Chapter 6: Drift In And Out
"Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me around
I feel numb, born with a weak heart
I guess I must be having fun"
-Talking Heads, "This Must Be The Place"
Tuesday morning was a seemingly promising one, blissful sunshine flooding Carol's bedroom with delicate, ethereal light that dazzled her eyes once she opened them. It was a slightly uplifting sight after a poor night of rest, but that was a given due to the horrific oddity she had witnessed the previous afternoon.
After she had thrown up, Carol had glanced down to gaze at her soiled self and very nearly screamed. By the time she had dragged her eyes back up to the rusted mouth of the bathtub drain, the beckoning gloved hand had completely disappeared. Although still mortified by the sight, Carol did not immediately leave the bathroom, for she still had felt disgusting and did not want her grandmother to see her in such a state, physically and emotionally. Instead, she had crawled out of the tub and huddled on the floor, trying and eventually succeeding at regaining her composure. However, it was an hour or a few before she had actually mustered the courage to cleanse herself of her vomit.
She tried not to linger upon the occurrence for too long, for she knew no good would come out of doing so. Still, Carol couldn't help but ponder somewhat despairingly of how many times such horrifying encounters would worm their way into her life. As if she didn't have enough problems already, with the disappearances of Donna and the other missing children, as well as the rifts continuing to grow within their friend group. And that was not even counting her own internal battles that she endured countless days.
Can't catch a break, not a damn break, she had thought as the water that spurted from the shower head had peppered her skin, washing the barf from her pale skin in a river of repulsive bile.
Needless to say, Carol had locked herself within her room for the majority of the remainder of the day, listening to the reassuring and comforting music of her Walkman to sooth her troubles as they usually did. Ethel had to practically draw her out of the bedroom after a grueling struggle of nearly thirty minutes to eat the spaghetti and meatballs she had prepared for the night.
But now, although the events of the days past plagued her thoughts in the cramped apartments of her head, Carol locked up their doors and walked over to the sun-filled bedroom window, peering through the sparkling glass to observe the happenings of the outside world. Derry life seemed to carry on as usual, a few merry folks walking up and down the street; some with dogs, others with kids, and some were just by themselves. The sun shone down upon the neighborhood and painted Carol an image of a picturesque, ideal American town, like the kind advertised in posters and billboards in the fifties.
Despite this, Carol knew that the scene before her was merely the town collaborating with the weather to create a fooling piece of propaganda. All it did was poorly mask the town's woes and dilemmas. Sometimes, even the light could reach the darkest places, but could not disguise its secrets.
Here comes the Sun, Carol sang in her head, an unamused, empty smile settling on her ashy, pale face. Here comes the Sun and I say it's all right.
It was a nice day, swell even, the weather compliant enough to allow the ideal day for swimming. Although Carol was looking forward to the event, a deep pit of worry was gnawing within her stomach. Her rendez-vous with the six others was at the quarry, which meant getting there would lead her through the untamed wilderness of the Barrens, where Donna went missing back in April.
The Barrens is dangerous, Carol fretted. Donna went missing there with who knows how many countless other kids. There's probably quicksand and serial killers and rapists and venomous insects…
But instead of continuing the fearful rant in her head, Carol pushed it aside, knowing all too well that if she did, she may end up changing her mind about going to the quarry. And besides, the others were going to have to reach there the same way as she was. Hell, Bill had a missing brother and he was going out there on his own. If they could do it, surely she could as well.
A faint rapping of knuckles sounded upon her wooden door. "Carol? Are you awake, sweetie? Breakfast is ready."
"Coming, Grandma," she responded, shuffling away from her position at the window and exiting her bedroom. Upon entering the kitchen, she observed the stack of waffles piled up on one of the large white plates, peppered and bespeckled with indigo spots.
"They're blueberry," her grandmother informed her teenage granddaughter. "I used up all the leftover ones we bought from the market."
Carol nodded. "Thanks, Grandma." She settled down in her chair and started to lift one up with her fork and place it onto her plate.
Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder why her grandmother was so kind to her, treating her like the little five year old she once was when she was still living with her mother and father and carried her stuffed badger Frances around like a security blanket. She supposed Ethel was sorry that Carol couldn't be with her parents all the time and was attempting to make up for it. Or more likely she was disillusioned into believing that in doing so could prevent her daughter's little Carol Denise from growing up, which she had tried and failed to do with Lucille. Because if that happened, Ethel would be alone again.
She guessed she knew now where she got that fear from.
As she reached to grab the bottle of maple syrup, Ethel asked her, "It's a swell day today. Do you and your friends have any plans to hang out?"
Carol was so taken aback by the question that she did not register the excessive drip of maple syrup onto her blueberry waffle. She did indeed have plans, but not with people like Tabitha, Deborah, Marcie, Estelle, and Priscilla. She had not yet informed her grandmother about the new people she had met in the alleyway next to the pharmacy the previous day, and was not entirely sure of how Ethel would take such information.
Withdrawing the bottle and setting it aside, she replied, "Actually, we were going to go swimming today." She wasn't entirely not telling the truth, for she was going to swim today. The whole thing was that Ethel did not know just what people she was going to hang out with, and she didn't need to.
Her grandmother smiled with delight at this new
(lie)
piece of information. "Oh, that's wonderful, Carol! It's so great that you girls are hanging out again."
Oh, if only you knew, Grandma, Carol thought, giving the older woman a nod and a smile.
