Chapter 10: Trembling

We walk back to the Well House together. You, easy in your human form. Me, looking furtively around us all the way there.

"Stop that. You are drawing more attention to yourself."

"I can't help it. What if we're seen? What if someone sees me going into a supposedly abandoned house with you?"

"They will assume it is for the purposes of criminal mischief and disregard it. But you will not be seen. No one notices anything in this town unless I wish them to notice."

I trip a little over a crack in the sidewalk, and I clutch your arm. You come to a stop, looking down at me from behind your dark glasses. Somewhat sheepishly, I let go.

"We all noticed you."

"As I said; no one notices anything unless I wish them to. Believe me, your sightings were completely intentional."

I fall silent, thinking about that. About all of it, from the disappearance of Georgie to Ben's realization that children vanished far too often here to the entire summer of danger and courage and fear and brief illusory triumph.

"A creature that hunts and has to eat and can be noticed or unnoticed at will. Is it magic?"

This time, you openly snort in derision.

"Magic does not exist. Don't be stupid. I simply have abilities that you do not."

"It looked like magic."

"I can control atomic particles to an extent. They are energy. I am energy. You saw my Core when I made you float."

The orange orbs of light deep within your toothy maw, throbbing and glowing. I feel a shiver course up my spine, and I reach for your hand. You make a move as though to pull away, but I tighten my grip. And with a sigh, you accept the little intimacy.

"The….the lights."

"Deadlights. You do not want to get any closer than you already have. It would spell your demise. Now enough questions. You are worse than a five year old."

"You'd probably be more pleased if I were a five year old. At least then you would know what to do with me."

A smile tugs at your lips, and you nod.

"It would certainly simplify things."

We arrive at the house, and true to your word no one saw us. Not even an old woman on her porch, watering her hanging plants before going in to bed. I follow you up the creaking porch steps and into the front hall, expecting to see the same dusty, dingy interior that I'd left that morning. You had only altered the bedroom and bathroom upstairs, nothing else. But the moment I step inside, I can see that you've been anything but idle all day.

The living room is clean, a fire going in the hearth. A beautiful antique sofa graces the middle of the room. Small tables, a chair, book shelves. Even potted plants. You've left out no detail, and I stand in shock and delight in the entryway and turn in a slow circle to look around us. The wallpaper is clean, the floors are intact and look to be freshly mopped, there are candles and oil lamps burning here and there. None of the light was visible from outside. I wonder how deep the illusion goes. A hand on the back of the sofa reveals solidity, the soft warmth of crushed velvet. There's even a piano in here, and when I lift the cover and touch one cream colored ivory key there is a plink of sound. You stand silently in the hallway, watching my reaction.

I move past you with growing excitement. Yes! You've even modified the kitchen! A sink, clean counters, flowers in a vase, the low hum of the refrigerator running, and a little table and two chairs with…

"You made me dinner? You weren't just being sarcastic! You actually cooked?"

"I manifested. That is different. I would not go to the trouble of 'cooking' for some aggravating little human. It simply doesn't suit my needs to starve you or keep you in squalor. This is not a kindness. It is utilitarian."

"Oh bullshit. The monster of Derry actually cooked me rice!"

You bristle at that, and remove your sunglasses. Your shape melting, shifting up into the Clown. That sinister kill form, preferred guise and the one in which you feel most comfortable. I would throw my arms around you and cover your white face with kisses if I wasn't absolutely certain you'd bite me. Yellow eyes stare down at me with annoyance.

"It's not rice. It's risotto, you uneducated fool."

And that's it. Your only response. I take a seat at the table to happily help myself to the meal, which is still warm despite your dire warning. You take up a position in the corner, crouched like a cat with your black claws clicking on the linoleum. Wild orange hair seeming to glow in the lamplight. I find the unblinking gaze as I eat somewhat unsettling, a feeling that I'm getting used to and even coming to enjoy. This might be the strangest dinner of my life. I take a sip from a glass of icewater, then scoop a second helping of risotto onto my plate. I've never had it before, and it's delicious.

"Did your father sexually assault you?"

I choke, my eyes bulging, and it takes me whole minutes to stop coughing.

"What?"

"It is a very simple yes or no question."

"You can't just….just ASK someone something like that!"

