Annie Jackson Takes a Trip

Evenings were devoted to the sacred art of front-porch sitting and the sipping of sweet tea, when the orchestra of the night, the bullfrog croaks and the cricket chirps and the ringing of cicadas, would rise into a cacophony all around her and Annie Jackson would sit and listen, eyes closed and heartbeat steady in her chest and she and the world around her seemed to become one.

There were miles of forest around her home, a large Antebellum nestled carefully amongst the trees, and at night it seemed every creature hidden amongst those leaves and limbs came alive to sing to her. They seemed to say, You may be alone, Annie, but you aren't really. You have us, Annie. You always have us.

It was one of the things Annie loved about this house, but it was not the only thing. She loved the big wraparound porch and the long driveway, the only entrance leading to Annie's secret world, her magic castle hidden within the enchanted forest. She loved the huge kitchen with the old wood stove in the corner, even if she never used it, more in favor of the modern gas stove. She loved the grand foyer with its crystal chandelier. She loved the massive magnolias and willows that seemed to fight for dominance in the front yard, casting the property with some kind of wonderland splendor. Here you could find all kinds of fairies and nymphs and sprites. Here you could find magic of all sorts and perhaps you would find the most elusive creature herself, Annie Jackson holed up inside a home that was much too big for one person on her own.

That's what Chantelle Stevens had told Annie ten years prior when Annie had purchased the property. She had shaken her head and rolled her eyes and asked Annie what she wanted some old house like that for anyway when she could rent out a modern and tasteful flat in the city. She had told Annie that she would get lost in a place like this, all alone with nobody to find her.

Annie hadn't quite known how to explain to Chantelle then that perhaps she was already lost in the first place.

When Annie had bought this house, still high on her exhilaration of success, she had not intended to live in it alone. She had expected right from the very beginning that when she got married they would live right here, in this historic home with its big fireplaces and hardwood floors. They would raise their kids here, would have cookouts in the backyard and eat dinners in the dining room. Here, Annie Jackson would have a second go at having a family and perhaps on this do-over nothing would be around to fuck it up.

She supposed that had been subconscious though because Annie Jackson had not thought about the stone that had caused the ripples that had torn her family apart. She had only been a kid then.

As a matter of fact, Annie had not thought about being a kid in years, not until her phone had started to ring, the sound startling her out of her reverie. She had checked the number and wondered who on Earth could be calling her from Maine of all places. She did not know anyone in Maine, not since her mother had died there some five years prior, and even then she had never gotten calls from her mother.

Any calls about work would come through Chantelle but they certainly wouldn't come this late and so it was more out of curiosity than anything that had Annie picking up the phone.

"Hello?" She had asked, carefully polite. Suppose they had the wrong number? Better to let them know now than the have them blowing up her phone trying to reach so-and-so.

"Hello. Is this Annie Jackson?"

"Yes."

Okay, so scratch that, not a wrong number. Perhaps a potential client had gotten hold of her personal number and given it a call. Annie pursed her lips at the thought. It was too late for anyone to be making a business call. Maybe they did things differently up North, but down South, you showed some consideration for-

"It's Mike Hanlon."

It seemed even the frogs and the crickets and the cicadas fell silent around her and all Annie could hear was her heart beatbeatbeating in her chest, too fast to be healthy, and for the first time in nearly thirty years, Annie felt fear run down her spine like the coldest winter. She felt like she might freeze from the fear, might die from it.

"Hello? Annie?"

"I'm here," she breathed, clutching the phone like a lifeline. She reached blindly with her other hand, searching for the sweating glass of tea, desperately needing something to soothe her dry throat.

Derry, Maine, she thought. My God, but it's been a long time since I've thought of Derry.

And why not? Derry suddenly seemed to be the place that contained all of her worst childhood memories, contained within like a snow globe. But, she thought, it also seemed as if it might contain some of her best memories as well.

At her feet, as if sensing his master's unease, Renly raised his head from his nap, looking up at her with some concern. Annie was reminded, inexplicably, of her childhood dog Ghost and a shudder ran up her spine.

She tilted her glass back and drank and drank until there was nothing left but ice cubes. She needed something stronger, needed something strong enough to fend off the memories she felt brimming just below the surface now, memories that Annie thought perhaps she did not want back at all.

"Mike Hanlon," Annie said finally, her voice sounding light and airy and a little erratic. "Goddamn Mike Hanlon, it's been a helluva long time."

