A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope you are all doing well, and staying safe out there.
I made quite a bit of changes to this chapter. I revised some dialogue, tweaked some scenes, and omitted one. There is also new content and a different ending plus some hints of the stalker's past sprinkled throughout.
I will be working on streamlining chapter 19, so I will post another update soon
Anyway, enjoy the read, and reviews are always welcomed.
It's cold like fresh December snow, and an endless pit of darkness swallowed him from all sides like a snow globe. Little blurs of white fluttered like feathers around him and froze to the icy ground. Everything beneath his feet froze over as he wades through imaginary water to a shamble shack. Its prominent outline sprung forward like a pop-up card, the grain of wood splitting every passing second as he approached. Even when his gloved fingers reached the handle, frost crystallized to prevent him from opening. He always managed to touch despite closing this door many years ago. He remembers how it used to smell of rotted wood, must, stale dirt, and decay. A combination that made his innards squirm unpleasantly and a hard lump sat on his voice box. He couldn't gulp but moisten his thick lips and drew in a breath.
He turned the knob to enter, but it wouldn't budge, which is a first. He usually can open and unveil the dark secret behind the door. So, why wouldn't it open now? He presses his palm against the wood firmly and heaves against it as the Swedish Stalker turned the frozen handle. It barely moves. Something is keeping him from looking in. Desperate to know what lies in the room that was locked away from his mind, he starts pounding and kicking at the frozen door, shouting with each shove.
It seemed to take eons to open when the harsh reality was only a minute for the door to finally give. The ice broke away for it to swing wide and exposes a new form of darkness. Years ago, an illuminated and worn noose hung eerily from the ceiling with a ghost from his past standing near. He vividly remembers their haunted and sorrowful eyes as he stood at the shack's entrance. Except, their gaze is not amongst him, only blackness and sounds he never heard before in here. There are murmurs of voices and muffled footsteps. His cold emerald eyes searched the dark to pinpoint the source, but it seemed to surround him as a prickling cold ran along his back. His ears perked from a new sound, a click of a lighter. A flicker of a flame pierced the darkness and kissed a figure's features, which stood in the middle of the old shack.
The stalker faintly made out the freckles on their nose and saddened frown. Their fiery hair a stark contrast to the black from the marmalade glow, and their eyes sparkled like earthy diamonds despite the sullen stare on him. He realized then who is in the room and shakily called out to them.
"Ruth," he voiced softly, then approached her.
She says not a word as he came close, just watched him hesitantly bring his fingers to her cheeks. He touched her warm, smooth skin tenderly and brushed every single inch of her face. Ruth smiles softly at him and gingerly grips his wrists. She gazes at him with affection and licks her lips, waiting patiently for him to make his move. The stalker doesn't disappoint. He breathes in deeply, bends slightly, then leans close to mold his lips perfectly with hers for a short and sweet yet passionate kiss. He sighs lightly as she hums, then drew apart with a soft smack to gaze upon her.
Her lips pull back in a toothy grin but quickly vanishes. An unseen force grips Ruth by the hair, forcing a blood-curdling scream to leave her lips and yanks her out of his reach. She is then cast under a cold blue light, illuminating her exposed throat.
"Ruth!" The stalker screamed and started forward.
He reached for her but never could touch as an imaginary knife glides across her skin.
The stalker jolts from his slumber when he felt her hot blood spurt onto his face and cries out. He shakily and heavily pants with eyes wild as he stared at a beige duvet cover. He hesitantly drew a hand to his face, cradling his head as he tried to calm his racing heart and breath. A silent sob quaked in his chest, exhaling sharply from the fright.
He turned his gaze away from the bed when a scream sounded in the room. His eyes land on the television, where a woman runs out of a developing room into her apartment. She snatched a collectible samurai sword and took a fighting stance, waiting for something to emerge from behind the closed door. It didn't come out from where she thought it would when it crashed through the wall behind her. A deformed creature who reminded the stalker of Jason Voorhees from the Friday the 13th films but with large, round glowing yellow eyes glared hungrily at her. It growled and extended its neck where the girl gawked but drew her weapon on it and decapitated the creature. It's fallen head landed at the girl's feet and bit her leg before being kicked away, where its glowing eyes finally died.
The stalker groans and rubs his eye.
"Damnit," he growled lowly from missing the majority of the program he was watching.
With a heavy breath, the stalker glances at the bedside table to the digital red numbers. It's seven forty-five. His brows knit close, and the corners of his mouth turned downward at the time. He thought it was later than that. He then started thinking about Ruth. The stalker recalled his run-in with her about half an hour ago. She seemed a lot more on edge than usual. Probably because she was hiding from her parents and was worried someone might see her. He understood, though. She did, however, welcomed his presence and affectionate touches. He doesn't know why he would, but the stalker has this strange need to feel Ruth's warmth. Unlike Derry's citizens, the stalker wants Ruth to feel desired and cherished, not treated like garbage. Him kissing Ruth in his dream confirmed his growing affections for the charming young girl. Except why would he dream of her getting brutally killed?
Something didn't settle well as he continued to watch the clock change to seven forty-six. His stomach flipped unpleasantly, salivated but swallows the need to vomit. He exhaled sharply then turned his attention to the television, confused about what is going on now. He reached for the remote and flicked the movie off. The stalker soundlessly stared at the black screen, examining his reflection with a frown. His dark blond hair is messy from apparently tossing around, and his toned chest exposed from throwing his shirt off hours ago, which he doesn't remember doing.