"I can and will do whatever I wish. You invaded my home and distracted me from my solitude with your little suicide attempt, and now you are a troublesome presence in what has, for thousands of years, been a pleasantly solitary life. You cajoled me into bed. You slept on me, you both drool and snore, by the way, and you kissed me in the bathroom. You even compelled me to climb into a bathtub with you. And you ask hundreds of questions without respite. So it is clear that you want to talk. Is this not talking? Are we not getting to know one another?"

I hug myself protectively, feeling tears sting in my eyes yet again. Not now, dammit! When I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out. But I suddenly don't feel hungry at all. I feel sick to my stomach and I'm shaking.

"Let's just say that you weren't the first nightmare I had to face."

We look at each other evenly for a few beats. I set down my spoon.

"I think….I think I'd like to go to bed."

"Come."

You rise to your feet and slip out of the kitchen soundlessly, a white shadow in the dark. And I follow with an iceberg in my stomach, my feet feeling heavy. At the top of the stairs we face the long hallway at the end of which is the master bedroom. The rooms on either side have been altered too, made into comfortable alcoves with a variety of archaic tools and devices in them. I glimpse a telescope, a model of the solar system, a mosaic tiled mirror, an easel with a blank canvas on it. The lengths you've gone to are almost ridiculously thorough. But I'm too numb and uncomfortable to really notice, let alone appreciate, what you've done to amuse the annoying little human who's troubled your existence.

In the bedroom, I take off my shoes and set them by the door. I'm starting to calm down from the slap in the face of a history I'd just as soon forget. Being here, in this room with you, has the strangest soothing properties. It shouldn't. You're not designed to be soothing, as you would be the first to tell me. But you comfort me anyway. I'm almost done with even questioning it. I pull back the covers on the bed.

"Do you not wish to bathe first? You smell like your old home."

"I mean, I guess I could. If my stench offends you."

"Everything you do and are offends me. I should kill you. But I believe I will watch you clean yourself and then watch you sleep instead."

Might as well try. I'm starting to truly appreciate my precarious position on the leading side of your very small sense of mercy. I strip off the blue dress and drape it over a chair, watching you watching me. Not even a flicker of interest. So I remove my bra.

Nothing.

I slide down the panties and step out of them, then turn to face you with my hands on my hips.

"This doesn't even slightly interest you, does it. Me being naked."

"Naked humans are easier to eat."

I grin, kind of amused by that. And it occurs to me that I didn't even thank you for dinner. I move closer to you and very hesitantly reach up to put my hands on your broad shoulders. The satin is soft beneath my fingers. The bones and flesh beneath that are hard.

"Thank you, Nightmare, for making me…whatever that was."

"Risotto."

"It was really good. I've never had anything that fancy before."

You purse your red, red lips and regard me. Then, without warning, your large hand closes over my left breast. I stand still under the exploration, holding my breath. Is this it? Is this the moment that I've been praying for, secretly and shamefully, and wishing for and hoping for and looking forward to if it was even a physical possibility? Is it? Something must have shown in my eyes, because your whole expression softens. You release me, only to cup my hips and squeeze them a little without extending your claws. Still, I say and do nothing. Letting this strange moment play itself out. Finally bored with the pawing, you step back and drop into your familiar crouch. Staring at me with large orange eyes.

"I fail to see what is enticing about the female body. Or the male, for that matter. There is a pleasant warmth and softness to you, but that is all. Seeing you naked only makes me hungry."

"You don't only eat flesh, do you? It's emotions too."

"Fear, anguish, rage, sorrow. The strong emotions are to human meat what seasoning is to all the things you consume. It increases the pleasure of the meal."

"Well….just think about the emotions that come along with two people who are desperately in love just being naked together."

"Nothing of value. Unless they find one another hideous to the point of horrified revulsion."

"Oh my God." I sigh, feeling defeated. I don't even know what I was expecting. "Come one, it's time for a bath. You sure you don't want to join me? Do you even have a body under that costume? Or is it all just satin and pompoms the whole way in to where the light is?"

You prowl after me, moody and large and silent until we reach the bathroom and I spin the taps on the tub.

"Of course I have a body beneath my regalia. What a ridiculous question."

"Will you….."

"No."

"See, I knew you were going to say that. What if I shut my eyes?"