Yes, it had been. A helluva long time, what felt like a whole lifetime had passed since then.

"Yes," he agreed. "Too long."

Not long enough, Annie thought, fighting off the urge to laugh and tell him he had called the wrong number after all and that as far as Mike Hanlon was concerned Annie Jackson was dead, Annie Jackson was gone, and any news he had for her he could keep to himself, thank you very much.

Because Annie felt suddenly as if some part of her knew what Mike was calling about, felt as if some part of her had known for weeks and had been anticipating exactly this.

"Well go on then, Mike," Annie told him tiredly. "You'd better give me the news."

"It's happening again," Mike told her finally. "Like when we were kids. Do you remember?"

Remember? What Annie remembered was gut-wrenching, all-consuming fear that made her insides coil up inside her. That's what she remembered. And this Mike Hanlon… he was somebody she had known then, in this other life, in this other time.

"No," she told him honestly. "Not exactly. I remember being scared though. It was something bad, wasn't it?"

At her feet, Renly whined, getting to his feet and pressing his cold nose into her hand, offering what little comfort he could. Annie reached up and began to pet him absently.

"Yes," Mike said. "We made a promise back then, all those years ago."

She remembered standing in a circle, gripping Stan Uris' hand in her left and Eddie Kaskpbrak's in her right and being filled then with the strongest sense of love for this circle of people around her, so strong it was overwhelming. She would have fought for them back then, would even have been willing to die for them. They had been her best friends once upon a time, and on that hot summer day in the Barrens, they had cut their palms and gripped each other's hands and made a promise, a swear. If it ever came back, they would come back to Derry, and they would kill it. Kill it. Kill IT.

Annie sucked in a breath, her heart starting back up with the drum solo in her chest while Mike patiently waited for her answer on the other end of the phone.

"I remember," she told him, feeling suddenly like a thirteen-year-old girl again.

Mike had lived right next door to her, she remembered suddenly. Their fathers had been friends. Daddy used to go over and help Mr. Hanlon get that damned old Ford of theirs running again each year when it would get pulled out of its hibernation at the beginning of each Spring.

"I'm sorry to have to ask this Annie," Mike began, and to his credit he sounded as if he really was. "Will you come?"

She thought of him as he had been then, quick as a whip, but an outsider just like the rest of them had been. He had been a sweet boy, a thoughtful boy. He didn't want to have to ask her to come any more than she wanted to agree to do it. But they both knew how this song and dance would go, how it had to go.

"Well I don't guess I have much of a choice," she mused. "We promised. We all did. Have you talked to the others? Will they come?"

"I've talked to some of them, yes," Mike told her, sounding relieved by her answer. "They'll come, I think. All of them. At least, I hope they will."

"Yes," Annie agreed, feeling suddenly with absolute conviction that they all had to be there. "I hope so too."

Almost without thinking, Annie stood from the chair, grabbing her glass and heading for the front door, Renly half a step behind her as she entered her hideaway, her secret castle where nobody was meant to find her.

But Mike Hanlon had found her alright, and he had brought a whole army of demons with him.

"Well I guess I'd better make some travel arrangements," Annie told him. "Louisiana is a long way from Maine."

"I'd suppose you'd better," he agreed with a humorous laugh. "Anything I can do to help."

"Sure," she told him. "Reserve me a room at the Townhouse and make sure there's a damn big bottle of Malibu waiting for me. I think I'm going to need it."

They said their goodbyes and Annie headed straight to the kitchen, her gut clenching in anticipation at what felt suddenly like the death march of a woman heading to the gallows. Here she is ladies and gentlemen, the woman you've all been waiting for, about to make the last trip of her whole life. It's time for Annie Jackson to head home, time for her to head home at long last.

Well okay, okay perhaps it was, but if you think Annie Jackson was about to go through this whole sordid business sober then boy do I have a bridge to sell you.

She opened her laptop on the edge of the kitchen island and clicked into her favorite travel site before heading to the cabinet and fetching a wine glass. She had opened up the fridge to pull out her bottle of Rosé waiting inside but thought better of it at the last minute and grabbed the bottle of Malibu instead.

Wine was all very well and good for casual drinking, but Malibu was what Annie drank when we wanted to get absolutely rat-faced drunk and forget her own goddamned name because Annie liked the taste of coconut rum and she could drink a lot of it. Enough to forget her name, maybe enough to become somebody else if she really tried. Annie had never gotten that close in the past but tonight Annie was considering taking up the drinking sport, was thinking of going for the gold.

