swig of his beer. I nodded.
"Yeah. The least he can do is come home tonight so he can pick Vanessa up from his mother's house tomorrow." I sighed, listening to the phone ring over and over. I glanced at Richie, who downed the rest of his beer. I heard Robert's voicemail and felt just anger well up inside of me.
"Hello, this is Robert Coogan. I can't come to the phone at this time, but if you leave your name and number I would be happy to return your call."
As the beep happened, I held in most of the things I wanted to say, though my tone was dangerously calm. "Robert. I need you to call me or at least text me. Something came up and I have to go to Derry tomorrow. It's an emergency. Please. Call me or text me. I need you to pick up Vanessa tomorrow. Bye." I rolled my eyes, dropping my phone onto the table. "Fucking asshole," I muttered. I glanced over at Richie, who shook his head.
"I never liked him, so.." he trailed off. I rolled my eyes.
"I know, Rich." I sighed, getting up from my table. "I know."
/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
"Shit, Richie. What am I going to do?"
I vegged out on my bed; my suitcase next to me. I had it fully packed for the maximum of a week and was checking my phone for the time. We had a flight leaving L.A. at six in the morning tomorrow, with us flying into Augusta and driving the rest of the way to Derry. An almost eight-hour flight with a four-hour drive afterwards. How fun.
"I mean, you're divorcing the guy, right?"
"Yeah, but that isn't going to really be finalized until maybe later this year. And I mean late. Like December, late. He wants a bunch of shit. The house, Vanessa—spousal support." I sat up, staring at my brother, who was scrolling through Facebook on his phone. "Fucking spousal support. A Goddamn fucking casting agent for fucking Paramount Pictures wants spousal support from me! Like he fucking needs it." I rolled my eyes.
"Yeah, I know. What a dick. You should totally just leave him somewhere—"
"Richie—" I tried not to smile.
"Just drive him to a cliff and then push his ass out of the car and leave him there."
I snorted. "You're so annoying."
"I am, I really am." I saw a smirk on his face. I took one of my decorative pillows, smacking him on the arm with it. He let out some sort of yelp, grabbing another and smacking me over the head with it.
"You fucker." I smirked, hitting him again. We continued this for a moment until I hit Richie in the head, making his glasses fall off.
"You little bitch, how dare you handicap me!" He grinned, grabbing his glasses from off the bed. I laughed, laying back once more, relaxing. "Oh, giving up huh?"
"No, I'm just tired." I shook my head.
"Yeah. Of losing." My brother taunted me.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"Beep beep, asshole." I glared at him, making him chuckle and flip me off.