Once she had almost finished her meal and Ethel exited the kitchen, Carol cast aside her nearly empty plate of breakfast and treaded over to the kitchen phone, where she dialed Estelle White's home phone number. Although her and her friends were drifting apart like autumn leaves blowing in the wind from the mother tree, she still cared for the girls and wanted to check in. After all, that's what friends did, right?
It took a couple of steady rings for her chum to answer, but it was not terribly long, for Carol knew that Estelle was most indefinitely an early bird. The two girls chatted, though the conversation that ensued was not particularly uplifting, for the rifts that had been created within the circle of six were still undeniably unyielding. Carol asked about Tabitha. Estelle answered that Tabitha had been out of the house quite a lot in the recent days of summer, then asked about Deborah. Carol answered that she didn't know about Debs. She asked for news about Marcie. Yes, she was back home and yes, her Aunt Geraldine had a stroke, but was going to be fine.
When a pause followed and there was no more information to be exchanged between the two teenagers, the girls bid farewell to each other, Estelle stating that Carol should come over sometime. She promised she would (it very well could've been an empty one) and hung up. Her grandmother nowhere in sight, she immediately headed to her bedroom, wanting to get a head start on her day as soon as possible.
The sun was not yet concealed, the space still flooded with glittering morning stardust. It was going to be an undoubtedly hot day, Carol could already forsee that, crafting it to become the ideal day for a swim in the quarry. With that thought in tow, she opened the wooden doors to her dreaded closet, scanning it's dark maw and the contents within it thoughtfully.
Carol had only one bathing suit, which was a fair blue two-piece. While it was far from being your traditional bikini, she still felt anxious and uncomfortable at the prospect of revealing so much skin to six other teenagers that she hardly knew personally, despite how she felt around them. However, it was either that or to show up in her bra and underwear, and she was not going to do that.
Sighing, she grabbed the swimsuit and shut the closet doors (she did so a little too quickly). Holding the piece up before her in the mirror, Carol frowned as she assessed the situation. The two-piece only showed a little of her stomach, and was a far cry from being even remotely attention grabbing. It would have to do, despite the worry that it revealed a little too much of her thinning figure. But, Carol reminded herself, they would be in the quarry's waters for the majority of the time. And besides, if only she had noticed this change, then surely she would still remain to be the only one.
Undressing from her pajamas and changing into the bathing suit, she searched for some more comfortable clothes to slip over, settling on a pair of pastel fabric shorts and a band t-shirt. That way, she assured herself, she wouldn't have to stroll around town and into the Barrens half-naked.
After shoving a towel, sunscreen, her Walkman, and extra bandages into her pack, she considered herself ready to go and meet the others. What made the situation so complicated, however, was that Bill and the others had never given her a set time for their rendez-vous. It was probable that she could arrive and wait for hours before the six arrived, or that it could be the other way around. Carol made up her mind to go in the late morning, hoping that would be as early as possible.
Carol checked her watch. It was currently nine fifty-three. She had not trekked into the Barrens for a while, and she didn't know how bad they were now, so it would be safer to head out a little earlier than she had planned in case she got lost.
It's just the quarry, Carol reminded herself. It's not that far.
Heading out into the living room, that torrential flood of early sunshine was still flowing through the large window and filling the house with what Carol would call "happy vibes". Which was odd, she thought, because Derry hadn't been exactly "vibing" with her lately. Her grandmother was sitting in the glider rocker with the late morning news turned on the television set.
"Grandma?" she asked, getting the older woman's attention. "I'm heading out."
"Okay," Ethel replied. "Remember the curfew. You girls go have fun."
Girls? Yeah, right, she silently replied. "Sweet. See ya." And just like that, Carol Chamblers stepped out the door, each pace she took leading her one inch closer to yet another event that would soon reshape her life for the rest of her existence.
Hopping onto the trusty, worn leather seat of Stardust, Carol pedaled off down toward Kansas Street, the easiest and most well known access to the wilderness and untamed woodland known by the locals of Derry as the Barrens. The skin of her thighs chafing against the rough, hardened bicycle seat, she inserted her earbuds and played one of her plethora of mixtapes on her Walkman. Boston's "More Than A Feeling", a favorite tune of hers, comforted her anxieties on the trip.
I looked out this morning and the sun was gone
Turned on some music to start my day
I lost myself in a familiar song
I closed my eyes and I slipped away
Smiling, Carol's spirits were lifted further as she made several turns, until arriving at the relatively deserted yet familiar road that was Kansas Street, the darkness of the almost sinister, looming trees overshadowing the road on the right side. She halted, knowing to proceed with caution. She could not ride Stardust through the Barrens, unless she wanted to inflate yet another flat tire. Hopping off with an internal sigh, she grabbed the faded, once colorful handlebars to tread on foot from there.
The Barrens were not nearly as awful as Carol's imagination made them out to be, yet she was still wary as she traveled through, each twig snapping and leaf crackling sounding to her ears as the menacing footsteps of a killer as wild and as deadly as the woodland it inhabited. Eventually though, Carol found sunlight yet again once she entered a clearing, out of the ceiling shadows of the trees. Sheer drops wrapped around the pool of water many feet below, the cliffs unassuming and as grassy as a pasture at the top. This was the quarry.
Parking her bike and propping it against a nearby tree, Carol took her Walkman and prodded over to the edge of the cliff, plopping down on the dying, yellow grass and dangling her feet over. The song now was "Summer Of '69" by Bryan Adams. She would sit there, glued to the grassy cliff's edge and listen to her precious music, waiting for the others to arrive as she slipped into her own void and observed the beautiful summer scenery surrounding her.
