Chapter 5: Lying So Low

"All that night and all the next

Swam without looking back

Made for the western pools, silly, silly fools"

-Heart, "Barracuda"

Carol woke up with a splitting headache.

Not only was she slightly nauseous when she opened her eyes to the blinding sunlight pouring through her bedroom window, but she found it incredibly painful to raise her head, for it was pounding intensely with dull, agonizing beats. She groaned involuntarily, burying her face in her pillow. There was already perspiration gathering on her skin, and her face felt hot, as if with fever. This bites.

Carol managed to get up, wincing from the pain. She stumbled out of bed, her ears ringing shrilly as she clutched her temple in pain, and staggered over to the bathroom across the hall. The pale blue walls and white tiling hurt her eyes as she made her way over to the medicine cabinet above the sink. She opened the white, wooden doors and scanned its contents for some headache or pain medicine: Tylenol, ibuprofen, anything. Though all she was able to uncover was a first-aid kit, a bag of cough drops, and some Vicks VapoRub.

"What the-?" she mumbled, frustration and disbelief jumbled together into her disoriented, emotional mind. There was nothing to help the pain; the cabinet was virtually empty. "This is bullshit," she cursed, neglecting to use her favorite alternative bologna.

Shuffling out of the bathroom, her temples throbbing painfully, she changed her direction to the kitchen, where her grandmother would undoubtedly be cooking breakfast. And she was correct, as the crisp scent of bacon and eggs drifted from the very room.

"Grandma?" she called, although it sounded more like a raspy slur. "Do we have any Tylenol or something?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetie," she heard Ethel respond. "Why? You sick?"

"No," Carol replied. "My head just hurts."

"Go and lie down on the couch and put a movie on or something. That should help."

No shit, she thought silently. It did sound tempting though, and her grandmother would probably bring her breakfast in for her to eat. She was getting used to the whole episodic nausea and vomiting thing, but she absolutely couldn't stand headaches. If it wasn't better by the time her movie was finished, she was going out to get some medicine herself.

Trudging over to the VCR, she halfheartedly popped The Breakfast Club, her favorite movie, in before moving over to the couch and lying down. Carol draped one arm limply over the sofa's edge to where the bull terrier Spock lay, and he nuzzled her hand affectionately. Ethel brought in breakfast a few minutes later as the movie began to play, and she watched through droopy eyes.

Ethel always joked that Carol watched The Breakfast Club so much that she'd "wear the tape out dry". The reason why she loved the film above all others, even that of her favorite genre horror, was because of the deep connections the characters formed. Though they were entirely different personality and popularity wise, they all found that they had similar problems with their parents, peer pressure, and people in general. It was a connection she never had, even with her closest friends, and she envied it as much as she enjoyed it.

She always considered herself a bit of an outsider, so she guessed she related the most to Allison. However, the quote that hit her the deepest was when Bender said, "I could disappear forever and it wouldn't make any difference." She could understand that, she really could. It was a known fact that she was just your average small-town teenage girl; she was not pretty nor ugly, white, got decent grades, and these qualities helped her conform with the Derry crowd, whether willingly or not. And since she did not "put herself out there", nobody had a reason to care for her, or even remember her. She could go missing just like Donna and the other kids and it would not impact anyone else's lives, except her grandmother and maybe her friends.

Her eyes continued to stay glued to the screen of the television set, though Carol barely payed notice to the movie at all. Instead she rested, vaguely registering the soft hums and buzzes of the characters' voices, thinking, Is there anyone? Anyone out there? Hello? Then a semi-delirious thought crossed her mind and hitchhiked onto her train of thought. Ground control, do you copy? This is Major Tom. I'm stuck up here all alone and I can feel myself drifting away. Houston, we have a problem, a real fucking problem.

Although it was well over an hour, it was not long before the film concluded, John Bender walking away from detention in the football field and pumping his fist in the air with "Don't You" by Simple Minds playing in the background. Carol shut the TV off dismissively, somewhat envious of the happy ending. She knew that she herself would never get such a finale; no one who lived in the sack of rat shit called Derry would for that matter, she knew well enough.

Alas, another one of those "crazy thoughts" cried in the young teenager's head, John Hughes does not direct my life.