He glances at the bedside table again, seven forty-six still. Something in his gut tells him something isn't right here, and he can't quite explain the feeling.
The stalker saw the yellow phonebook then turned his attention to the hotel room phone. His lips pursed at a passing thought of finding Ruth's information and call over to see if she is okay. Except, he knew it shouldn't be up for debate. He leans and stretches himself to snatch the book and flipped through at lightning speed. He must know if she is alright. The stalker quickly found her, then reaches for the phone and placed it on the bed.
He starts punching numbers when a thought occurred to him. There is a possibility of Ruth's parents answering and not her. He would hate for either of them to find out about him and lay harm on Ruth for talking to an outsider. He doesn't want that. The stalker slams the phone back in its cradle and shoves it to the side. He even tossed the phonebook to the bed's edge then grabs the remote to occupy his mind. The stalker knew if he called, he would be met with either more anxiety or heartache. Besides, they might be out of the house for dinner, but he highly doubts it.
In the back of his mind, though, he hopes ignoring his instincts to check on Ruth won't cost her life. He heaves a heavy sigh then watched whatever program was on. The movie he was watching, C.H.U.D. is still playing, and is uncertain of what is going on now. The stalker flips the channel.
"I'll be back," a male voice from the television.
The stalker scuffs. "Seen it too many times already."
He flips the channel again, stumbling across an intimate scene for some passionate romance film. He paused on it for only a minute, well, maybe a little longer to watch the couple get hot and heavy and at a point of getting kinky. A brow rose as the scene progressed, which ultimately made something stir in his lower abdomen. The stalker groans then quickly flip the channel again.
He channel surfed for about a minute or two before settling on a Barney Miller rerun. He tosses the remote to the side, then crossed his arms to watch the program. As the stalker watched, his stomach increasingly got queasy, and salivated as if ready to vomit. His ears started burning as the need got worse, along with a nagging feeling in his chest. He flicks his gaze to the telephone then to the phonebook. He stared at it for a moment before returning to the television.
During the next five minutes of watching, the stalker had shifted his gaze from the television to the book multiple times. Ever since he woke from his nightmare nine minutes ago, the stalker increasingly became more concerned about Ruth, and his queasy stomach worsened. While trying to enjoy the program, he had seen Ruth fade in and out of the picture. She always stared at him with a saddened frown and a crimson red line at her throat. The image burned his vision every time he blinked or whenever he nodded off. He forced himself to stay awake so the stalker wouldn't have to see Ruth getting killed. Anytime he did doze and snapped awake, his gaze would flick to the phonebook and the phone.
A laugh track pierces his eardrums, jolting the shirtless stalker awake again. He faintly remembers the plot of the episode, but his mind still wandered to his beautiful friend. With a heavy yet steady breath, he finally gave up and reaches for the phonebook. He flips through a little slower than before to locate Ruth's information. Doing so would force him to remain calm and gather his thoughts instead of stumbling over his words. The stalker proceeds to dial the number but stalls. He gazes down at the number pad, contemplating still if this is a good idea or not. He shoved the logical part of him aside to follow through with his goal and dialed the number. Before he could hear the ring, the stalker slammed the phone back down and ran a hand through his hair.
"What am I doing? She's fine! Don't worry," he tells himself.
The stalker returns to the program, trying to concentrate on the episode but found it hard to do. His mind kept wandering back to Ruth if she is okay or not. He kept telling himself that she is, but his sickening belly and heart are saying different. He glances at the phone again then grabbed for it.
He repeated his previous attempt, dialed but hung up before hearing the first ring. The stalker ended up groaning a growl and hung his head with hands running through his already messy hair.
"Argh, Christ!"
He sighs heavily before ultimately deciding to abandon watching anything, along with calling and just have a shower. He hopes concentrating on himself would ease the uncomfortable pang in his stomach and growing numbness in his heart.
… ten minutes later
The stalker stumbles out of the bathroom, rejuvenated from the hot shower yet slightly weakened in the knees. The steamy water, along with the added self-stimulation, relaxed his muscles and cleared his mind. He rarely sought out pleasures of the flesh to ease stress or ignore nagging feelings. Tonight seemed to help, at least for a moment. He stared into the mirror at his naked self, examining the scars on his chest, shoulders, and ribs with a couple of fingers. Doing so caused a memory of how he got them to pop into his head but quickly shook it off to direct his attention to the phone's reflection, which sat on the bed still.
He stared at the blasted thing, silently visualizing Ruth sitting on the bed's edge and staring at him so innocently. He imagined the approving gaze in her earthy jewels eyes and a pursing smirk on her lips. She's crossing and uncrossing her exposed legs and leaning back on one arm with chest puffed out for display while mimicking holding a phone by her ear.
"Call me," she whispered seductively.
