The worst dreams Beverly had weren't dreams at all, but rather memories played out in horrifying clarity. Such a memory was playing out now as she found herself disembodied and floating underneath the standpipe in Derry.

She could see her body down below, but it wasn't her adult body; it was her at thirteen, in 1989. She could see herself struggling in the grasp of that demonic clown as IT hoisted her up to the level of ITs face. The ease with which IT handled her caused a terrified chill to course through Bev's disembodied spirit.

Beverly watched the clown mock her shrieks and grunts as her adolescent self threw futile punches against ITs massive torso. Her small hands tried to pry ITs larger ones from her throat but it was no use. However, rather than cower or beg, Bev saw firsthand how her eyes narrowed and hardened as she fiercely proclaimed:

"I'm not afraid of you."

She watched the clown's face first go blank, then an expression of confusion and offense took over ITs pale features. IT drew her in close to ITs nose and inhaled deeply, evidently not liking what IT smelled because IT shook ITs head in displeasure. She hadn't noticed before but now she heard the small tinkering of bells accompanying ITs actions.

"You will be." IT promised in a voice that inspired the same amount of absolute dread as it had before.

She saw IT open ITs mouth impossibly wide, revealing undulating rows of teeth and three swirling golden orbs of light.

She watched her younger self's eyes widen and then a veil of cloudy white overshadowed them. Her lips parted and her hands fell slack down by her sides; seeing that happen was especially disturbing since she hadn't known what had happened to her before now. One moment she'd been grimacing at the sight of the Clown, and the next she'd seen those lights and...

Now she had a first-hand view of what IT had done to her and she was thoroughly disturbed. She was also disconcerted at the almost gentle way IT released ITs gloved hands from the sides of her neck and let her rise slowly above IT.

Beverly began to sink.

She immediately panicked but could do nothing to stop or slow her rapid descent past her younger body, past the clown, past the sewers altogether and straight down into a black abyss that felt like Hell, what with its icy coldness. She continued to sink and get colder and colder and it felt like the air was being siphoned from her lungs, robbing her of the ability to scream or even breathe-

Beverly shot up in her bed with a sharp inhalation.

Her hands flew to her throat as she panted and looked around her in the dark. She took in her surroundings as the memory of her nightmare faded and things came back to her; she was in the hotel, she had taken a nap before the concert-

Beverly glanced at the clock on the nightstand and read the time: she had about an hour to get down to the arena.

With a deep breath, Beverly tried to compose herself.

Of course she couldn't fully relax because she wasn't alone in her skin and hadn't been for a very long time: ITs presence still remained within her. Beverly rubbed her face and closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids she saw those glowing amber lights and frowned.

This is never going to end, not until IT's dead.

Beverly rose from the bed and set about readying herself for the concert.

She gathered her lone suitcase and drew from it a simple white dress with short sleeves, a flowing knee-length hem, and a red and pink floral pattern all over its cotton fabric. She brushed her elbow-length red hair from root to tip and then slid her bare feet into a pair of white wedge sandals.

She gathered her costume's accessories into a large paper shopping bag, placing the wig, her curling iron, and her travel container of hair supplies inside neatly. Into another shopping bag she placed the pair of black combat boots with the six-inch platform heels. She carefully laid the costume itself into a garment bag and zipped it up, then surveyed the room that had been her home for the past two weeks. It was neat and clean and she couldn't even tell that she'd been there.

Perfect.

Beverly hooked the straps of the shopping bag over the handle of her suitcase and draped her garment bag over her shoulder, then exited the room. Beverly traveled from the carpeted hall to the nearest elevator, where she felt her stomach start to churn with nervous excitement.

She went to the lobby and called herself a cab, and when it came she carefully loaded herself and her belongings into the backseat. It wasn't until she was actually in the arena did she start to really have second thoughts.

She stood in line waiting to hand over her ticket to the clerk at the window and wondered if she should just turn back and leave.

Richie is doing well for himself, maybe I should just leave him alone and let him enjoy his life for a few more years.

Beverly glanced down at her feet and knew she couldn't do that. She also knew that this was the only way she could proceed. He was a famous celebrity, completely inaccessible to a regular person like her. She had no phone number for him so she couldn't just call and explain herself, and she didn't think he lived in a place she could just show up at unannounced.

This was the only way.

Beverly neared the front of the line and reached into the front pocket of her suitcase, retrieving her gold clutch bag. From it she pulled out the crisp white ticket and handed it to the clerk behind the glass window, who checked it and gave her a wristband back in return.

She went into the arena and took her seat, shivering and wishing she'd brought a jacket along with her since the inside of the place had the air conditioner cranked up.

More people filed into the building's interior as the night progressed and it got significantly louder. Beverly was glad she had a seat free on either side of her so that she could rest her suitcase and bags onto. She sat in her cushioned chair with one leg crossed over the other and her arms crossed over her chest.

Another spike in volume occurred when the band's crew took to the stage and began to set up their instruments and equipment, adjusting the microphones and lighting. Beverly watched them and her heart rate quickened.

