Chapter 11: Interrogatives

The storm finally arrives an hour later.

Lying in bed together, my head on your bare white shoulder and your arm around me, we listen to the sound of the rain pelting the windows. Things aren't perfect. There are still so many hurdles to overcome, so many battles and uncertainties ahead. I can't give you forever. You can't ever fully give me yourself. We are separated by an uncrossable universe of limitations. But this is wonderful. This feels good. I don't want it to end.

My hand is against your chest over the place where your heart should be. But there's no steady thumping under my palm. You don't keep your 'heart' in the standard human place where it's expected. You don't have a belly button, either. I noticed that about fifteen minutes ago when I lowered my hand to your stomach and you caught my wrist to keep me from moving any lower.

I touch the place again, feeling the steel cords of muscle beneath your pale flesh.

"So how come you don't have one? A belly button, I mean. Everybody has one."

"I was not born of a woman's body."

"I know, but you could have manifested one. Or whatever."

"I fail to see the point."

"Well it makes you anatomically correct, I guess."

"I assure you, my anatomy is lacking nothing by leaving off the strange scar to which you refer. Do you receive any sensory input or valuable attributes from yours?"

I think about that, touching my own belly button. And I frown.

"Well….no."

"I thought not."

We're quiet again, and I slowly dare to roll on top of you and look down at your perfect red and white face in the yellow firelight. You'd kissed me only three times, each one slightly more passionate than the one before it. Exploratory. But you stopped there, and pushed me away. I sit up, my thighs on either side of your stomach, and hold the sheet around me to protect a little modesty. Funny, how it didn't matter before but it matters now. We just look at one another. Then you speak.

"Before this goes any further, I should let you go. I should release you, and hope that in doing so you will release me, and leave this place and never come here again. I want to strike at you, Beverly. I want to drive you away running and bleeding but alive. Even now, I can feel my teeth growing sharper. My mind whispers only one word. Attack. Force you away, complete the rejection, break your heart and push you to the margin of my consciousness and the locked and barred fortress of my soul and never, ever think of you again."

"But you won't."

"I have not decided. There are questions we ought to ask one another, don't you think? You only know me marginally, through my hunting and my feeding and these past few days. That is not enough knowledge to love a creature. You are very young, Beverly. Young and foolish."

"I'm not foolish, Pennywise. I know what you are. Maybe better even than some of your victims. It's just that I don't think you're the worst thing in the world. But I'm starving for information about you. I want to know more, if you're willing to tell me. You have no idea how many times I dreamed of you. Some of them were nightmares, yes. Others weren't. This time, it's real. This is real. I'm not floating in some sewer with dead eyes, I'm naked in bed with you."

"You clearly do not care whether you live or die. Your behavior even when you were younger is indicative of that. You took reckless risks, you cast yourself into every dangerous situation, you defied and even attacked a monster larger than yourself and a hundred times as strong." You point out, your claws tapping against my hips. I slowly lean down, touching your face. "And you came back even after you'd escaped. I seldom leave my hunting grounds. You would have been fine had you stayed away from Derry. Some part of you never recovered from the trauma of your youth. Some part of you wants to die."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just unusual."

"You are insane."

"Are you hungry? Do you need to hunt again?"

"I am always hungry, as I told you. But I can wait a day or two."

"Then let's do what you want. Let's talk. You can read me like a book, so you don't need to ask nearly as many questions unless you prefer to hear me explain myself. I don't know enough about you. I want to ask you everything. But I don't want to test your patience. You have quite a temper."

"You have not even seen my true temper. You have only seen me annoyed. Pray to your God that you never incur my wrath. And yes…I will answer your questions. It is rainy and cold outside. We are warm and content here. The timing seems adequate. What do you wish to know first?"

Excitement and pleasure flood through me. Somehow, against all odds, we have come to terms in a way. I'm still bent over you, my chest to yours and my hand on your cheek, and you aren't growling. Your voice is, if anything, low and melodious. Calm. I rest my forearms on your white shoulders and play with that fire orange hair spread across the pillow.

"Do you absolutely have to eat children?"

"Children are the easiest. But I can eat anything at all, and I do."

"If you could come close to describing the flavor to a human, what would fear taste like?"

You lick your lips, pondering the question for a few moments.