The stalker gently smiles and lightly chuckles, then crosses the room to plop onto the mattress naked to lay down. He doesn't give a damn if he slept in the nude, especially when alone and no one able to look in from drawn curtains. The stalker likes his privacy, to begin with. He snatches the phonebook and brings the phone to his side. With a glance at the clock, it is only a few minutes after eight. It has been nearly twenty minutes since the stalker woke from his nightmare. His stomach churned, salivated with a gulp, and grew exceptionally worried. The hot shower helped him for a short time before the sickening feeling from earlier returned with a vengeance. Indeed, something does not feel right, and he can't ignore it anymore.
He dialed Ruth's number, then brought the phone to his ear and let it rang. The stalker laid atop the bed with eyes staring up at the ceiling, patiently waiting for anyone to answer. It rang a second time, then a third.
By the time it rang a fourth, his lips slowly drew downward and lightly quivered.
"Come on, love, pick up," he pleaded in a soft whisper.
It rang a fifth time, then a sixth.
"Come on, Ruth," he whispered again in desperation. "Please, pick up."
When the phone rang for the seventh time, his stomach twisted in an unpleasant knot.
He would have let it ring for the eighth time but reluctantly pressed the end call button. The dial tone sounded in his ears, alerting him his attempt to learn of Ruth's condition failed yet again. He shouldn't have hung up. His palms became clammy and clenched at his side, his breath quickens, and he swallows with eyes darting across the ceiling. The stalker tightly shut his eyes and took three deep breathes to calm his racing heart.
"Don't panic," he whispers. "She's okay."
He repeats, "she's okay," several times to himself, unaware of the events that had happened within the Greyson Residence.
Eventually, the stalker called over there again, missing Ruth by a minute when she left her home with Pennywise five minutes later. This time, he sat on the phone for an unbearable three long minutes until he got an unavailable tone and fell asleep.
In the wee hours of the morning and barely light out, the stalker wandered the streets of Derry. The only thing he could see are faint silhouettes from dim orange balls lighting the sidewalk and traffic lights flashing with caution.
It's too early to be out, the stalker thought to himself as his feet carried him through town.
He heaves a heavy breath from his lungs, a plume of cigarette smoke from his lips followed. The stalker doesn't smoke this early in the morning, but his nerves are going haywire for some sickening reason. He can feel his anxiety heightening, and stomach churned unpleasantly as a horrible feeling rippled through his core yet again. He tossed and turned the majority of the night after the first nightmare. More only followed, which kept him awake. It wasn't just what he saw, though. It was Ruth's blood-curdling scream echoing in his eardrums. After the final startling awakening, he went to a bar in hopes of getting rid of them there. Unfortunately, he is not of legal drinking age yet. Once Halloween rolls around, he will be.
The best remedy the stalker can think of is going on a walk this early. While he strolled, his mind still wandered back to the nightmares. He still can't shake off the sound of Ruth's scream or the sight and feel of her blood spurting from her throat. He needs to direct his attention elsewhere somehow. Or maybe think about Ruth in a more positive light like he did in his hotel room. He envisioned Ruth beaming up at him, while her tender, lighthearted touches smoothed over his arm, and her joyful mirth sounds in his ears. He smiles softly at the thought of her walking against him and fingers entwined with his.
The stalker has met a handful of pretty ladies in his life, even though none of them caught his fancy. Ruth outshines them all. She has a natural, earthy glow that drew him to her like a moth to a flame. Her intelligence is another crucial factor. From what he can see, Ruth has a thirst for knowledge, is well-grounded, cultured, and a good conversationalist. When Ruth told off that Angela woman, he was oddly turned on by her quick wit and bluntness, even the delivery. The ring in her voice is playful yet cunning, a combination the stalker also finds appealing. She is quite the flatterer, too. If he brings the good in her, then Ruth is undoubtedly a keeper. The stalker is attracted to women of his caliber. He just didn't expect her to be fourteen. He should be browzing for a woman around his age, but the stalker is already emotionally attached and has a kindred spirit with the young girl. It's hard for him to shake off his growing fondness for Ruth, knowing he can relate.
Usually, he goes after what he wants, but Ruth is six years younger than him. He needs to uphold laws because the stalker does not want to get into even more trouble with a minor. Yet, the stalker desires to have Ruth by his side. Physical intimacy is not precisely what he is looking for right now anyway. Engaging in intimate and intellectual conversations, along with exchanging secrets, is his idea of intimacy. He doesn't doubt Ruth believes the same.
Just thinking about her and her beautiful, playful smile made him beam brightly yet felt sick to his stomach. Not revolted of her mind you, he is actually ill. The stalker drops his cigarette to the damp ground, rushed over to a nearby trash bin, and expelled his stomach.
He hovered over the open maw of the trashcan, gasping and panting as another wave bubbled its way up to his throat.
"Please, no," he mumbles.
He grips the rim as sickness hit him again and groans unpleasantly.
Something is terribly wrong if I'm feeling like this, he says to himself.
The stalker sharply gasps, and eyes widened when a thought struck him. He recalled his run-in with Ruth yesterday and how nervous she was. He could tell just from her demeanor and how she kept looking at him with those gorgeous orbs of hers that his sweet friend is in deep trouble. Ruth told him everything he needed to know after her comment about hiding from the parents. It's a good thing she did. He's not the type of person to go around and reveal sensitive information like that. He would need concrete and valid proof of Ruth's abuse before reporting it to authorities. Although he preferred not getting caught. If he can help her out and gain enough evidence from Ruth, her parents will be put away for a very long time. The father, not so much. Jonathan will be given the death sentence with no chance of parole. He won't even get a day in the slammer for the crimes he committed. Jonathan doesn't deserve to live after he sexually assaulted Ruth. If he were honest, the stalker would love to do Ruth justice and gut the swine for touching her himself. He wouldn't mind getting his hands dirty again and for her.