Carol brought one hand tentatively up to her once throbbing temple, purely out of sheer muscle memory. She discovered herself to be surprised with halfhearted pleasance that the majority of the pain had dissipated, leaving behind only a inner dull throb that was an echo of what it once was. It was a good omen; she could still use some medication down at the Derry Drug or pharmacy to relieve the remainder of the pain. She may as well get up and get motivated to do so.

Casting the empty plate of bacon and eggs aside (her grandma would clean that up, Lord knows she would), Carol went into her room, got dressed, stuffed her pack with her "necessities". The usual jazz. She reminded herself that her bike Stardust still had that deflated tire, so that would need quick repairs before she departed. She slung the pack over her shoulder, pausing only for half a second to adjust the strap before making her way to the living room, where she would then exit the front door. This was routine. This was normalcy.

"Where are you off to in such a rush, darlin'?" her grandmother asked as she approached the front door, turning around from the windowsill where she was watering her potted plants.

"The pharmacy," she replied, "to get some Tylenol. I also figured we could restock the medicine cabinet in the bathroom." 'Cause all we have freakin' Vicks VapoRub.

"All by yourself?" Ethel pressed, sounding almost shocked, to Carol's surprise.

"Yeah." She didn't understand what issue was present; she made trips into town alone plenty of times.

A tiny, bittersweet smile formed on Ethel's thin, aged lips, eyeing her granddaughter with what could've been pity. "You're growing up too fast, Carol Denise. I wish you'd never grow up."

Carol's hand clenched on the doorknob to the front door reflexively, almost painfully. She turned back to meet her grandmother's bittersweet, almost sympathetic gaze behind her ridiculously huge granny glasses. Her mouth opened, perhaps to say the thought repeating itself throughout her scattered mind. Me too, Grandma. Me too. Instead she managed to say, "Bye, Grandma. I'll be back before four," before heading out the door and closing it shut.

Stepping over to where Stardust lay at the porch steps, she grasped the handle bars and gently lead it over to the garage, where she lifted the gargantuan door open. There was no latch, and any robber or burglar passing through the neighborhood could enter inside and snatch some junk. Not that they had anything worth stealing in their garage; the Perkins family weren't that kind of household. Carol grabbed the air pump and inflated the tire of her bicycle without a terrible amount of exertion or strain. Once she was satisfied with her work, she hopped on the comfort of the worn leather seat and pedaled down the driveway into town as she did almost every day. She had decided firmly that she wasn't going to walk anywhere alone ever again, as the only times she did so in the past year resulted in horrific occurrences and one peculiar and sinister clown.

Carol did not listen to Bananarama or The Beatles as she journeyed into central Derry, instead the voice of Whitney Houston, a favorite of her friend Tabitha. "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" echoed as she took in the small-town scenery and residents milling about in the streets as she entered. It did not take extravagant navigational skills or direction to locate Derry's only pharmacy, as it was a common hangout location and hotspot for children and adolescents of all ages, twenty-four seven and year 'round.

However, today this did not prove to be the case as she pulled up in front of the building to halt her bike. Save for the occasional passerby walking up and down the sidewalk and a few kids of about eleven engaging in some sort of game in an alleyway across the street, there were none of the usual hangers gathered outside. Perhaps, Carol thought, they were assembled inside where it was air-conditioned and cool. It was a rather decidedly hot day.

The little bell above the door jingled merrily as she entered, signaling her presence. The store was surprisingly relatively empty and devoid of life upon first glance, which she took as a good sign. The colorful aisles stood out in stark contrast to the white and pristine walls. It was rather too white and pristine for her liking. This was not a problem for Carol, for she liked things to be clean, but it made the pharmacy so much more… hollow.

She immediately journeyed over to the medical aisle, which were stocked with the over-the-counter pharmaceuticals that she needed, scanning the labels of all the pills and little boxes displayed before her. Spotting the bold words Tylenol on a box, she grabbed it. Then, glancing around, she searched for some ibuprofen. Tylenol was all she really needed for her ailment, but she might as well purchase some, as to stock up their medicine cabinet.

Once Carol had made all of her necessary purchases- which included the Tylenol, Advil, hydrogen peroxide, and several other unpronounceable cold medicines- she made her way over to the front counter, where an older man with rather large glasses (the kind her grandmother would wear) was tidying up his counter, which appeared to be in slight disarray. The man's name was Mr. Keene, and he was the designated owner of the pharmacy. He was either polite or his manner was disgruntled, and Carol learned from experience there was no inbetween.