Not quite ten minutes later, the sound of twigs and leaves crackling cutted through her music and had Carol turn around. The stumbling figure of Ben Hanscom exiting the enclosure of the treeline came into view.
Ah, another early bird.
"Hey Walkman," she greeted, removing her headphones from her ears temporarily.
Ben stared at her in mild perplexity. "Walkman?"
"Yeah," she responded, "because when I met you, you had a Walkman."
"Oh," he said, eyes widening with understanding. "The last day of school. Yeah, you almost floored me."
She chuckled. "We should've both been paying attention." She patted the ground beside her. "Sit."
Ben obeyed, plodding over and plopping down beside her. He never said anything immediately, so to spare themselves both from the awkwardness of silence, Carol asked, "Why you here so early?"
Ben shrugged. "Well, I've never really been here before, so I thought I'd head out early. Y'know, if I got lost… or something."
Carol nodded. "Fair enough. So, Walkman," she started, "what kind of music do you listen to? Any guilty pleasures?" The topic of music, she found, was always a fantastic conversation starter, as it never became boring to her personally.
He averted his eyes only briefly, as if he did not want to reveal to this other girl about the genre of songs he enjoyed. "I'll listen to pop and stuff. My favorite's New Kids On The Block?" The last part he asked was more like an open-ended question.
"I should've guessed you were a NKOTB fan," she answered with a grin. "You seem like the boyband type. I don't particularly listen to them myself, but their song 'Hangin' Tough' is quite the headbanger."
"I love 'Hangin' Tough'!" Ben replied. "Although my favorite would probably have to be 'Please Don't Go Girl'." Glancing at her earphones, his eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What song are you listening to?"
Grasping them, Carol reinserted them in her ears and listened attentively. She answered, "'Come Together'."
He admitted, "Never heard of it."
Carol turned to stare at Ben, stunned and somewhat appalled. "You've never heard this song before? Do you listen to The Beatles at all?"
"I- I know some tunes," Ben stammered. "I know 'Hey Jude'. And 'Imagine'...
"Oh dear God, you poor child," Carol remarked with genuine yet exaggerated pity. "'Imagine' isn't even a Beatles song."
"Wait, it isn't?"
"It's John Lennon. There's a difference." She removed her headphones. "Please do me a favor and listen to them sometime, you'll like them. They're, like, the band of bands."
Ben considered this, then grinned brightly. "Deal, but only if you listen to New Kids."
Carol stuck out a hand to shake his own. "I am so up for it."
The conversation momentarily on hold, the two teens stared down at the tranquil yet exhilarating waters below their precariously dangling feet. Ben asked, "You come here often?"
"I used to," she replied, "before things in Derry started to go to shit." She glanced out at the surrounding landscape. "I forgot how peaceful it could be. And fun, of course." She scanned the clearing thoughtfully. "I wonder when the others will be here."
As if on some silent summon, the chatter of four pubescent boys could be heard within the trees, and the figures of Bill, Richie, Eddie, and Stan withdrew from the forest. No sign of Beverly, though.
Speak of the Devil, Carol thought, amused, and the Devil comes right to you.
"Christmas Carol! Haystack! Fancy meeting you here!" Richie greeted rather loudly and jovial in a poor British accent that made Carol, who personally found true British accents quite attractive (she'd never tell anyone this), cringe internally. It did not stop the small smile playing across her lips, however.
"H-Hey guys," Bill interjected, much more quiet and formal than his curly-haired, four eyed companion. The entire quartet of boys had brought bicycles, just like Carol and Ben did, and with Richie was a rather large metallic "boombox".
Upon their arrival, they boys began to strip from the clothes that they were wearing, shirts and shorts and all, until they were left standing in just their boxers. Ben, seeing this but looking highly uncomfortable about the circumstances, decided to follow their lead and did the same. Carol just stood there dumbfounded.
I thought they were going to be in, like, swimming trunks, she thought incredulously. What the hell are they doing in their fucking underwear? Am I the only one wearing an actual bathing suit?
Feeling obligated to do the same, just as Ben had succumbed to peer pressure (it was so odd hearing that word in association with these dweebs), Carol removed her shorts and discarded her t-shirt over to where her bicycle Stardust was parked (so long, The Rolling Stones).
"Where's Beverly?" Ben questioned the new arrivals, a mixture of both hope and disappointment in his eyes as Carol stood before the others awkwardly in her her bathing suit.
Bill said, "I d-don't know. M-m-maybe she j-just isn't here yet."
I hope that's the case, Carol reflected. She hoped internally that nothing too bothersome or worrisome was holding the other girl of the group up. After all, the Barrens were the location of many Derry childrens' disappearances, including Donna's.
"Well, I think we should wait for her before we go swimming," she suggested. Ben nodded in agreement, which Bill and the others seemed to affirm and accept.
Eddie also suggested, "We can play loogie."
Richie whooped and pumped his fists. "I am the loogie champion, fellas!"
Carol gave him a disbelieving stare. "Seriously?" But the posse had already aligned themselves at the steep dropoff. Ben turned to her, shrugged, and walked off to join them, leaving her with no other choice but to follow suit. She stood amongst them, between Ben and Eddie, and followed their gazes to the bottom of the cliff.
It was then, staring over the edge at the quarry water down below, that she was suddenly struck with a realization that had never occurred to her before. Oh God, I forgot I can barely swim. What the bloody hell was she thinking, never informing these kids she had just now recently become acquainted with that she sank like a stone in deep water?