No answer. So I just sigh, and when the bath tub is full I climb into the deliciously warm water and stretch out, leaning back against the porcelain lip and closing my eyes. At least you're here, in this room with me. I can feel your presence like a looming thunderhead.

As before, there is a guttering of the oil lamp's flame. And as before, it flickers out. I know better than to imagine it's anything but your will that extinguishes the light. I open my eyes to the comparative darkness and hold my breath, waiting for whatever will happen to happen. There's a rustling of silk and the soft chime of bells. But this time, the rustling goes on for a few moments. Shifting, movement in the dark. Then the unmistakable sound of your clothes dropping to the floor. I can almost tell which pieces. The barely perceptible sound of the collar. The heavier jingle and hushed thump of your high waisted tunic. The soft discarding of the bloomers, the pants. The removal of shoes.

Now I really can't breathe. I couldn't if I wanted to. I draw my legs up to my chest and sit straighter, hugging my knees, biting my lip. Wondering why I don't want to scream or run or be anywhere but here. The water level rises when you climb in with me and settle on the other side. I can feel it lapping against me. But I can't feel you. So I reach out with one hand until my fingertips come in contact with warm skin.

There's a growl in response, but I am coming to understand the timbre of your growls and snarls and hisses, and I know this one is not so much threatening as it is vaguely agitated. Your knee. I think I'm touching your knee. The water sloshes a bit when I move forward to touch your other knee, then blindly search for your hands. I find them, both of them, the claws extended and your grip strong on my wrists as you stop me from further exploration.

"I told you I had a body. And now I am bathing with you. I hope this satisfies your morbid curiosity. You will keep your hands to yourself, Beverly. Is that understood?"

"Yes. I can respect that. I'm just happy you're here."

"What is wrong with you."

"I wish I knew. But here we are in the tub together. Want me to wash your hair?"

"Oh why not? How many fingers do you really need, anyway?" Your voice is dark, sarcastic, and definitely carries an air of threat to it. I pull my hands back when you release my wrists, and I retreat to my end of the bathtub.

"Ok. Ok, I won't try to wash your hair either."

"I do not require soap and water to become clean. Sometimes it suits me to appear pristine. At other times, the viscera of my feeding is appropriately shocking adornment. But matter is mutable; I can be clean or dirty as an act of will."

"Well I can't. So I should, you know, get to it." I duck under the water and get my hair wet, and when I sit up again I reach for the bottle of shampoo. Pouring some into my palm I lather up and scrub my scalp, getting rid of the smell of my old home. I guess I don't want to evoke those memories anymore either. It's dim, but I can barely make out the giant white shape of you across from me now that my eyes are adjusting to the lack of light. There are oil lamps still lit in the bedroom behind me through the open door. And your pale flesh seems almost to glow in the dark. I chew on my lower lip, looking at you. Gradually watching your broad shoulders and massive chest become a little clearer, just a little. There seems to be little point in speaking. This tenuous truce that's somehow arisen between us could snap at any moment. I could bleed. You might decide to be done with the annoyance of my presence and revert to the killer clown again, and there would be nothing I could do about it. I'm here now, not just on your home turf but unarmed and naked in a bath tub with you. This is about as vulnerable as I could get. Without even meaning to, my eyes slide to the towel rack on the wall.

"Still planning for the worst?" You're relaxed, confident. Almost casual. Unlike me, you are never unarmed. Not as long as you have your teeth and claws and wits and hunger. I wipe some of the water off my face.

"I guess part of me is. Doesn't make sense, does it."

"You really should decide whether you want to kill me or kiss me, Beverly." You tell me softly, dipping your fingertips in the water. When you withdraw your hand, your claws are sheathed. I think they are, anyway. But you aren't done speaking. And what you say next nearly stops my heart.

"And I suppose I should decide whether I want to slaughter you or seduce you. A difficult conundrum isn't it. Two enemies who seem to have no more desire to fight."

Silence. A very tense silence. The weight of five years of confused longing and tormented dreams seems to settle into every crack in this stillness. Involuntarily, I slowly draw my knees up to my chest again and wrap my arms around them. The silence drags on. What am I feeling? Why am I here? Why did I seek you out, if not for this talk….this exact talk that you've just unexpectedly opened the door to? I draw breath to speak, but nothing clever comes out.

"I guess it is difficult."