Who is Annie Jackson? she thought with a shrill little giggle. Sorry, don't know her.

Renly didn't like this at all it seemed, the dog pacing restlessly behind her as Annie poured more than a generous helping of rum right into her wineglass.

Ghost had done that too, whenever Annie had been scared or anxious. She spent a whole lot of time back then feeling scared or anxious.

Ghost had been a damned good dog, Annie thought with a fond smile. Good in the way that dogs are good in the movies, brave and loyal. He had saved her life three times that summer, at least three times. And maybe saved her life after that summer too, when she and Daddy had escaped from the black hole that Mama had become one winter night, when she had threatened to consume everything around her and had come at Annie with a crazed look in her eye and the demand that Annie stay right there with her goddamnit, so help me Paul you aren't taking my daughter out of this house.

But so help me, Paul Jackson had done just that, loading Annie into the pickup after Ghost had taken a chunk out of her mother's arm for grabbing Annie's wrist with a force she had not prior believed her mother to be capable of.

And when Annie and Daddy had escaped out into the bitter cold night, Ghost had been right on Annie's heels, leaping up into the cab of the truck with her as Mama ran out yelling that If you leave then you stay gone goddamnit, don't you ever come back here again!

And Annie hadn't goddamnit, had stayed gone because she was convinced then, as she was convinced now that she would die in Derry, just as her mother had died.

She hadn't even gone to the funeral, bitter and angry at her mother as she was. Even with the woman dead, Annie couldn't escape that anger.

Renly whined again and Annie smiled down at the dog, reminded once more of Ghost, despite the two dogs not looking much alike, nevermind the fact that they were both German Shepherds. Ghost had been white as snow but Renly was dark-haired, more traditionally colored. But like Ghost, he was a good dog, one of the best dogs the world had ever seen, Annie thought vaguely.

Yes, Ghost had saved her life that summer, had been willing to die for her and, Annie supposed, she maybe would have died for that dog, because that's what you do when you love something. When you really love something.

She loved Ghost, and she loved Renly too. Dogs were safe to love, loved back with an unconditional ferocity that Annie found to be mostly unrivaled within her own species. It's why she preferred Renly's company to most humans. But she had had friends who were loyal back then, oh yes she had. Friends who she loved fiercely and friends who had loved her fiercely back, and then there had been… what?

She felt something else there, blocked from memory but so achingly close, and it felt like the answer to a question she had not even known she'd been asking. She had had friends, and she had had something more.

She took a drink of rum and reached down to pet Renly absently again. "Okay bud," she told him. "I think you'd better just stay here at home, where it's safe."

But then she looked down at him, gazing up at her with those big, sweet brown eyes of his and was struck by the image of Ghost leaping at something, of Ghost with blood at his mouth and fire in his eyes, Ghost protecting her and loving her and being there with her and Annie thought, Okay, better not. Okay, you're coming with me, bud, because like it or not, I guess we're in this together. But deep down, maybe Annie was just afraid to go alone, and Renly had been her most constant companion in recent years, holed away in this too-big house with nothing else but scratchy old records and unfinished paintings for company.

With a resigned sigh, Annie turned back to her computer and got the number of the airline, choosing to call them instead. She had traveled enough times with Renly in tow to know the deal by now.

Actually, funnily enough, she had taken Renly to the vet earlier in the week to get checked for a clean bill of health, intending to fly him with her to a gallery opening in Atlanta over the weekend. Damn, another thing to worry about, Chantelle would have to postpone that. Still, it was almost spooky, like it was meant to happen.

Finally, somebody answered the phone and, over the next twenty minutes, Annie haggled with them over getting herself and Renly onto the plane, claiming the last seat in first class and the last spot in cargo for a dog crate on the next flight to Portland. She would have to pack and fly like the devil to get to the airport in time, but Annie thought she could make it.

After hanging up with the airline, Annie made another call, this time to a rental place in Portland claiming the very last SUV they had available. Things just kept falling into place and it sent a chill down Annie's spine.

You just get yourself packed and try not to think about it, she thought, immediately setting into action, leaving her wine glass full of rum on the kitchen island, marooned and forgotten there while she headed upstairs to start shoving things into a suitcase.