Keeping this to herself, however, she watched with mild interest as the other boys, even Ben, began to participate in the game, which Carol personally should've stayed in the third grade where it belonged. Nevertheless, she observed the antics of the boys with an amused glint in her eyes.
One by one, going down the line as if in some sort of drill, each boy took his turn in producing a wad of spit in their gums and rather ungraciously cast it over the edge of the cliff, where it fell like the world's most pathetic and whimpiest bomb into the water below. Eddie had particularly bad luck at this, his loogie barely making it past the grassy dropoff.
"Oh my God, that was terrible!" Richie crowed victoriously. "I win!"
Eddie exclaimed, "What?!" in protest.
"Yeah."
"Did you see my loogie?" Several of the others, including Stan and Carol, rolled their eyes in amusement and boredom.
"Mine went the furthest," Richie explained to the shorter boy. "We've been going for distance."
"Mass," Eddie corrected. "It's always been mass."
As Richie spluttered for a response, the other boy began to present a more thorough explanation. "Who cares how far it goes? It's all about how cool it looks-"
Carol, however, was not at all amused by the two boys' antics. Instead, she glanced over the edge to where their balls of spit had descended many, many feet below from where their feet were securely rooted to the grassy ground above. For now.
"So guys, have you ever done this before?" she questioned, not tearing her gaze away from the deep, foreboding blue water. "I've swam there before, but have never actually jumped from this particular height. I've heard that if you jump from high enough into water it's like landing on pavement. Also, how exactly deep is this water, 'cause I don't like to swim-"
"Cheer up, Sleepy Jean!" Richie joked. Then, when he caught the look on Carol's face that informed him she understood the musical reference, his already crooked smirk widened with delight and pleasure. To her dismay, Richie began to belt out the lyrics to "Daydream Believer" by The Monkees, horribly off key.
"Cheer up, Sleepy Jean! Oh, what can it mean-"
Carol let loose an exasperated sigh. "Is your natural default setting 'Asshole', Rich?" Bill was shooting the two amused glances. Stan looked like he wanted to throw himself off the face of the cliff and kill himself.
"-to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen?!"
"If you are going to sing timeless music," she interjected, "at least do so correctly." Then, she grinned, realizing how she could turn the tables on this smart aleck sonofabitch. "But I guess I must give you some credit. After all, I didn't know you listened to The Monkees, Richie."
For the first time since he arrived, Stan began to smile, pleased with this turn of events. "I didn't think your musical taste expanded beyond Guns N' Roses and Def Leppard."
Richie's initially cocky demeanor dissipated like mist under an afternoon sun, but he at least regained some of his composure and quick wit. "For your information Staniel, my mother listens to The Monkees, I don't. And if you wanna talk about which one of us has shitty taste in music-"
Interrupting before the subject could escalate into an all-out civil war, Carol said, "Okay, but are we ever actually going to jump?" While she was terrified of the prospect of it, she greatly developed an increasing desire to just get it all over with.
Maybe if one of them goes first, it won't look as bad.
"C-C-Carol's right," Bill interrupted. "Who's going f-first?"
In almost complete unison, the five boys and one girl took a tentative step forward and peered cautiously over the precarious edge of the cliff at the quarry's waters far below. No one said a word, and they all knew why. Neither of them wanted to be the first one to make the boldest move.
"I'll go," a musical voice called merrily behind them.
The six turned around just in time to see Beverly Marsh letting her bike crash to the ground, making quick work of unbuttoning the white sundress she was wearing. Her ethereal red hair, once a long and wavy mane now cut short to a choppy yet spunky cap of scarlet curls, glimmered in the rays of the afternoon sun. She whipped off her dress and tossed it carelessly over onto her discarded bicycle, and Carol noticed that, like the others, Beverly was adorned only in her undergarments.
Beverly rushed toward them, crimson curls bouncing, a wide grin of joy and pleasure spreading across her face, which was made luminous in the sunlight. She ran right through them, yelling "Sissies!" as she leaped off the quarry cliff and into the open air, falling, dropping, flying.
Seeing Bev flying off the edge into the watery abyss below, Carol's mind was reminded of the lyrics of another of her favorite Bananarama songs, "Venus". And suddenly she was transported into a music video, Bev the focus as she launched herself into nothingness.
Goddess on the mountaintop
Burning like a silver flame
Well damn, if that wasn't Beverly Marsh right now.
"What the fuck?" Richie yelled, echoing the thought that undoubtedly was running through their minds; they were all stunned and amazed by Beverly's lack of hesitation and daring. He turned to face them, eyes filled with awe and amazement behind his thick-lensed specs. "We just got shown up by a girl!"
Carol took a few steps back from the cliff's edge, taking in the sight off Beverly's ginger head as she descended down and hit the water many meters down below with a splash. She couldn't be the only girl who had a boy jump before her. How would that look, being a sissy? They would never see the end of it. And yet, maybe she was doing this because Beverly's fire fueled the inner one within herself.
Maybe all she needed was a little gasoline.
Carol took a deep, steadying breath, backing away from the other boys. She muttered, "I'm going to regret this."
"Carol?"