"That's somewhat tricky. It tastes salty, like tears or seawater. But thick like caramel. Filling. It zings along the senses like wine and makes me euphoric for a time. I can smell it, taste it, consume it and draw sustenance from it. I suppose that if I had to define it more simply, I would call it a comfort food for me."

"That's…..really creepy."

"So is eating the unhatched embryos of a chicken, or suckling at the teat of a non-human well into adulthood. The universe is full of oddities. My eating habits are not yours, but they grant me energy."

I move my fingers to your ear, tracing the white shape. It reminds me of a seashell.

"Why fear though? Why not eat happiness or love or something positive?"

I can feel your grunt of irritation at my stupidity, but to your credit you don't mock me again.

"These emotions are never very strong in a human being. Your kind are predisposed to fear, not to joy or love. Weak tea compared to warm mead. You tell me which is preferable."

"Can you smell what I'm feeling?"

"Yes, of course."

"Tell me."

You sigh, and your hands move up to my lower back. I rest my head on your shoulder and close my eyes.

"Curiosity. Eagerness to connect. Loneliness and deeply hidden and guarded pain. Confidence in your own abilities. Shame at your own desires. And you do feel desire now, as strange as that is to me."

I don't open my eyes.

"What does desire taste like?"

You sniff my hair, and when you breathe out I can detect the faintest whisper of a purr.

"Rich and sweet with a hint of spice. Chocolate and chili peppers. It is more delicate than fear. I have sensed it before, tasted it, but never truly appreciated the flavor."

I'm shaking again, and you're right; I do feel ashamed. But there's no denying or hiding or lying about the strange obsession that has been haunting me for half a decade. I lick your neck, and you growl at me. Claws tensing on my bare back.

"I want you." I whisper.

"You want the impossible."

"You're not physically capable of making love?"

"I did not say that. I am physically capable of anything. Including ripping your arms off."

There's no real threat in your tone. My eyes are still closed as I lean up just enough to kiss you. Soft red lips. Taste of candy. Sweet and spicy, chocolate and chili peppers. I run my hand down your side, resting my fingertips on your hip. When you don't stop me, I move those fingers to your thigh.

"Careful, Beverly."

The warning tone to your soft murmur brings up the hair on my arms. I stop, but only because you told me to. Only because I'm scared too, and surely you can smell and taste that. Scared but wanting. And you, my mortal enemy, predator of my kind, who will still be alive and alone ten thousand years from now when the universe has long forgotten me…you lie still and let this tender assault take place.

"Even my very first kill, which I hardly recall now, was easy and amusing and natural compared to the awkwardness of this fumbling, child. I am no innocent, no blushing naif. I know how love is made, and I know the mechanisms perfectly well. But boredly waiting for some panting teenage couple to finish their groping and grunting in the back of a vehicle and emerge, sweaty and glowing, to fall prey to my claws and teeth is a far cry from full immersion in the intimacy."

"We can learn together."

"You have not asked me if I wish to learn."

And holy shit, I haven't. I'm the aggressive one here. How's that for a bizarre change? I'm the one pushing for more. I'm the one who got you naked, who crawled all over you and kissed you and made demands. My face flushes, and I sit up. Looking down at you with an apology in my eyes.

"Oh my God, I am so embarrassed."

"Yes well, I hardly respect boundaries either when there is something I want. Do not feel badly."

You sit up as well, the covers pooling around your waist and your massive chest fully on display. I tentatively reach out for your hand, drawing it to me and tracing that strange symbol on your wrist.

"Deimos. What does it mean?"

"Terror and dread. It is the name of one of the two moons of Mars. I have a brother named after the other one. We are identical save in size. I am larger."

Some of the color drains from my face.

"There's two of you?"

"Not exactly. Long ago, I split my energy into two parts to maximize feeding and minimize the threat of being forever destroyed. As long as one lives; both will live, no matter how badly damaged. He is somewhat more merciful and restrained than I am. You will not find him. Do not look."

"I won't. I promise."

"Good. Now it is my turn to ask a few questions. When you went away to Portland, what was your life like?"

"It was good, I guess. I mean, I had my own room. It was clean. I got to go to high school, I made a few friends, I got new clothes because Aunt Kathy took me shopping. I had a boyfriend…"

"Who was this boy?"