"Excuse me," she interjected, desiring to catch the old man's attention. He caught sight of her at the checkout counter as she placed her selected items before him.

"Oh, right," Mr. Keene said, somewhat flustered as he readjusted his super-sized grandpa specs as he shifted back into work mode. He inspected the items that were brought to him, his eyes not all there. It was apparent that he wished to get this customer over with and return to whatever task was at hand.

When it was all said and done, Carol dutifully handed him the cash in exchange for her medicine and pharmaceuticals. She mumbled "Have a nice day" as she turned her back to the counter and towards the exit door, faintly hearing the old geezer mutter "Damn cigarettes" as she departed. Looking down to the bottom left corner of her vision, Carol's eyes also spotted several cartons and boxes knocked to the floor carelessly. What a damn mess.

"Clean up on aisle three," one of Carol's crazy thoughts uttered. She was halfway out the door when she realized she had spoken outloud, and she couldn't help but give a half-empty smile. In fact, she gave a quiet, hollow laugh that nobody overheard but herself.

Standing outside in the early sunshine of noon, Carol stuffed her recent medicinal purchases into her pack. Then, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from the center of her face. Despite the infamous June day heat, it was a rather nice day. Readjusting the strap of the pack on her shoulder, she decided she wouldn't go home just yet. After all, she had promised her grandma she'd be back by four, and there were still several hours to go. Maybe she'd go to the Aladdin to see a movie or snatch an ice cream.

With that though in tow, Carol grabbed the handlebars of her bike and made her way to the left of the pharmacy, in the direction of the petite ice cream shop only a few buildings down. She had made it a few feet before a movement at the edge of her peripheral vision urged her to turn her head.

There were six kids gathered in the alleyway to the left of the pharmacy, all who appeared to be about her age. She recognized the majority of them from classes they shared back when school was a reality and not a relieving memory impending upon them in the near future. A four-eyed boy with curly black hair and casual garments was hovering over a much shorter dark-haired boy, who was crouched before a heavyset kid, dirtied and bloodied to the point of unrecognition, at least in Carol's mind. Standing farther away from the alleyway entrance was a rather reserved looking boy with a head of dirty blonde curls, a taller, lankier kid with reddish-brown hair, and fairly pretty girl who's mane of ginger waves was tied back in a casual ponytail.

Carol was able to place names to most of them. For instance, the tallest of the brood was unmistakably Bill Denbrough, the older brother of the missing little boy George, and the girl was obviously Beverly Marsh, whom Carol had just formerly met the day before. She knew the last name of the kid with the four eyes, Tozier, although she couldn't recall if his first name was Richie or Ricky (it was some nickname for Richard anway). The curly-haired kid was Stanley (right? or was it David?) and the short boy was Eddie Kaspbrak; she recognized him from Social Studies. In fact, quite a few of them had probably been in that class. The boy on the ground she couldn't place a name to, most likely because of the grime and blood smearing his features. She couldn't help but feel déjà-vu looking at him though, knowing that they had met previously before but unable to recall who, when, or where.

For a few moments, she just stood there, watching them. Some inner urge deep within her wished to approach the group, but she didn't dare. There were too many questions racing in her mind. For instance, what was wrong with the kid on the ground? Was he hurt, because he sure looked like it. Did they need assistance, because Carol did have medicine if they needed some. What was Beverly doing with them? If what she had heard yesterday was correct, the redheaded girl didn't have any friends. Should I talk to her? Would she even remember me? Should I talk to any of them?

It was not long before the Stanley kid (or David) spotted her standing in the opening of the alleyway and caught her staring at the group. When he did, one by one, the rest of the ragtag gang slowly started to turn their heads toward her with questioning gleams in their eyes. Shit. Carol could only meet their gazes, unsure of what to say. I must seem like such a nosy asshole.

"Do you n-need something?" the tallest of the group, Denbrough, asked her.

For several agonizing seconds, Carol was at a loss for words. To avoid any more unnecessary embarrassment than she was already facing, she drew her eyes away, flicking them back and forth between each of their faces. For chrissakes, say something, you idiot.

It was Beverly who broke the silence, asking, "Carol?" Her blue-green eyes lit up and a grin began to spread throughout the stretches of her freckled face. "Long time, no see."

Carol nodded to her, allowing the tight lines of her mouth loosen up and curve into a small smile, the tension of her muscles relaxing. "Long time, no see, Bev." It was easier and more assuring seeing the ginger's sunny smile and sparkling eyes. With her fiery hair and warm expressions, she kind of reminded Carol of Andie from Pretty In Pink.