Jeans, shirts, underwear, pajamas, Annie hardly stopped to consider what she was shoving inside of her bag, paying more attention to the fact that she was likely about to get ripped a new one by her manager.

Hitting the call button, Annie balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder, waiting for Chantelle to finally pick up with an annoyed hello.

"I can't make the gallery opening this weekend," Annie told her immediately, listening to the way Chantelle sucked in her breath through her teeth.

Annie had known Chantelle Stevens for going on now fifteen years when she had first really started to gain momentum as an artist. Three years out of art school, Annie had only just managed to cross the bridge between starving artist and just a regular artist. Chantelle was five years older than her, had been born and raised in the Bronx, and if there was any single person on Earth that Annie didn't want to piss off, it was Chantelle Stevens.

Even now, Annie could picture her in her head, sitting on the ultra-sleek, ultra-modern, ultra-chic leather couch in the living room of her equally classy New Orleans flat, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth and a glass of bourbon in hand.

"What the hell do you mean you can't make the gallery opening?" Chantelle asked enough toxicity in her tone to make Annie wince.

"Something has come up," Annie explained to her, tossing socks into the bag and moving into her bathroom. "I have to fly up to Maine tonight."

"What kind of business do you have in Maine? What has come up?"

"Can't I just say that something has come up and leave it at that?" Annie asked hopefully, piling toiletries up onto the counter.

What the hell was she supposed to say to Chantelle? She had to go and fight the ghosts from her past? HA! Annie was so sure that would go over great.

"Anne… "

So that was a no. Heaving a sigh, Annie brought the small mountain of toiletries over to the suitcase, tossing them in and zipping the bag up with little regard to organizing them.

She hated it when people called her Anne, and that was what everyone seemed to want to call her now. Anne Jackson. It sounded so… cold. Sterile. Annie hated that name, had been Annie as long as she'd been alive, and didn't care much one way or the other if it sounded like a little girl's name.

"An emergency came up in the town where I used to live, in Derry. I have to go, Chantelle."

"Your mother is already dead," Chantelle pointed out. She had been one of the few people who had supported Annie's decision not to go to her mother's funeral.

"Yes," Annie sighed again. "Look it's not about her, okay. It's something else, and I can't tell you. I just need you to make whatever excuses you need to make to get me out of the gallery opening."

"But-"

"Look," Annie interrupted her. "In fifteen years, have I ever flaked out on you? Have I ever made excuses to not do my job?"

"No," Chantelle admitted with a sigh. "I'll do what I can. When will you be back?"

"I don't know," Annie grabbed her bag off the bed and started out of the room, flipping the switch behind her. At the last minute, she paused, turning to look over her shoulder at her bedroom, comforting and cozy. There was no telling when she would see it again. If she would see it again.

"Annie!"

"Chantelle," she countered. "I gotta do this, okay. I just have to. Do you understand?"

"No," the other woman grumbled, sounding suddenly very tired. "I can't believe after all these years, you're finally showing your true colors, just another batshit insane artist."

"Maybe," Annie told her wryly. Maybe she was batshit, after all.

"You call me when you get back. And whatever you're doing Annie… be careful."

Annie made it to the airport with no time to spare, and it wasn't until she settled back into her seat that she allowed herself to breathe, closing her eyes and just existing for a long moment until she was interrupted by the flight attendant asking her if she'd like something to drink.

Annie sent her away quickly leaned back in her chair, feeling that cold sense of dread already working itself into a knot in her stomach. Better not to put alcohol on top of that.

She thought suddenly of that glass filled with rum, still sitting on the kitchen island, forgotten there in her haste and laughed making the woman sitting in the seat beside her look at Annie in alarm.

Gripping the arms of her seat, Annie leaned back and closed her eyes once more, deciding it best to try and get some sleep. After all, there would be no telling when she would get the chance again.

Derry, Maine felt suddenly a million miles away, a world away, a lifetime away.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay so some of you may remember when I first attempted this story, back when IT Chapter One came out. Well here you have my second attempt, a rewrite of sorts. I'm twenty-four chapters deep into the rewrite and I'm so excited to be posting this!

So this story will be updated every Thursday! If you want to see any of the things I've made for this story, you can follow me on my tumblr, at harleyquinnzelz . tumblr . com! I'd really love for you guys to tell me what you think! I love Annie a lot and I'm just super pleased to finally be sharing this story with you guys, as it means a lot to me.