"No one important. He took me to the prom and out to the movies a few times."

You look aggravated, and your claws shred the edge of the sheet slightly.

"You will never speak to him again."

I grin, kind of touched that you actually care enough to be jealous.

"Nope. Never. You're my only obsession, Nightmare."

The sound you make is halfway between a growl and a grunt, as inhuman as everything else about you.

"Did you always feel as though you were something of an outsider among your kind?"

"Pretty much. I mean, not when I was really little. Believe it or not, I was even friends with Greta Keene and some of the other girls who made my life rotten in school later on. But up to the age of about six, I was ok. I didn't know there was anything wrong with me."

"And now?"

I shrug, looking down at your stomach between my thighs. White, white, white as an Alaskan winter. And so bizarre next to my own skin, which I'd always thought of as pale. I place my palm on your chest.

"I feel more comfortable than I ever have in my life."

You study me, your beautiful strange eyes fixed on my face, the pupils dilating just slightly. Then you are tugging me down to nestle me against your side, rolling to face me. That huge heavy body causing the bed to creak. I rest my left hand on your hip, looking up into your eyes when you lean over me. Slowly, your long fingers curl around my wrist, and you ease my hand away from your hip. Lower. Not breaking eye contact. Until my fingertips encounter….

I freeze.

"Oh my God."

"Hardly. Still obsessed with the thought of coupling? I do not think you would survive the experience, let alone take pleasure from it. I have no intention of putting myself out to change shape simply to please you. This is the body I have chosen, this is my favorite form. If you are still suicidal and insane enough to desire me, then this is what you will be dealing with."

I can't speak. My hand is shaking as I explore you a little more. Until you take my wrist again and pull my palm to your chest once more.

"Not so brave now, are you."

An attempt to say something yields no fruit. You laugh softly, then roll away from me. Unexpectedly, you yawn. And it is a wider yawn than a normal human would be capable of, flashing rows of shark teeth that I know from experience are capable of ripping a person into pieces. My eyes are like saucers, riveted to your face until your teeth click together when you close your mouth. You blink at me, amused, and sit up to turn away and plant your feet on the floor by the bed.

"I suppose I will dress now. The hunger has been sharpened by your pawing, I must hunt."

"H-hunt. Yes."

"I find your shock rather flattering. It is my assumption that I am fully proportionate for my height. You still expect me to conform to your preconceived notions of what a human is, don't you Beverly. Even though you know very well that I am not human. Not even remotely."

"It was just….unexpected. But I'm not giving up and I don't care. I still want you."

"Do you then. How very moving."

You rise to your feet and prowl back into the bathroom, and I can't help but stare at your 'fully proportionate' body as you fetch your clothing and pull on each piece. Somewhere in the back of my mind I can hear Richie's voice screaming "Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!" over and over again like a broken toy. I sit up in bed, tearing my eyes away from the spectacle of a seven foot nightmare buttoning on a clown costume. I look at my wrist, measure it with my fingers. About right, yeah. Ok. Ok, it's probably possible. Maybe? Physically possible? Would I die right away, or would there be a window of time in which I might find medical treatment? I look up again to find you standing near the bed, tugging on one white glove and watching me with amused detachment.

I swallow hard, meeting your eyes.

"Do you want me?"

It's the first time I've asked the question. The first time I've even wondered it. So caught up with the thought of wanting you, I never even considered what it might be to have those feelings reciprocated. You are quiet, looking down at me, but your claws flex. Ripping neatly through the fabric of your gloves. I don't flinch.

You sigh, and the rage I might have expected if I was thinking clearly doesn't bubble to the surface. Instead, you place those claws beneath my chin and tilt my face up.

"So many meanings to the word, Beverly. But I will not insult you by pretending to be confused as to which definition you refer to now. Do I want you." You repeat the question, and those lamplike eyes are steady on my face. "Do I want to mate with you, kiss you, hold you, be as gentle as I am able with you. This is the question that you ask. And you ask it of a creature who has been very, very honest about his desires up until this very moment. I desire to consume you, eat your flesh and fear, rip you apart and bathe in your blood. These things my animal nature desires."

I don't pull away or start to cry. Something seems to be on the tip of your tongue to say, and I hold my breath. Feeling the sharp threat of your claws beneath my chin. After a moment, you continue.