"What are you you doing here?" Beverly inquired, now paying the newcomer her undivided attention and ignoring her companions.

She shrugged, grasping the strap of her pack, still slung over her shoulder. "Headache," Carol explained, not even lying the slightest. "Hurts like a bitch." She turned her gaze now to the disheveled boy on the ground. There was something about his face, the way his eyes sparkled with recognition. The last day of school…

It hit her like an oncoming freight train. Walkman.

"I have some medicine for him, if you need some," Carol offered, taking a few tentative steps closer to where the group stood. "I bought some painkillers and stuff for the hell of it, but you can have some." She wasn't entirely sure why she felt obligated to do so, given that she barely knew any of the kids, but she was more than willing to contribute.

"Y-You don't need t-to do that," Denbrough interjected. "W-W-We already have p-plenty of medicine, thanks to Beverly." He sent a shy yet grateful look in the other girl's direction, which she pleasantly returned.

Carol shrugged it off. "Take some anyway. It's the least I can do." She shifted her gaze to the boy she had dubbed in her mind the kid with the Walkman, assessing his bloodied t-shirt and the oddly shaped cut in his stomach. "He looks like he's gonna need it." Slipping her pack off from its usual perch on her shoulder, she walked over to stand next to him and Eddie, unzipping it and excavating it for the required medicine.

"Who is this chick, anyway?" the boy with the thick-lensed glass, Richard Tozier, finally spoke up. Although Carol was not entirely familiar with him, his close friends were vaguely surprised he had managed to go so long without a interruptive comment or some awful joke.

Beverly said, "It's okay, Carol's cool." She turned to the brunette with a pleasant grin. "We're friends."

She jerked her head up briefly at that statement, slightly shocked that Beverly already considered the two more than acquaintances. She never had any friends outside of her own social circle, so the idea of someone like Beverly Marsh willing to befriend her was entirely foreign. Carol managed to nod, however, and replied, "Yeah, me and Bev have hung out this summer." Which wasn't exactly a lie, for they did share a conversation the previous day at the Aladdin theater. She returned back to rummaging through her pack.

"I'm Bill," Denbrough introduced as she searched. "The others are Stan, Eddie, Ben, and R-Richie."

Ben. So that was the kid with the Walkman's name. Now that she ruminated on it, she could recall there being a new student by the name of Benjamin, who went by Ben, although pretty much the entire student population referred to him as "the New Kid". Carol took out the medicine and nodded. "Cool beans. I'm Carol Chamblers, but that's kinda a given."

Richie, the four eyed kid, grinned and struck out a hand to her. "Pleasure to meet ya, Miss Carol! Richie Tozier's my name, and doing Voices is my game!"

Carol eyed him apprehensively, unsure of what to make of his upfront and exaggerated mannerisms. "What do you mean, Voices?"

"Richie does Voices." This time it was Eddie who spoke up, applying disinfectant to Ben's wound as he did so. "It's really quite annoying, actually."

"Your mom likes my voices just fine," Richie retorted, grinning. "She tells me so. Especially at night when I come over and touch her-"

"Gross Rich!" Eddie complained, wrinkling his small nose in revulsion. "Don't even fucking go there!" It was clear his friend had played that particular card multiple times before, and he knew what the punchline was.

The maniacal grin of impish delight on Richie's face only widened as his jest struck home. He kept up his jovial act as he ruffled his friend's carefully groomed hair playfully. "Don't be jealous, Eds. I know you love my Voices, too."

"No, I don't," Eddie returned hotly. "And don't call me Eds."

Carol eyed the odd exchange of banters between the two, then turned to Stan, puzzled. He gave her a look that replied, They do this all the time. Carol smiled and nodded, bending down to crouch next to Eddie and Ben.

Able to eye Ben's wound more attentively, Carol noted that the deep cut she had found so bizarre earlier strikingly resembled the letter "H". This was no accident. "How'd this happen?" she asked to nobody specifically.

"I- I just fell," Ben stammered, appearing suddenly self conscious and embarrassed.

Richie scoffed. "Yeah, right into Henry Bowers!" Several of the others, including Eddie, Stan, and Bill, gave him a warning glare that demanded silence. Don't do this again, they seemed to say.