Another wave of sickness hits him like a punch to the gut when it finally dawned on him why he feels this way. Something has become of Ruth.
"No, please, not again. Not Ruth," the stalker whimpered.
The stalker pushes himself away from the vomit filled trash bin and heaves a heavy sigh. He gazed at the sky, noting the speckles against the inky black and dark fluffy masses. Moisture filled his nostrils, calming the raging storm within his mind.
"Kersti," he whispers softly and suddenly.
The name instantly stung his tongue like a hot poker. It's been so long since he spoke her name, and it felt alien yet vile to him. His vision blurred as tears brimmed his eyes and his throat clenched. The stalker violently shook from a sob quaking his chest, his fingers curled into tight fists, and jaw squared.
Why of all nights did I think about her? The stalker thought to himself.
The stalker tore his eyes away from the calming clouds, spits with disgust then march in a direction he hopes would bring him to Ruth.
"Alright," he sighed and adjusted his jacket, then cleared his throat. "Okay, space turtle, you guided me here for a reason. Now point me in the direction I need to go," he mumbled.
Bill woke up with a gasp as well this morning.
Bill's not sure what it was he dreamt of ten minutes ago. He has this sickening feeling of dread and horror in the pit of his stomach. His mind is usually not this alert, nor is his beating heart this erratic in the morning. Even his palms sweated. Bill's grip on the handlebars of his trusty bike Silver was hard to keep on. His right hand slid, hanging limply at his side only briefly. His breath quickened as he speeds faster and faster down the street. Bill's destination unclear.
After waking, Bill left a note for his parents to let them know he had gone on a ride. Bill then hopped on his bike and just pedaled. His mind didn't direct him, but something else. His heart did. Bill's irregular heart guided him. He doesn't know where that "where" is, though. All Bill knew was GO NOW.
Go and ride, says the beating muscle.
His eyes focused on the road ahead of him. Strangely enough, there is no one out. It is eerily silent. The only sound Bill can hear is his blood pumping in his ears.
Where exactly am I going? Bill wonders.
After a while, the silence around him is disturbed. A clicking sound of a rushing bicycle is coming up from behind. Bill furrowed his brows, glancing over his shoulders at the source. His eyes land on Richie, who seems somewhat disturbed and sheet white.
"R…R-Richie?" Bill questioned.
Richie was in a daze as he looked over at Bill, startled. "Bill?"
"W…W-What are you doing out here?" Bill questions with a struggle.
Bill saw it then, Richie's haunted expression. Something spooked him, and he's adamant in not sharing. He won't push Richie into talking about it.
Richie frowns, "It's difficult to explain, Bill."
He nods in understanding.
"What about you? What are you doing out here?"
Bill glances over at Richie. He thought about it for a moment as he must not stutter. He recalls Ruth's confidence and the odd smile. She was passionate about something. Bill remembers the moment he stood on the steps of the Neibolt House. He had passion and courage. Bill cleared his throat, perking up.
Be confident! Speak slowly!
"It's hard to explain. I woke up with this," Bill stops to consider for a moment. "Feeling. Something doesn't feel right."
Richie stared for a moment, bewildered at Bill for not stuttering. He smiles weakly, his nightmare still plaguing his mind.
"I woke up from a nightmare within a nightmare," Richie tells him.
"About what?"
Richie didn't get a chance to answer when someone called out to them.
"Bill! Richie!" A familiar voice called out.
The two boys look over their shoulders, seeing Eddie.
"Ed's?"
He purses his lips. "You know I hate it when you call me that!"
Bill glances back and forth. "How are you riding your bike? You have a broken arm."
Eddie gapped. "He didn't stutter!"
Rich smiled briefly, rolling his eyes as well. "Yeah, I know," he mumbles.
"To answer your question, our oh so fearless leader, carefully."
"So, uh, you as well, huh?" Bill asks him.
Eddie frowns, dismayed. "Yeah, unfortunately. I had a freaking nightmare that scared the piss out of me. I hardly ever have any."
Richie whirls at him, "You, too?"
"Yeah, why? What was yours about?"
"I, I don't," Richie stumbles, unsure if he should say anything. He gulps harshly, shaking his head to rid himself of the haunting image of her.
"I don't want to talk about it," he replies firmly, then pushes further away.
Eddie and Bill watched him pedal ahead, confused.
"Is, is he alright?" Eddie inquires.
Bill can only shrug.
The three rode in silence for a bit until the sickening feeling intensified. Bill, Richie, and Eddie drew closer to something. Bill glanced around. He's not familiar with this neighborhood. It's not fancy, but certainly not the slums either. It's decent. The homes were moderate in size, others not so much. The majority of the houses are either stark white, cloud gray, or khaki in color and are paired with maroon, black, or dark gray roofs. There is one house, however, that stood out from the rest with its deep forest green roof and eggshell white siding.