"Carol, what're you-"
The voices of the boys blurred into background static, like the gentle buzz of the snow screen on a television set. Because Carol Chamblers was running, sprinting right through the middle of them like a bullet. Before she knew it, the ground evaporated beneath her, and she was airborne, giving a small shriek as her adrenaline levels skyrocketed. As she plummeted, however, she began to laugh and whoop with excitement, because she felt like she was flying. Not falling, or even floating, but as if she were caught in an endless loop of time, forever suspended in the air as the faint summer breeze whipped her hair and grazed her skin. She had forgotten that she couldn't swim, or that she barely knew the kids she was with, or Donna's disappearance, or all the bizarre and horrific events that plagued her day and night. As she fell down into the quarry below, she was liberated of it all. Carol was free.
As she continued to look down, Carol finally comprehended the sight of the quarry waters rushing up to meet her. It was then that she was jerked out of her joyous daze, suddenly remembering her lack of swimming skills. Oh God, this is gonna suck, she whined internally, bracing herself.
Water engulfed her vision until all she could see was blue, then an icy jolt consumed her body and she was submerged in an endless world of murky darkness. She held her breath, trying to regain some control of her senses as she adjusted to this rapid change of surroundings, propelling herself upward toward the surface. But no matter how hard she swam, she never broke the liquid sheet that separated her from the dry world. How far down am I? Carol wondered as she began to panic, struggling harder to swim.
Just when she began to accept the fact that she may never reach the surface, her hands and head eventually broke through the water, sunlight blinding her eyes, which were then accustomed to the darkness, and leaving her gasping for air. Beverly was swimming toward her, and she was not far away.
"You good?" Beverly questioned as the other girl blinked the droplets of water out of her eyes.
"Yeah," Carol replied, craning her neck and glancing up to where the five boys still stood at the edge of the precipice. They all shared anxious and daring looks with each other, urging anyone besides themselves to make the first jump, yet still worried that they would look like sissies since the only two girls in their party were the first two to take the dive. If I can do it, then they shouldn't have a problem.
"Come on!" Beverly yelled up to the boys, laughing and splashing about in the quarry's waters. "Girls!" she teased. Carol couldn't help but laugh as well as she attempted to tread in the deeper section of the water.
The boys followed the lead of the girls and, one by one, jumped off the cliff into the water below where they were. With the sunshine of the early afternoon illuminating their faces and sparkling the surface of the quarry's waters with dazzling light, Carol was completely absorbed into the present moment, all past worries and fears that might have lingered suddenly dissipated.
The group of seven did indeed have a joyous time in the water. The boys and girls swam over to the shallower part of the quarry, Carol's swim strokes more akin to doggy paddling. Quite a bit of splashing and a rather intense game of Chicken Fight ensued, in which even Carol participated in. They even spotted a turtle drifting about in the murky depths beneath their treading feet. All of them had their share of ducking under the surface for a glimpse, and Carol recalled the faint, smudged brown outline of the turtle's shell as it moved about nonchalantly, unaware of the kids' antics or simply having not a care in its oblivious, simplistic world.
After all their aquatic games became dull and uninteresting, the seven teenagers swam ashore and onto the dry land, where the baking, summer Maine sun would dry them off. Richie retrieved the boombox that he had brought with him as the rest spread out among the rocks, Beverly putting on a pair of rather enlarged sunglasses in the blaze of the afternoon light. Richie turned on some music, and they were all startled as "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin blared from its speakers at full volume. He complied and lowered the sound, especially after some complaints from Bill, Stan, and Eddie, and played Def Leppard's "Photograph" at a much more reasonable level of sound. Carol herself spread out her towel on a rather large, smooth rock and sat down in the shade of the trees.
Carol found herself rather surprised that she was actually enjoying her time with the boys and Beverly. Usually when she was around unfamiliar peers, or basically anyone who wasn't a member of her social circle, she would find herself to be very uncomfortable and socially awkward. However, this didn't seem to be the case with the six she was with. She felt welcome among them, at peace, and she felt as if she had finally found where she belonged. Hell, she'd even call them her friends at this point, and it didn't even appear so strange to her, which it would have a day or two before.
Richie's rock n' roll music concluded and Young MC's "Bust A Move" started to play instead. Carol sighed, exasperated. At least she liked Def Leppard and Led Zeppelin.
However, as the music played, she followed the gazes of the boys to where Beverly lay on her towel a few feet away, skin showing and sunglass-clad face turned upward to the sun. It wasn't just Bill and Ben that were gawking, it was all of them. The whole exchange again reminded her of the lyrics to "Venus".
Her weapons were her crystal eyes
Making every man a man
Carol rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance. What's it gotta take for a girl to get noticed 'round here? Ginger hair? A pack of cigarettes handy?
But she wasn't jealous of Beverly. The other girl couldn't help looking like the second coming of Marilyn Monroe or Judy Garland. In fact, Carol was quite content with her average looks and body. It meant less unwanted attention and, despite her new blossoming friendships, Her Rule still for the most part remained in effect.
Beverly shifted her head toward the others just the slightest, but it was enough to send the other boys' eyes in several different directions out of embarrassment and nervous energy. Richie, desperately in search of something to do or say, snatched Ben's backpack and rooted through it.
"News flash, Ben!" Richie called in another decidedly horrible accent, this one of a disc jockey or radio announcer. "School's out for the summa!" He had just discovered the newer member's plethora of books and binders. He plucked up a postcard and gazed at it with mild interest, but Ben snatched it back before the other boy could catch a good glimpse of it. Not even the least deterred, Richie pulled out a stuffed folder. "What's with the history project?"
At this point, Beverly had sat up from her towel, and the others had turned to Ben's collection, their interest piqued.