Carol stared at the "H" grimly. Should've known. It was common knowledge that there was hardly a limit to Henry's brutality, tormenting those below him. Of course Ben would be one of his prime targets.

Reaching out her hand, she gave Eddie the painkillers, which he nodded his thanks for. Many over boxes of medicine and containers of pills were placed neatly on the ground beside his feet. Regardless of how prepared Eddie seemed to be, Carol could not help but stare at the ugly cut engraved in Ben's dirtied flesh. She didn't need to be an expert at injuries like Eddie Kaspbrak to know that that would leave a scar.

"W-W-We'll take care of him," Bill assured. Then he turned to the other girl amongst their group. "Thanks again, Beverly."

Beverly nodded, although she vaguely looked disappointed that Bill was dismissing her so hastily. "Sure," she replied. "Maybe I'll see you around." Though this last statement sounded more like an invitation rather than a parting goodbye.

Backtracking, Bill added, "W-We're going to the q-q-quarry tomorrow, if you wanna come." Catching Carol's eye, he faced her and added, "You can come t-too, if you like."

The other boys perked up and looked to their companion with confused surprise. Obviously, this was new information to them as well.

Although slightly surprised at the other teen's invitation, she nodded, saying, "Sure. Stellar. I'll be there." She wasn't not entirely sure what she was getting herself into, some inner sense assured her that these boys could be trusted.

The pretty redhead also nodded, her face especially chipper. "Good to know. Thanks." With a final friendly smile, particularly at Ben and especially Bill, she exited the alleyway, a pack of Marlboro cigarettes clutched loosely in her hands.

Damn cigarettes. Carol could barely restrain her grin of amusement and slight admiration. Oh Beverly, you clever fucker, you.

Now that Bev had departed, Carol was struck with the realization that she was stuck alone with five other boys she scarcely knew. While it was slightly awkward, she made up her mind to stay, deciding it would be rather unfair to just leave the others and make it apparent that she had only interacted with them because Bev was there. She would stick around with them a while longer. After all, Carol had never had any boy friends before, and her curiosity longed to be satisfied.

The others watched as Beverly disappeared out of sight and earshot, Eddie standing up and wiping off his hands. When there was no longer any trace of the redheaded teen on the sidewalk, Stan faced the others and scolded, "Nice going, bringing up Bowers in front of her."

"Yeah dude," Eddie jumped in, "you know what she did!"

Both the interests of Ben and Carol were piqued. Carol could bet on it had something to do with the "whore rumors" that other kids spread around school, as it was often the only thing the fiery ginger was known for among their peers, besides her poverty.

"What'd she do?" Ben asked, concern and curiosity apparent in his voice.

"More like who'd she do," Richie corrected, a smirk marring his face and the eyes behind his Coke-bottle lenses brightening up, as if a light bulb just appeared over his head like in the cartoons on television, some clever joke coming to mind. "Wanna hear the list? It's longer than my wang!" To emphasize, he stroked the crotch of his pants.

"That's not saying much," Stan responded, rolling his eyes. Carol grinned.

"T-They're j-j-just rumors," Bill immediately claimed, in defense of the absent girl.

Richie shrugged off the sarcastic reply and turned back to Ben and Carol. "Anyway, Bill had her back in third grade," he informed the two newest members. "They kissed in the school play! The reviews said you can't fake that sorta passion!"

Carol did not miss the way Ben glanced down slightly, red creeping slowly up his cheeks as he attempted to maintain a neutral expression. Anyone else might of seen this as awkwardness, but Carol could feel his dismay.

Ohhh, that makes sense. He likes her. But it felt more intense than that, she knew. She could only imagine the crushing agony of hurt he would endure if the other girl didn't reciprocate his feelings of passion. Meanwhile, Bill too blushed and turned away, embarrassed. She also didn't miss the glances he sent Beverly's way when she was there; he was obviously attracted to her.

Oh Lordy, I don't need no love triangle drama. This ain't no Pretty In Pink.

Richie, apparently deciding enough gossip was enough, clapped his hands together decisively. "Now, pip-pip and tally-ho my good fellows!" he exclaimed in a rather poor impersonation of a British man (This must've been one of his "Voices"). "I do believe this chap requires our utmost attention! Get in there, Dr. K! Come on, fix 'em up!"

Eddie, crouching down on his knees to apply more ointment to Ben's cut and not turning to his friend, replied, "Why don't you shut the fuck up Einstein, because I know what I'm doing and I don't need you doing the British Guy right now."