"There is much more to me than animal impulses, Beverly. Something you and your little friends would never have been allowed to learn, had I destroyed you all that summer the way I wanted to. But here you are, returned from safety to seek out the danger once more. And you have been naked in your honesty, transparent and holding nothing back. I am not evil, as you seem to think. If anything, I would call myself completely neutral to human suffering and emotion. You are simply food. All of you. Or you were. Do I want you, Beverly Marsh? Does the monster desire the maiden?"

"Do you?" I blurt out the words, and your lips twitch slightly. But whether it is a smile or a snarl, I don't know.

"You ask a great deal of me. I did not seek you out. I did not follow you to Portland. And believe me – I could have. There is no limitation on my movements whatsoever. I am simply lazy and used to my cycle of sleeping and waking and feeding and sleeping again beneath this small town. But I can be VERY active when the mood takes me. I have hunted in the frozen north and in the jungles near the equator. I have amassed legends of my bloodthirst and my deadliness across this entire planet. And across many planets that you have never even heard of and will never see. In all my long life, I have never 'wanted' anyone. But you are asking me now if I have feelings for you. You, among all the many life forms I have known in seven billion years of existence. What a positively naive and almost arrogant question."

A little hurt, I lower my eyes. But you're not done.

"Look at me."

I do.

"Beverly, you are unique among all of the living things I have known. Ridiculous and foolish and broken as you are….you do stand out. You are beautifully different. A woman who has endured a thousand hells, but who still emerged victorious on the other side of them. I am intrigued by you. I will not kill you. I wish to know you. And yes, Beverly Amanda Marsh. I do want you."

There. It's been said, it's now a sentence that lies between us, and I can't even fathom what it cost you to say the words. I reach for your hand, and you don't yank it away with a snarl. Yes, there is a little growl as I press my lips to your wrist and then rest my forehead on your knuckles. But you don't pull back. I raise my head, tears on my cheeks.

"I love you." I whisper. You huff out a growl-sigh.

"On your head be it, Beverly. Now rest. There will be paper money left on the counter downstairs. Use it to purchase groceries and such. Explore the home, I have made it exceedingly comfortable for you. You shall want for nothing. Do not reveal where you are staying to anyone. Speak of me to no one. And be here by sundown of every day for the rest of your natural life. I do not know what path you and I are on, or where it leads. But I find you fascinating, and I wish to have you nearby. I do want you. I shall mate with you presently, if you can bear it. I have never mated before. I believe I will be frightfully bad at it. You must be patient with me, human. I have not known love before. Sleep now. Do not come to seek me. I will return to you when my hunger has been sated. Fear not. I will return. As foolish and desperately dangerous and wildly, inexplicably attracted as you are to me…I am coming to share the obsession. There may come a day when you regret igniting this interest. I do not care either way. You have my attention, Beverly. I do not know what love is. But perhaps in time, you will teach me this as well."

I could die of love in this moment, and I rise naked from the bed to throw my arms around your neck and hug you as tightly as I can. You turn my head with a nuzzle, licking my face with your rough tongue, and your purr is thunderous.

"Leave off the groping until later, child. Woman. You will have your chance to wallow all over me at a later time. Now stop, before my annoyance causes me to snap at you."

"You're perfect. I don't care how sick that makes me, saying it. I want you, and I love you, and I can't wait for you to come back. I hope you find someone slow and fat and full of terror. I'll be here when you come back. Waiting here in this bed."

"I share your hope. There is no shortage of the plump and terrified. But there shall be one less in the world when this night is over. Until I return, Beverly."

And you lean down to kiss me. Your rasped tongue meeting mine for a fraction of a second. I cup your white face in my hands, and when you pull away finally my eyes remain closed. When they open again, you are gone.

I draw a shaking breath and flop back against the pillows in a haze of pure bliss. I don't even care what the other Losers might think of me now. Let them hate me, or think I'm sick.

I love you. I love Pennywise the Clown. I love Deimos, brother of….I look it up on my phone, the name of the other moon of Mars.
Brother of Phobos.

I love you, and nothing in the world can change that. Whenever you come back from killing one of my fellow human beings, you'll find me waiting. Ready for the agony of joining with you. Ready for the long and impossible defeat of being your mate until the day I die.