"Oh," Ben started, aware that all eyes were on him. He began to explain as the papers were passed around the group. "Well, when I first moved here, I didn't really have anyone to hang out with, so I just started spending time in the library."
Richie looked from the folder to Ben, an incredulous yet humorous look spreading across his face. "You went to the library?" He seemed about to burst out in laughter. "On purpose?"
"Beep beep, Richie," Stan scolded in a monotone voice, as if the saying was worn out with time and usage.
Carol turned to the boy with confusion. "Why do you tell him to 'beep beep'?"
Bill took the liberty of explaining. "I-I-It's to tell him t-to slow down before he goes t-too far."
She nodded in understanding. "So like Road Runner."
Meanwhile, Beverly had gotten up completely and was walking to them. "Oh, I wanna see." She sat down next to Bill, who was currently possessing Ben's research.
Stan glanced over at the current page. "What's the Black Spot?"
"The Black Spot was a nightclub that was burned down years ago by that racist cult," Richie informed. Indeed, Carol had too heard the tale from both her grandmother and her parents, of all the people that burned inside. She always cautioned herself not to ruminate on it for too long, as it was just another one of Derry's many horror stories.
"What?" Stan exclaimed in disbelief.
Richie replied, "Don't you watch Geraldo?"
Bill, however, had turned his attention to Bev, his eyes searching for the right words to say, "You-you're hair," he started.
Bev waited patiently for him to continue, although now she appeared rather anxious and self conscious, reaching up to touch her now shortened ginger locks tenderly.
Carol watched the increasingly awkward scene unfold, urging Bill to come up with a smooth response quickly. Goddammit, Bill Denbrough. You better say something now.
It was Ben that swooped in and saved the day, much to her relief. "You're hair's beautiful, Beverly," he reassured the redhead with a sweet smile, which was obviously what Bill had wanted to say. Carol felt bad for the three: Ben for his hopeless crush, Bill for his stutter getting in the way, and Bev for having to endure a part of a love triangle she didn't even know existed.
"Oh," she replied, running a hand through her curly red mane. She looked slightly relieved, albeit a little disappointed. "Right. Thanks."
Richie, the comic relief that he was, asked Bill for the papers, which the other boy obliged. Carol, who was sitting near Richie, took a closer look with him. They were a bunch of Xeroxed newspaper headlines from the Derry paper, all with the same grim and cryptic headlines. "Why's it all missing kids?" he questioned Ben, attempting and unable to find any humor in the collection.
"Derry's not like any town I've ever been in before," Ben stated, as Stan and Eddie also crowded around Carol and Richie for a closer glance. "They did a study once. It turns out, people die or disappear six times the national average."
Carol glanced up and stared at the boy with morbid interest. "Seriously? I've lived here for five years, and I've never known that."
Bev asked, "You read that?" Her voice was low and soft, and Carol could assume that even she didn't know that particular piece of information.
He nodded solemnly. "And that's just grownups. The kids are worse." He looked around at the others, his face that of a storyteller spinning ghost stories around a campfire and not finding an ounce of humor in it. "Way, way worse."
The rest shared a single knowing look, and Carol didn't need any damn telepathy to know what the group was collectively thinking. The missing kids. George. Donna.
"I've got more stuff at my house," Ben continued. He met each one of the group's eyes with a suddenly bright and eager smile. "You wanna see?"
Some, such as Eddie, looked less than eager to read more headlines about all the dead and missing peoples of Derry. Others, such as Carol, felt a rush of excitement. She herself found the topic particularly fascinating, and was desperate to uncover whatever secrets their small town was harboring. While others might have found the subject unsettling, which indeed it was, she wasn't all that bothered by the topic. One of her many nonfiction books, besides rock n' roll texts and biographies, was centered around serial killers, conspiracy theories, and unexplainable deaths. And besides, maybe there were clues within the research on the disappearances of Donna and the other children.
Carol snatched the papers out of Richie's hands and glanced at the Xeroxed, black and white photos for a final time before handing them back to Ben. "I'm in."
…
Eventually, all of the teenagers were on board for observing the rest of Ben's research, Bill, Bev, and Carol the most eager of the seven. The group hopped onto their bicycles once they were clear of the wilderness of the Barrens and pedaled down the road to the Hanscom residence, their soon-to-be host leading the way.
Carol had to make sure to bike on the slower side, as Stardust was one of the fastest and she could easily pull ahead in front of Ben. Instead, she kept beside Bill and Bev for the majority of the way, Bill's bike also being rather speedy as well.
"I-I'm sorry about Donna," Bill brought up to her on the journey there, glancing to the right while pushing hard on the pedals.
She looked over to face him, somewhat surprised. "I didn't know you remembered Donna."
"W-W-We had every c-class together," he explained to her. "I-It must be hard on her twin."
"Deborah's not the same anymore. Neither's Tabitha, my other friend. None of us are, really."
Bill nodded, solemn. "My p-parents aren't the same, either. Not since G-G-Georgie went missing. It's like they're b-broken."
That's exactly the word: broken. "Yeah, I'm sorry about your brother. How old was he?"
He swallowed before answering. "Six."
Noting the cloudiness of Bill's eyes and deciding to change the subject, Carol pointed out his bike. "Is your bike called Silver? Is that why you wrote it on the side?"
"Y-Yeah," he told her, brightening up a little now that the conversation had steered into a more pleasant direction. "I-I got it when I was a kid. I named it after t-the Lone R-Ranger's horse."