Bill, Richie, and Eddie shortly stop, discovering that it's Beverly. She's staring at the house with indifference but is trembling. Bill watched her for a moment, then directed his attention to the home. The feeling he had since he awoke became unbearable. He wants to vomit. There is something in that house where Bill feels the need to investigate.
Something is terribly wrong here, Bill says to himself.
"I don't like this," Beverly voiced.
She eyed the house still, frowning deeply.
"Whose house is this?" Eddie asked, dismounting his bike.
Someone else squeals to a stop, joining the other four. No one glanced over to see who else came here.
"Oh, shit, this is Ruth's place," Mike answers, his voice unsteady.
"Wait, this is Ruth's house?" Richie questioned, awed. He scans the exterior, nodding. "Not bad. Whoever did the shrubs and landscaping did a great job."
"Ruth did all of that," Mike told him, eyes not leaving the house.
Richie blinks, astonished. "I should ask her to do our shrubs. My trim job sucks."
Someone else joins the group. Stan squeals to a stop and jumps off, letting his bike fall. He comes up from behind Mike, eyeing the house anxiously.
"Oh, God no, Ruth," he mumbles with a strain.
Bill glanced at Stan then at the others, wondering. Did they all feel the same thing? Did whatever they felt has something to do with Ruth? His heart drops to his stomach. Something happened to Ruth. It's the only logical explanation of why they would all come here and stared at the house for a moment.
"Do you, I don't know, think we should go in there?" Eddie questions timidly.
"I don't think we should. We need to stay out here and get help. We don't know what we're dealing with here," Beverly answers, then steps back.
"Something brought us here for a reason. Why do you think we're all here?" Bill replies slowly.
"Not all of us are here, Bill. Ben must not have," Richie is interrupted when one more set of tires skid across the pavement.
Ben finally arrives on the scene by stumbling off his bike then joins the group. Ben stares at the house, his stomach queasy. He gulps then glances over at the others.
"I guess I'm not the only one. Do you think something happened to Ruth?" He nervously inquired.
Ben rubbed and squeezed his hands tightly, biting at his lip.
"I'm, I'm sure there's nothing wrong," Richie reassured, unconvinced.
Richie thought back to the nightmare he had this morning, only to shake it off.
Don't think about it, doofus. Keep calm, he thought to himself.
"I'm going in," Stanley announced.
He storms up the driveway with long strides, determined.
"Stanley, wait! You can't go in there," Beverly calls in a hushed whisper.
"I said, I'm going!"
Stan approaches the home and raps loudly.
"Ruth!" He calls.
Silence.
"Ruth!" He yells, pounding harder.
He is greeted with more silence.
Stan's heart plummets, and his stomach twisted.
"RUTH!" Stanley beats frantically, waiting.
When he still only heard silence, the feeling from earlier leaped to his throat. Stanley can't breathe, and his eyes begun to sting from unshed tears. He doesn't care. Stanley shoves himself against the door and barges inside. Stanley heard the others cry out, rushing over. He's sure some neighbors heard them. He hopes so, at least. Stan has this horrible, sickening feeling that something in this house is not right. With a shuddering breath, he steps further into the darkened home. His eyes adjust to the pitch black, scanning the silent living room as he passed and down the hall. There's light emanating from a room ahead, illuminating the dark like a lighthouse. He can see a shadow on the floor.
"Stanley, get back here," Beverly whispered as she stood at the door while the others entered.
Stanley shushed her, easing towards the entryway.
"You know, Beverly is right. We need," Eddie started to argue.
"Shut up," he shushed Eddie, then glared over his shoulder at him.
"You're not seriously going in there, are you?"
"What do you think? Someone is in there."
"Yeah, and what if they're waiting for you around the corner, you dumbass? Now get back."
They whispered back and forth, arguing.
"Just," Stanley holds a hand up towards them. "Wait there."
"Are you kidding me right now?"
He doesn't bother answering. Stan pushes forward.
Eddie starts forwards to stop his friend, only to get held back by Richie. He stood there, gulping harshly and raggedly breathing.
Please don't let it be Ruth in there, Richie prayed to himself.
Stanley breathes shallowly, his heart drumming. He doesn't know what to think as he slowly approached. Stan doesn't know what will greet him—the thought of Ruth laying there dead haunted his mind.
Once he came to the edge of the wall, he heaves a breath. Stan prepared himself for the worse. He steps close and peered inside. His eyes at first saw the wall then scanned to the floor. Stanley's breathe catches in his throat, gapping. He caught sight of blood pooled around a motionless body. It took him a moment to register what is lying before him. He recoils with a startled scream, colliding into the wall behind him. His eyes not leaving the motionless and butchered body of Mrs. Greyson.
The group rushed forwards at that point. Eddie was the first to come around the corner and peek inside. He wished he hadn't. His reaction was the same as Stan's, and he falls back, crying out.
"HOLY SHIT!"
"What? Who is, HOLY FUCK!" Richie exclaims as he looked inside.
Beverly screams. She covers her gaping mouth and quickly turns away with a shudder. The sight of blood made her nauseous, and doubles over. She whimpers and whines while sinking to the floor. Ben was there to console her after he looked at the body. He shook violently, staring off into space. Bill eyes the body with his mouth hung open, tears welling in the corner of his eyes. He's breathing heavily as if he was on the verge of a panic attack. A thought struck him then.