"Yes."

You know so much more than I do about even this, something I bet you've never done before. All I can do is keep winging it, like I have been since I stumbled back to this shitty town like a salmon returning to its birthing ground to mate and die.

"Nightmare?"

"Dream."

"He didn't….you know. Rape me. Not all the way. There's plenty of awful things that happened, touching and shit like that. He was awful and he was escalating. But I'm still a virgin. I killed him before he could take that. Because I wasn't his girl. I wasn't anyone's girl." And just like that, the dam bursts. "It made me SICK. The way he stank, the sweaty hands and his disgusting breath and the fact that I couldn't stop him. You're, like, the master of horror right? Wrong! No matter WHAT you did to me, it could never be half as bad as what I went through with my own father! His feet on the creaky floor board outside my bedroom. Any night at all could have been the night he decided I was ripe for the picking! Living under that kind of threat every…day…of…my…life! From the age of SEVEN on! And no mother to protect me. HE was supposed to protect me. That was his JOB. You want to know why I wasn't afraid of you in the sewer? You had me by the throat, you GLARED at me when I said I wasn't afraid of you. You could smell it. I was telling the truth. And you told me I would be. But the truth is, I was GRATEFUL. You came for me in my moment of triumph, you took me out of that bathroom on the day when I'd finally taken down the biggest monster of my LIFE. Next to daddy? You were a strange and otherworldly fever dream that didn't scare me. No. I had adrenaline rushing through every part of my whole body and all I could think of was 'I can take this guy.' You were miraculous and brilliant and I was READY. I was ready to fight and ready to die if that's what was going to happen. But I was ready. I'd finished my business, I'd defeated the looming shadow, I was going to die someday anyway but nothing else could scare me. And I saw you, I truly SAW you down to the marrow of your bones and the Light inside the marrow when you made me Float. But I wasn't scared of you. Far from it. It was like staring into the sunrise after a long and horrible battle. The light burned away all the blood and the noise and the pain, and you held a champion in your claws. I wish I could have bottled that moment! And now I'm here, dammit! I came back. I'm here. I came back to find the big, gorgeous, terrifying, perfect dragon who was with me in my moment of triumph and who couldn't scare me. I've come back to face you. Do I want to kill you or kiss you? I want to kiss you. Should you slaughter or seduce me? Seduce me. I'll give you what that bastard never got to take from me. You're the only one worthy."

You're quiet during the rush of words. I don't cry this time, oddly enough. Someplace deep inside me a fire has been ignited. That same fire that has always burned in me, the fire that makes me who I am. I shift my position, moving closer to where you lurk across the trembling expanse of water between us, and I rise up onto my knees and reach for your face. Touching you even if you think I have too many fingers and you're about to remedy that.

"I want to kiss you." I repeat. My voice doesn't shake. "I know you could kill me. I know you probably will, eventually. I know how big you are, how strong you are, how you're not built for gentleness or mercy. I know that no one has ever loved you before and you haven't loved anyone either. I know you're a monster, Pennywise. Nightmare. Deimos. Rip me apart if that's what you want. But before you do it, give me everything I'm asking for. Let my death be something different. Kill me with your passion instead of your hunger. See what it feels like. I'm not scared."

I can feel you breathing, feel the tenseness of your body, and for another handful of seconds you do not move.

Then, slowly, your hand wraps completely around my upper arm. Jesus Christ you're huge. But you're not attacking. The lion taking his ease while the rabbit scrambles all over him. I blink in the sudden flare of light from the oil lamp, my eyes dazzled. When I open them again, your yellow-orange gaze transfixes me. My wet fingertip traces one of your markings, from just above the graceful indentation of your eyebrow down to the corner of your mouth, glistening. And those lips remain closed, no fangs showing. No teeth to sink into my flesh and begin the destruction of a fearless and obsessed penitent kneeling here with you in the middle of this illusion of warmth and comfort.

"Your human Baudelaire once said 'The Devil pulls the strings which make us dance. We find delight in the most loathsome things. Some furtherance of Hell each new day brings. And yet we feel no horror in that rank advance.' You have certainly chosen a loathsome thing in which to take pleasure, Beverly Marsh."

"I think you're a beautiful predator."

Your broad forehead creases slightly with confusion.