"Oh, really?" she asked, interested. That would explain the origin, as his bicycle was more of a metallic gray rather than silver. "Do you like westerns a lot?"
"I l-loved them as a kid," he said, a smile spreading across his face.
"I named my bike Stardust," she pointed out. "I named it after the song 'Ziggy Stardust', of course. It was one of my favorite tunes at that age."
He asked, "Are you a big David Bowie fan?"
"You bet," she answered with a grin. "I wrote an essay on him for English once. I just love music. Bring up Bowie, The Beatles, or any other band, and I won't shut up."
Bill chuckled. "I s-s-should've guessed by your R-Rolling Stones t-shirt. The Rolling S-Stones are good. The Beatles are, too. My m-mom, she used to play their R-Rubber Soul album a lot."
"Rubber Soul is a great album! I really like Revolver, too. And Magical Mystery Tour." She laughed. "You know what? They're all good." Then she smiled. "How did we get from talking about our bikes' names to this?"
He laughed as well. "I-I think it started with D-David Bowie."
"Right," she said. "You know what? We should race sometime; see who's bike's the fastest."
Bill grinned. "You're on."
It was not long after their conversation ended that Ben made a turn and pulled up to modest looking home. Carol was surprised by how close the other boy lived near her; maybe only a street or two away.
The group set down their bikes and followed Ben up to the front door, Eddie and Richie lagging behind after the handlebars of Eddie's bike snagged on his fanny pack and sent him crashing to the ground with it, Richie staring him down with laughter behind his enlarged glasses. But it was not this sight that caught the brunette girl's attention; it was a woman who had just walked away from a nearby telephone pole, which bore a new sheet of paper.
It could only mean one thing: a missing poster.
Somebody was missing.
Curious, yet plagued with anxious anticipation, Carol broke off from the rest of the group and over to the pole, where the new black and white photo of a child was staring back with lifeless, frozen eyes. But, upon closer inspection, she realized, startled, that the new vanished person was not even a child at all.
Instead, she stared back into the chilling and unsmiling face of Patrick Hockstetter, his default unnerving expression forever frozen in time by the monotone snap of a camera lense. She only did a quick scan of the following information, but it was similar enough to Donna's and the others that she rarely bothered.
How long had he been missing? Forty-eight hours? Twenty-four? She felt that she shouldn't care all that much. After all, this was Patrick Hockstetter, cronie of Henry Bowers, the boy who kept dead flies in his pencil box and was rumored to torture animals. Hell, this kid even claimed himself that he'd set stray dogs and cats on fire. Yet Carol couldn't help but feel a sense of unrelenting dread gazing at his poster, as if he had met some horrifying fate off in the darkness of Derry to be never seen again.
Good riddance, she told herself.
"Hurry up, Sleepy Jean!" Richie called to her, Eddie having finally collected himself and was furiously dusting the dirt off his legs. "Ben's Xerox murder collection's a-waitin'!"
"Coming, Rich! Jeez!" she answered, all in good humor. But even as she walked away, the black and white face of the teenage boy kept creeping back into her mind, like a cockroach that kept crawling back up the toilet, no matter how many times you flushed it down the drain.
Why do I feel so worried about it? she asked herself. And why does it make me think of bugs?
She followed the others to the front door, which Ben had unlocked via the use of his house key. Upon entering, Carol noted that the space was not particularly outstanding. It kind of reminded her of the house she lived in with her grandmother: just enough stuff for a couple of people to get by.
"I live here with my mom," Ben explained to the others. "We don't have much stuff 'cause we used to move around a lot. She won't be home for another hour or two."
The boy led them down the hall and turned to a wooden door, presumably his bedroom. The other teenagers were quiet, save for Richie, who was already deeply engrossed in a conversation mostly with himself. Ben opened the door for them, and as they followed their host inside, Carol took in the sight before her.
Ben's bedroom was almost like any other ordinary thirteen year old's room. He had a bookshelf stacked with novels and encyclopedias, a desk with papers strewn about, and she even noticed a cardboard box at the foot of his bed full of cassette tapes. But there was one major detail that differentiated Ben's room from their own: the walls. Like the newspaper headlines in his folder, Ben's bedroom walls were plastered head to toe with Xeroxed black and white photos and newspaper clippings, all of them on mysterious deaths and disappearances within Derry. It even went beyond that, ranging to papers torn out of informational texts and notes that were most indefinitely scribbled by Ben himself while doing his research in the library.
The other six stared around the walls of his bedroom, awestruck and fascinated. Carol herself was shocked by the amount of time and effort Ben had divulged into his research. How does he sleep with all those creepy ass headlines by his bed?
Richie had abruptly abandoned his current conversation with Eddie to take in the environment around him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he breathed in a whisper, with what Ben presumed to be amazement or awe.
"Cool, huh?" he suggested, appearing thoroughly proud of himself to impress his new comrades.
Richie, however, shook his head without tearing his gaze away from the plastered walls. "No, no, nothing cool." He then took the liberty to investigate the remainder of Ben's room, which the other boy did not oppose. "Oh, this is cool right here! Wait, no, no, it's not cool."
Carol rolled her eyes and turned away, more interested in Ben's findings rather than amused by the boy's snarkiness. As much as she had grown to admire Richie, she knew it was his way of grabbing attention.
Stan, who had been scanning the papers pinned to the wall with mounting intrigue, pointed to one sheet in particular on the far end of the room. "What's that?"