As Carol chuckled to herself and Stan gave the two a tired eyeroll, Richie, in his maniacal excitement, shouted, "Suck the wound! Get in there!" This was much to the smaller boy's opposistion.

While Riche continued to harass his little spitfire friend, Carol observed attentively as Eddie continued to dress Ben's wound with careful precision, his small, nimble fingers moving cautiously with his dark brown eyes sharp with clear focus. "You're good at this, Eddie. Where did you learn to do this?"

Before he had the chance to respond, Richie took the liberty of doing so. "Eddie Spaghetti here is a hypochondriac," he explained, drawing out the word hypochondriac, "so he flips his shit if he so much as scrapes his knee."

"I don't flip out!" Eddie retorted. "And for your information, there is, like, gazillions of bacteria on the sidewalks. Do you know how many infections you can get from an unattended scrape? I could get blood poisoning or something. And don't call me Eddie Spaghetti!"

Richie held up his hands in mock apology and surrender. "Sorry, Spaghetti Man. I know Eds is your favorite, right?"

"No, it fucking isn't."

"Edward Spaghedward? Eduardo Spagheduardo? Eddiekins?"

"Nothing you say makes any fucking sense," Eddie accused, finally deciding to ignore him and return to his task.

Carol glanced back and forth between the two, amused by their bantering antics. Then, with a happening glance upon her watch, she reslung her pack across her shoulder and announced, "Well, I better get going, too. Fancy meeting y'all."

"You too, Carol," Bill replied. Stan nodded to her with a small smile.

Ben smiled gratefully and said, "Thanks for the painkillers, Carol."

"No problem," she returned. "We're all peachy."

Eddie said goodbye to her as well, and Richie struck out his hand once more. "So long, Christmas Carol! 'Til we meet again!

She laughed as she tentatively took it and gave it a shake. "Christmas Carol?"

"Richie gives everyone a nickname," Stan explained to her. "It's kinda like a rite of passage."

A rite of passage. That made Carol smile brightly. She stepped away and started to walk out of the alley to her bike. "See ya tomorrow, guys."

The boys bid farewell, Richie adding, "And until next time!" and something about leaving her blinds open that night. Carol chuckled, for the first time the entire summer feeling as if that piece of her missing was starting to mend itself.

On the way back home, Carol's headache was all but forgotten.

…

It was a quarter till four when Carol arrived back home. Upon stepping inside the residence, one quick inspection informed her that her grandmother was currently in the laundry room putting dirty clothes in the washer. Without a word, she not too surreptitiously stepped into her bedroom and flung herself down on the sinking softness of her matress, the events of the day whirling around in her brain like a torrential windstorm.

It wasn't that the occurrences of the day had any negative impact on her; quite the contrary, in fact. It was the idea that the encounter with Bill, Ben, Beverly, Richie, Eddie, and Stan in the alleyway beside Mr. Keene's pharmacy, something entirely foreign to her, had been so smooth and easy that she still found herself perplexed by it all even now. She was unsure if the others could grasp an understanding of the feeling as she could herself, but Carol perceived a strong connection formed between the seven of them as soon as she interacted with them in the alley. It was as if it was preordained; it was what she might've called a "sucky explanation", but it was the only one her creative mind could provide. Whatever it was, the perception she sensed was almost indefinitely and surely a special bond.

Whatever it was, whether a new prospect of friendship or not, it was definitely new nonetheless. Just like in that Madonna song. Like a virgin being touched for the very first time.

Deciding that music was often the go-to remedy for easing her troubles, she withdrew her Walkman from her pack and popped a new track in, then lied back with the earphones in. The first song to play was Survivor's "The Search Is Over".

She wanted to remember and absorb everything about them. The kind yet charismatic expression that settled itself upon Bill's visage when greeting her. The shy blush that crept up Ben's face, skin soiled with blood and grime. The way Stan shoved his hands in his pockets and stood straight when he kept his silence. The crooked angle of Richie's glasses and the upturned twist of his goofy smirk. The lively sparkle and depth of Eddie's dark brown eyes. The way Beverly's fiery red hair gleamed like crackling flames in the rays of the afternoon sun. She wished for these images and perceptions to be engraved in her memory to satisfy some urge she could not explain, storing it all away securely, safe and protected from the ravenous maw of forgetting.