His breath pauses, then glanced down the hall. Something inside him flips. Bill turns, his eyes landing on a bedroom when a horrible thought occurred to him. What if Ruth is like Mrs. Greyson? This only made Bill sick to his stomach, and feels a familiar pang. He is stunned into horror, a sense of dread and emptiness overwhelming him. This was how he felt when Georgie disappeared. The panic he felt turns to sheer fright.
"Ruth," Bill calls out, then rushes down the hall.
"Ruth!" Mike followed.
They both have tears falling from their eyes now. Bill got to the room first. He looked in and saw something unrecognizable on the floor. Panting, Bill takes his shirt and flips on the switch. He doesn't need to leave behind any fingerprints. Bill wished he hadn't turned on the light. Mike had screamed and fell backward against the wall. Bill can only stare at the sight before him, horrified.
Mr. Greyson's body laid on the floor like a dissected frog, blood covering the wood and bed.
"Bill! Bill, we need to," Eddie paused. He saw Bill's transfixed gaze, following it.
He looks in and screams. Eddie gags, then threw a hand over his mouth and rush towards the front door. Richie approaches as well, very much alarmed. When his eyes land on the body, Richie's jaw drops, and yells. They can hear Eddie retch just outside the house and gasping for air.
"Holy sweet fuck!" Eddie exclaims, retching again.
Stan sat where he was, panicking, frightened yet very much worried for Ruth now. He gulps, trying to catch his breath as he hyperventilated. He snaps his gaze off Jordan's body to Bill and Richie, eyes wide and brimmed with unshed tears.
"Is, who's in there, Bill? Who's in there?" He called out, wanting to cry.
No answer from him. This only made Stan whine, shuddering a sob.
"Bill! Is it Ruth? Please, tell me it isn't Ruth! Tell me it isn't Ruth!" He wails, crying now.
Beverly, who is still trying to recover, crawls over to him. She wraps her arms around Stan, clutching him as he wailed. Beverly cried as well. She doesn't understand why she would, but Beverly feels horrible. She sobs, shuddering, then glances over at Bill.
"Bill, is it, her?"
Bill turned his gaze on the two, stuttering but couldn't speak. Bill is in complete shock, yet also severely concerned for Ruth. He opens his mouth to try and answer but couldn't. Bill couldn't even shake his head. Discovering the Greyson's dead stunned him into a stupor.
Richie watched Bill struggle. He is now terribly concerned for Ruth.
"N…n-no. No, it's not, Ruth." Richie answers, his voice cracking.
The nightmare from the first night came back full force. He remembers the same ashen gray and blue Ruth with her head hanging to the side. She had crawled onto his bed and straddled him like this morning. It felt real, too. Richie remembers his parents rushing into his bedroom because he was crying out. The sheets had wrapped around his neck. When they removed the cover, Richie started bawling. The nightmare was a premonition.
Richie leans against the wall, staring off into space. He grimaces deeply, tears streaming from his eyes. Despite their sibling-like rivalry, Richie is terrified for Ruth's life now. Is she okay? If Ruth were, is she somewhere safe? Richie can only hope that she is and with her stalker. He and his friends, excluding Mike and Stan, treated her like everyone else. Richie treats Ruth like dirt when he shouldn't be. Although he enjoys the bantering to a degree at times.
Mike had finally looked away from the body, crying himself. When he arrived here with that sickening feeling, Mike assumed something terrible happened to Ruth. He is somewhat relieved that they hadn't found her yet. Mike can only hang onto hope that Ruth is okay somewhere in the house. Yet somehow, Mike feels responsible for all of this. He remembered the look in the adult's eyes. Jordan and Jonathan were livid. They intended to harm Ruth whenever she returned home.
Ben watched his friends somberly. His cheeks are moist from his own tears. He glances over at Eddie, who finally stopped vomiting, lightly crying as well. The question still hanged in the air. Why were they led here? Were they supposed to discover the bodies? What about Ruth? Where is she? Is she safe?
Safe? Where would that be for her? Ben started to think. When he first met Ruth, Ben noticed something about her tone. She didn't want to be at home. Ruth would rather be somewhere else. At that point, he didn't want to get pulled into her problems. Was she never safe here? It then hit Ben like a cannonball crashing into the ground.
"Oh shit," he mumbles.
Beverly and Stan glance over at him. Richie remained in his spot on the floor while Bill and Mike silently approached. Eddie sat at the door still, sniffling. They all eyed him strangely.
"Ben?" Beverly gently calls.
"Oh shit," he repeated.
"Ben?" Eddie questioned.
"Oh, shit! Fucking shit! God, fuck, I am so stupid!" Ben screeched, tugging at his hair and wailing.
It hit him like a freight train.
Ruth was never safe here! He yelled at himself.
"Ben!" Beverly stood quickly and took his face into her hands.
He's furiously crying, unable to look her in the eye. Ben should have known. He saw the warning signs. He even saw the scars and dismissed them. Ben saw a lot of things and ignored all of them. He should have known better. Ruth was trying to reach out to him for help that day. Ben should have remembered it all when Ruth was at the fair. Her sudden confidence made Ben believe that everything was okay.
"I am so fucking stupid. I shouldn't have ignored the warning signs. I should have done something to help." Ben blubbers.