"That is not my purpose. To be a predator, yes. To be beautiful, no."

"You just quoted poetry to your food."

There's a deep sigh, and your grip on my arm relaxes. With hesitancy, your other hand moves up to touch my cheek. I thrill to the touch, lean into it in fact, and keep my eyes on yours without saying anything. It's so weird, but I genuinely don't feel any fear or revulsion. How could I have ever thought you were hideous? A giant Harlequin, a doll divested of his accoutrements here in the water with me. And you are so artfully perfect.

Slowly, slowly and almost gently, your hand moves from my arm to my back and you draw me against you. I lower my eyes then to see the miracle of my pale hand against your even paler, ghostly chest.

"You look like you've been carved out of marble."

"I did not intend to be appealing."

"Then you're accidental art I guess."

You could utterly destroy the moment by mocking it, rolling your eyes and responding with some sarcastic and cutting comment that would hurt me. It would be so easy for you. You, who mocked a grieving brother by jeering at him that you were real enough for the dead. But you don't. Instead, those large eyes move from my face to my hair, and you delicately trail your fingers over it.

"Winter fire."

"You read Bill's poem?"

"It was not Bill who wrote it. The little fat boy, Ben. He was your secret admirer those many years ago. Not the stuttering hero you wished for." Your eyes return to my face, your hand at the back of my neck. "It would seem that you did not choose the pompous little king or his henchman, in the end. You've chosen the jester."

"Will he choose me back?"

"I have killed your kind with great relish since before your distant ancestors were even born. Your attraction is the very definition of insanity."

"You're not exactly the poster clown for sanity either."

"An accurate statement which I do not refute."

There's a brief flash at the window, and a few seconds later a distant rumble of thunder. I run my own hand through hair now, wild and soft.

"Also winter fire. Your hair's the same color as mine. Was that on purpose?"

"Not consciously. But I do not regret the resemblance. Your hair is quite lovely."

It's the first compliment you have ever paid me. A great surge of hope fills my chest. We're pressed against one another, skin to skin, lightly and hesitantly touching one another, and you've just unbelievably said something kind. Shamelessly, I fish for more.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

"I find you to be a physically healthy and youthful specimen of the species, yes."

"That's a weird compliment."

"Every single thing about this is weird, Beverly. You are weird."

I smile, stroking your cheek.

"You taste like candy, you know."

"I knew you liked candy. A parlor trick, for my kind to change their scent or taste or appearance."

"So you changed something about yourself not to scare or disgust me, but to please me?"

"I….suppose that I did."

Miracle of all miracles, you actually look slightly taken aback at the revelation.

"Will you kiss me now?"

Your eyes narrow, but I don't look away. You seem to be considering whether to shoot me down again or…

"Not here."

Without so much as bracing yourself on the side of the tub, you are rising to your feet in the bath with me in your arms. I gasp, clinging to you to keep from falling, my hands grasping against water-slicked skin in an effort to hold on. I didn't need to worry though. Your arms are strong under my back and legs as you step out and shake yourself slightly like a dog to rid yourself of the damp. And you carry me like a little girl into the bedroom again, both of us naked in the blaze of light. Unashamed, looking only into one another's eyes as you lay me on the bed and draw the sheet over us both. I want to touch you everywhere and explore with my hands all that I've imagined with my mind, but this moment is so breathlessly unreal and fragile that I don't want to ruin it and do something to trigger your ever-present anger again. I lie quiet and patient as I can as you settle in next to me and roll on your side to look down at this aggravating, strange food item that refuses to take no for an answer. You have devoured worlds. You have terrified emperors and caused civilizations to crumble into panic and mayhem. But this? This is new. I look up at you without hatred or fear, my blue eyes holding only wonder and eagerness.

"If you wish to leave this place and go back to your life, I will allow it. You may run, child. I do not often release prey."

"I don't want to run away. This is where I need to be, and I'm not scared of whatever lies ahead. Alright? Just believe me. You can read my mind anyway. Look. I'm not even trembling."

The bed creaks as you lean over me, claws sinking into the mattress. I close my eyes in anticipation when you lower your head. Peppermint cotton candy sweetness, the scent of stone and petrichor, and the softest touch in the world of full red lips against mine. In the hushed moment before the kiss, your voice is a gentle whisper.

"You will be."

A moment later, I am.