Ben followed his gaze and walked over to receive a better view. "Oh, that? That's the charter for Derry Township." The others had also crowded around the two, to also receive a glance and to hear Ben's explanation.
"Nerd alert!" Richie proclaimed, adjusting his glasses jauntily. Carol sent an amused glance his way that said, That's mighty ironic, coming from you.
"You say so yourself," she told him, and the two grinned, having her send a jibe to the jokester.
"No, it's actually really interesting," Ben defended, steadfast and proud of his information. "Derry started as a beaver trapping camp."
Richie could not help himself and pass an opportunity by declaring, "Still is! Am I right, boys?" He held up his hand for a high-five, but Stan simply shook his head, unamused. Eddie and Carol had similar reactions. Bill remained engrossed in the conversation, while Beverly's eyes began to wander elsewhere.
"Ninety-one people signed the charter that made Derry," Ben continued, "but later that winter, they all disappeared without a trace."
"The whole camp?" Eddie questioned, a combination of curiosity and nervousness in his voice.
"There were rumors of Indians, but no sign of an attack," he answered, his eyes solemnly set on the charter. "Everybody just thought it was a plague or something, but it's just like one day, everybody just woke up and left. The only clue was a trail of bloody clothes leading to the Well House."
The ominous creaking of the closing bedroom door drew all of their attention back to the front of the room, where Beverly stood with a good-natured smirk playing on her lips. Posted on the back of Ben's door was a poster that stretched top to bottom, featuring New Kids On The Block.
Ben groaned, embarrassed that Bev had discovered the truth about his obsession with the band. Carol, however, patted him on the back, humored.
"Don't worry, Ben," she reassured, a grin spreading across her face. "You're not the only one with tons of band posters. Wait till you see my room."
Bill, still engrossed in the story of the original disappearances in Derry, asked a further question. "W-Where was the Well House?"
Ben turned around and shrugged, genuinely not knowing the exact answer. "I don't know. Somewhere in town, I guess. Why?"
Bill returned his gaze back to the photos and articles displayed across the wall, almost as if entranced. "Nothing," he replied with a slight shake of his head.
But Carol knew it was more than that.
…
The group of seven stayed at the Hanscom residence for a while longer after observing Ben's collection, and they hung out in his bedroom, further strengthening their existing bonds.
Ben informed them that he was interested in pursuing a architectural career path, and introduced them to some plans and projects that he had been designing. They were all impressed, Beverly's support meaning the most, especially when he revealed his designs for a clubhouse. The remainder of the time, they hung out on the floor and encouraged Ben to play his New Kids On The Block records until his mother, Arlene, returned home from work.
Since then, the new friends departed and went their separate ways. Carol hopped onto Stardust and pedaled onward toward home, which she believed wouldn't be that far.
She did stop briefly on her journey, only when she realized that Donna and Deborah Reese's house was on Ben's street. She pulled up and parked in front of their open driveway and took the image in. The pretty house that hosted two of her close friends, with faded blue siding, an assortment of bushes out front, and a front yard with grass just slightly growing out of control. She recalled with a bittersweet pang all of her earlier memories of the joys and fun times she shared with her friends at this very house, and knew she would most likely never spend time over there again.
Not desiring to linger on such nostalgic musings for terribly long, Carol carried on as the afternoon sun began to sink ever so gradually into the later hours of the June evening. A low wind gently whipped around her brown hair and fondled her slightly oversized The Rolling Stones t-shirt gently, all the while she hummed The Beatles song "Across The Universe".
"Nothing's gonna change my world," she gently sang to herself, merely a soft breath escaping her lips. "Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my world…"
The melodic words slowly faded away as an unusual sight greeted her unassuming eyes. Around a nearby street corner, some kid was running, sprinting as if for his own life. Carol put a pause on her bike ride and stared, trying to better catch a glimpse of the boy and his probable pursuer. A jolt of shock shot up her body as she realized who exactly the kid was.
"Eddie?"
AN: Bet you weren't expecting that ending, huh?
I deeply apologize for not uploading this in, like, over a month. I'm still in high school, and it's all been extremely busy lately. The state I live in is one of the ones starting to get affected by the coronavirus, so all school's in my state have been issued an extended spring break (I live in the United States, in case you didn't already know). The good news about this though is that it gives me more time to write and spend time on this site, which should make up for my temporary absence. Since the coronavirus is pretty much global now, I hope you all stay safe and healthy. My advice is to take it seriously, but don't let it put a damper on your day. Spread love, not germs.
In terms of the story, this chapter is the longest I've ever written! It also contains a ton of musical references, but that's partly because of me listening to my playlist whilst I write. We got to see Carol interact with the Losers, as well as some Ben/Carol and Bill/Carol friendship. Hopefully, we will get to see some similar scenes with Eddie and Carol in the next chapter.
Also, I decided that in each Author's Note at the end of each chapter, I will include a quick fact about my OC Carol. Today's: Carol's name was almost Dorothy Judith instead of Carol Denise, as her mother Lucille's favorite movie as a child was The Wizard of Oz.
Hermione Romanoff: As always, glad to see you enjoyed the last chapter! Yes, the scene at the end in the bathtub was partly a reference to the novel, and partly to the 1990 miniseries shower scene as well. I included a few more novel references in this chapter, too. (I am also enjoying "A New Family" and your new story, "Rivers Of Blood"!)
BarbyChan4ever: Thank you for all the kind words! I'm glad to see you enjoy my story so far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter, too. The Breakfast Club is also one of my favorite movies as well. A classic!
~ Robin M.