"What are you talking about? It wasn't Ruth in the room. She's okay," Beverly consoles then glances over at Bill and Mike. "Right?"
"We don't know," Mike replies calmly, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Beverly glances at everyone. "How are we going to know? Is she even here?"
Bill and Mike glance at each other. "We have to search the house."
"Are you out of your fucking mind? We can't go around the house looking for Ruth without gloves on! It's basically a smorgasbord of evidence for the police to collect. Anything we touch will leave fingerprints." Eddie screeched.
"W…w-we," Bill stops, gulping.
"We have to look, Eddie. We need to be sure Ruth is okay," Richie replies for Bill.
"We need to call the police!" Beverly shrieks, still trying to calm Ben.
"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Mike starts, taking the leadership role right now.
"Beverly, go and get help. Tell someone we need the police and an ambulance."
Beverly sighs heavily, then quickly follows her instruction.
"We should have stayed outside," she mumbles under her breath, then leaves the house.
"While she's doing that, we are going to stay here and look for Ruth. Make sure you don't go near the crime scene. We need to leave it undisturbed."
"And might I add? If we do have to touch something, use your fucking shirts. We can't leave any fingerprints behind. Otherwise, the cops will find out we were snooping around." Eddie implores with fingers twitching.
Bill nods in agreement.
"Alright, fine. We'll use our damn shirts."
Ben stood there, his tears slowly ceasing. "I want to know, who is in there?"
"Mr. Greyson," Richie starts. "Someone turned him into a dissected frog. It's not pretty either." He didn't want to mention parts of Jonathan were eaten. They don't need to know that detail.
"You don't think Ruth killed him, do you?" Eddie inquired, horrified at the thought.
Stunned at the notion, Stanley sharply stood. "Ruth wouldn't kill anyone! Someone broke into their house and murdered them. They probably abducted Ruth! For all we know, it could be that fucking stalker of hers."
"I highly doubt he has anything to do with this, Stan. You saw the way those two were acting and getting all touchy. From what I can see, the guy would never lay a finger on Ruth. I believe someone other than him or Ruth did this," Richie said.
Bill turned away from the group and walked back to the kitchen. He stood at the edge of the room, looking around. Bill saw the knife set scattered about the tile along with other utensils. He glances towards the hall, which Bill noticed dents in the walls, then shifted his gaze to the floor where he saw a blood smear.
"There was a struggle," he says finally without a struggle.
The boys turned to Bill, observing him.
"How do you know?" Richie questions.
"There is a knife set scattered on the tile. I think someone was struggling with Mrs. Greyson."
Richie doesn't comment, just stood there. His shock is slowly fading, but the concern for Ruth remains.
"Let's look for Ruth while we wait for the police," Mike firmly suggests, then went into the living room.
Eddie and Bill teamed up to look in the master bedroom while Richie searched in the hall closets. In the back of his mind, Richie hoped not to discover Ruth hanging in one of them. Stan, however, didn't move. He stared at the floor for a prolonged period before glancing up. Stan noticed the dining room was lit, which he found odd. So, he went to investigate. Once he approached the room, he can see Mike coming in, too. They both stared at each other briefly, then back to the mess before them. Stan approaches cautiously, scanning the scattered crab cakes and fried shrimp.
Stan opened his mouth to say something when Richie came in.
"Phew, I didn't see her in the closets. I guess, hey wait, isn't Ruth allergic to shrimp?" Richie questions when he noticed the seafood platter on the floor.
He carefully approached the table, analyzing the angle. Richie saw the shattered glass, even noted the fork with blood on it.
"Ruth was sitting there. She flipped the table," he says.
"How would you know that?" Mike asked.
"Dude, look at the angle. I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but I know when someone flips a table over like an evil monkey."
They stared at him from the weird comment but said nothing. A long moment went by when neither of them spoke. Slowly everyone regrouped, sans Beverly. She is missing from the group longer than the boys thought. They gave her an additional five minutes, thinking that Beverly needed to compose herself after seeing a dead body. That is far from what they thought.
Eventually, the boys heard her voice, along with someone else's, which belonged to a male. Curious, they all looked up to figure out who the person is. They said not a word as a tall figure lumbered into the house and stopped at the living room entrance.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing here?" Mike suddenly barked and stood to his feet.
They didn't answer, just looked in at them with eyes bloodshot and dark bags underneath as if they didn't have a good night's rest.
"Answer my question, asshole! What are you doing here?"
"Mike, please calm down," Beverly urged from around the corner.
"Don't you tell me to calm down! Remember this asshole is stalking, Ruth!"
"He won't hurt Ruth, Mike. He's genuinely concerned about her."
"Yeah, I highly doubt that. How do we know he's not the one who murdered her parents and abducted Ruth?"
The stalker's lips pull back in a vicious snarl, and glared daggers at Mike.
"Don't you throw accusations at me, you little shit!" The stalker bellowed with hostility.
The teenagers flinched from the aggressive tone he had in his voice, even the way his fists trembled. The stalker looked as if he wanted to wail on someone but contained the raging beast.
"I'm going to go make this perfectly clear to you, young man, to all of you! Ruth is a charming and intelligent young woman and is my friend. I would never lay harm onto her. Now get that through your heads. You, especially," the stalker fumed with a finger pointing at Mike.