"The Search Is Over" concluded and Berlin's "Take My Breath Away" started to sound soothingly in her ears instead. With her eyes half-closed and her hands folded gently over her bosom, Carol could clearly envision within the creative accesses of her mind the faces of Bill, Eddie, Stan, Ben, Richie, and Beverly. Their eyes were shining with the youthful brightness akin to stars and warm, friendly smiles that spoke of a safe place from all of her worries and fears. And, as the sunshine of the June afternoon poured through the pristine glass of her bedroom window across the room, Carol found herself smiling softly as well.

Carol.

What was that? Did she really just hear her name? She vaguely wondered if her grandmother was calling for her or if she was just imagining things, believing part of the music track to be one thing when it was really the other. Just to clarify, she turned off her Walkman and removed her earbuds, listening closely.

Carol.

Now she was positive she was not conjuring the noise with her imagination. Creeping tentatively over to her bedroom window, she stole a peek outside to spot anyone in the yard or on the street that could be calling her name. But the outside world beyond the feeble glass pane was deserted as per usual. Then, she cautiously crept over to the hallway outside her bedroom door, which hung ajar. The surrounding area of the house was empty, drawing her to the conclusion that her grandmother was still doing business in the laundry room. Not that she expected it to be Ethel, for the voice sounded far younger and high-pitched.

Clear as day, the voice came again in a faint, choking sob. Carol!

It was the voice of a child, that was abundantly clear, and most indefinitely a male one at that. It sent foreboding chills down Carol's spine and stung her eyes. She was almost entirely certain she recognized it from somewhere before, but it was so soft and distorted that she couldn't be positive. It was like playing Telephone underwater, which she and her friends did over the summers before the disappearances drifted them apart. Where have I heard that voice before…

With great, careful caution, Carol proceeding softly toward the source of the noise, which was emitting from the dark shadows of the bathroom down the hall. The voice was no longer calling her name, but simply uttering soft, muffled cries and sobs. Opening the bathroom door further, Carol flipped the light switch, and the space was illuminated with artificial light. There was no sign that anyone was currently or had ever been there, yet the sons were still sounding, much louder and clearer than before. Then she turned her head to the batmhtub.

It's… coming from the bathtub?

Against her own better judgement, Carol crawled into the tight porcelain bowl, crouching before the dark black eye of the slightly rusted drain. There was no doubt in her mind that this was where the boy was trapped, desperate and in need of help. She felt compelled herself to provide her own assistance, the familiar cries of terror and panic to painful for her ears to hear. Then, all of a sudden, as she leaned closer, the crying sobs were abruptly silenced.

Despite the obvious sketchiness and danger of the situation, Carol's curiosity and fear compelled her to lean her face even closer to the maw of the drain, peering inquisitively into black abyss of the rusted hole. That's when something suddenly shifted into her line of sight. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust and realize what it was, and when she did, she let out an exclamation of shock and horror.

It was an eye. Golden, malicious, inhuman.

Gagging wretchedly, Carol scrambled away from the mouth of the bathtub drain. She did so until her head hit the back of the porcelain tub, her stomach swimming intensely. And there was no time for her to escape as a single gloved index finger rose out of the circular dark hole. With slow deliberation, it beckoned her forth with all the horror and fright necessary to send bile up Carol's throat and paralyze her in the end of the bathtub.

Come down with us, Carol, the voice urged, rough and sinister with a monstrous quality. He floats. They all float!

In response, Carol Chamblers threw up all over herself.

AN: I apologize for releasing this chapter later than I said I would, but school's been taking up a lot of my time. I will try to upload every one to two weeks. I also have part of the sixth chapter written, so that will more than likely be released sooner.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This is the second longest one I've written so far. I rewatched the movie recently to make sure this chapter was accurate, as I haven't read the book in a while. I plan on doing so soon, and when I do, I might touch thingd up a little bit here and there to make it more faithful to King's novel. The next one will take place at the quarry, so get ready for some Loser bonding!

Also, I am making two Spotify playlists for this story. One is the official track for the story itself, the other being a compilation of songs I believe Carol would have listened to. I will provide the information for them once they are completed.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the latest installment! Feedback and constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Hermione Romanoff: Thanks again for the feedback! I am glad you are enjoying my story; I am enjoying yours as well. Sadly, Curtis' death won't be the last. Pennywise will feed more before the Losers enter the picture! Hope you enjoyed this longer chapter!

~ Robin M.