The stalker glared at Mike a moment longer before storming down the hall while looking into closets. They listened as each door opened and snapped shut, along with his incoherent mumbling as he searched the house himself.
Richie watched the guy remorsefully as he saw dread and sheer panic overwhelming the adult's desperate gaze. He knows the stalker is not responsible for any of this, especially when he is frantically searching for Ruth. Richie wants to get up and give the poor guy some comfort, but he's not precisely a consoling person.
They all heard him suddenly stop his murmuring and stumbled. The kids assume the guy discovered Jordan's slain body and is gapping. They then heard him moving again but said nothing. His feet stopped to look into Ruth's room, where a light shout left the stalker's lips, and curses.
"Holy shit," he mumbled, then said something else they couldn't decipher.
After a long moment, they heard his feet thunder farther down the hall to investigate further.
They all listened to him frantically move around in the master, then rushed out and towards the bathroom. The stalker's mumbling resurfaced and got louder at each passing moment as he continued searching for Ruth in the house.
After a few minutes of looking around, the stranger stumbled to the living room where the kids gathered. He stood there silently and stared at the carpet, breathing unsteadily.
"Var är hon?" The stranger growled lowly with arms resting on the frame to support his weight.
"Pardon?" Eddie inquired.
"Where is she? Where is Ruth?" He roared and glared at the teenagers.
They shrunk from the controlled rage in his smoky voice, yet unnerved at the possibility of him hurting someone. His fists uncurl and clench as his arms rested on the doorframe, and his set jaw indicated the stalker's growing agitation.
"We don't know," Beverly answered softly.
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"She's not here," Richie answered as he stood from the floor. "We investigated the house ourselves."
The stalker glared at the group briefly, then let his gaze wander around the room, hoping to find an answer within the wallpaper of Ruth's whereabouts. His shoulders slump forward despite resting on the doorframe, and his head hung low with a strangled sigh.
"Has anyone called the police?"
"Not yet. I was on my way to a neighbor until I saw you. I figured I'd better tell you what was going on first before getting help."
He glances at her with a faraway gaze and lip jutted out. "Thanks for that, and I'll call them. Has anyone touched anything?"
"I made sure if any of us had to touch anything to use our shirts. I didn't want the police to figure out we were snooping around," Eddie explained.
"Good. Now, I want all of you out of the house and onto the lawn."
"Why should we listen to you? You're not the boss of us," Mike argued.
"You're not supposed to be in here, to begin with, you fucking moron! None of us are. This is all a crime scene. Now get your ass out on that lawn before I force you out."
"Fuck you, asshole!"
"Mike," Richie yelled with a glare.
"What? He is!"
"I know you're worried about Ruth, but don't be rude towards him, dude."
"I don't trust the guy, Rich."
"I don't care if you don't trust him, but he is right."
"Excuse me?"
"Like I said earlier, we should have waited outside," Beverly interjects, then glances at Richie and the stranger. "And I agree with Richie. Just because you don't trust him, it doesn't mean you should be rude."
Mike said nothing, just silently fumed. He glances at the others, who, unfortunately, all seemed to agree with Beverly. Mike is surprised Stan agrees, as well, when he was the first to suspect the stalker of the heinous crime. He won't say anything out loud to him, though. They will have a private discussion later.
"Come on, let's go," Bill replies softly, then ushered Richie, Eddie, and Ben out of the house with Beverly following closely behind. She exchanges a sympathetic glance at the stalker before leaving the confinement of shadows into the dull blue morning.
Mike stayed back for a moment to glare at the stranger with fists trembling at his side. Every inch of him wanted to wail on the taller and slightly older adult but knew it would be fruitless. Mike is smaller and lacking in some areas of combat. He knows how to punch, kick, and shot a bullet into a lamb's head, but not a full-on fight. Mike will just get his ass handed back to him, which he doesn't want. He would like to be in one piece when he sees Ruth again. So, Mike decided not to engage in a brawl with the adult and followed his friends.
Stan watched Mike leave then regarded the stranger, who rightfully glared at him expectantly. He stared at him with a furrow of his brows and a tilt of his head. Stanley suddenly felt he had seen the guy somewhere before, and not just at the fair. He politely studied the stranger's features in hopes to not get on the wrong side of the penny. The stranger's thick lips are curved downwards, and his cold emerald eyes observed Stanley himself, but with an expression the teenager recognized.
His eyes widened, and his mouth slightly gapped when Stanley finally realized who the stalker is.
"Holy Shinola, I know you," Stanley replies in a panicked whisper.
The stalker groaned with a roll of his eyes and started rummaging in his pockets while cursing to himself.
"Damnit, keep your mouth shut, kid. Now, get out on the lawn," the stalker demanded, then turned his back to Stan.
"B…b-but, what, what the hell are you doing here in Derry? Shouldn't you be," Stan started to question but is interrupted.
"That is none of your fucking business," the stranger spat. "Now, do as I say, kid, and don't make me tell you a third time."
Stanley instantly followed his instruction and whirled around.
"Yes, sir," he replies quickly. "Right away, sir."
He frantically exists the living room and out the front door, frightened yet curious about why the stalker came here of all places. Stanley will need to tread lightly around him and not say anything to his friends who the guy really is. He doesn't want them to know they are dealing with a "supposedly" dangerous man.