Then the band members came out and Beverly had to stand up to be able to see over the crowd of several thousand people just to get a glimpse of her childhood friend.

He wasn't there.

The front-man came out with his guitar strapped around his neck, as did the keyboardist and the bassist but Richie wasn't with them.

"How's everybody doin' tonight?" The front-man greeted as he tuned his guitar in front of the standing microphone. "Good, I hope."

She watched the other two musicians wave to their fans as the crowd eagerly awaited the show. And then there was an abrupt eruption of a mixture of sounds so loud and frenzied that Bev had to cover her ears just to keep from going deaf.

She stood on her toes and felt her chest tighten at the sight of Richie's tall, lanky frame sauntering into view from a hallway to the right of where the keyboardist stood. He had the hugest, most unabashedly shit-eating grin on his face as he twirled one of his black drumsticks between his slender fingers.

Beverly's eyes watered and a smile spread over her face.

Richie was dressed in a pair of black ripped jeans and short-sleeved white t-shirt bearing the band's logo. There was a thick silver chain around his neck and, now that his arms were exposed, she saw that he had several tattoos spanning both his biceps down to his wrists. On his feet he wore a pair of black combat boots like hers except his had a steel toe, and his hair was much thicker, longer, and wilder than it'd looked on TV. She could barely see his eyes because of his long, wavy fringe. He appproached the frontman and took the mic in hand.

"What the fuck is up, LA?!"

Everybody screamed at the top of their lungs, and Beverly went from covering her ears to plugging them with her fingers.

"I see we don't have too many clowns in the audience tonight," He placed a hand over his bangs and scanned over the audience. "You fuckers aren't getting scared, are you?"

Beverly couldn't tell whether the crowd answered him or not; it all just sounded like chaotic white noise. It was honestly giving her a headache and she considered stepping out for a moment.

"I don't know about you," Richie continued while cupping the mic. "But I'm psyched as hell to be here tonight, and I can't wait to give you guys a really good show!"

The front-man leaned over and added, "Let's not keep 'em waiting then, Tozier, move your ass."

Richie shoved him and got shoved back in return and the lights darkened just as he was settling in behind his drum kit.

The music started up and the whole stage was bathed in neon green light. She could see the musicians' silhouettes as the two guitarists moved rhythmically around the stage while coaxing flawless chords from their stringed instruments.

She gradually took her fingers out of her ears as the stadium filled with the sound of crashing and banging percussion, deep and driving bass, and the lead singer's soft and uniquely toned voice. Beverly closed her eyes. For a moment she was out of time and place completely; she wasn't thinking about anything other than the music and how good it sounded inside the arena.

And then they started playing her favorite song, the one she'd fallen in love with less than a week ago, and her thoughts changed.

Images of twin amber eyes flashed in her head and ITs presence made itself known like a snake uncoiling in the pit of her stomach. Beverly halted and opened her eyes, not that it made much of a difference; she could barely see her hand in front of her face, it was so dark at that point.

She felt the darkness rise up from her stomach and fan out like smoke through the inside of her body. No part of her was left untouched as it spread through her arms and legs and head and fingertips and toes. She felt her heart racing but what was surreal was that she didn't feel threatened or endangered. The sensation felt more like being embraced from the inside out.

It feels...good, she didn't want to admit it but it was true. Beverly's eyes fluttered shut once more as the music continued and she felt a radiant energy swirling in her stomach, round and round and round.

Like those amber lights.

The energy spread out just like the darkness had, only now it felt like her body was being washed in warmth from her stomach outward.

Feels like I'm vibrating, Beverly noticed as her thoughts and breathing slowed. She tipped back her head and wrapped one arm around her waist and slid her other hand up over her neck. For some reason it felt like all her nerves were hyper-sensitive, so just touching her throat lightly made the skin there tingle pleasantly. Her lips parted and spread in a slow smile. The pulsing music and interchanging lights put her in a trance-like state.

When the song ended, the spell slowly faded and Beverly realized something: the hand that she'd had near her neck was now tightened over her throat, and the other arm that'd been around her waist was now lowered, with her palm and fingers curved around the inside of her thigh.

Mortified, Beverly snapped to her senses and was exceedingly glad that everyone around her was too wrapped up in the show to notice what she'd been doing.

What the hell was that about?

Beverly was bewildered because she'd never done anything like that before in her life.

I can't believe I was about to-in public, no less!

Beverly took a seat and remained seated for the duration of the next three songs. She didn't know what it was about the music but it seemed to affect her more than she thought.

Or maybe that was IT affecting me. Maybe IT was trying to get me to embarrass myself?

When the concert was winding down, she gathered up her suitcase and bags and headed for the exit doors.

The bright lights from the arena's lobby made her squint and she had to let her eyes adjust in order to see where the women's restroom was. Beverly headed straight there and was glad to find it currently abandoned. It was clean and spacious with a row of giant mirrors positioned horizontally above the granite counter-tops and built-in sinks.

Beverly laid out her supplies and immediately got to work, first wrapping her long, wavy red hair around her head and pinning it down flat against her scalp. She put a wig cap over it, then added a bald cap on top of that. From her suitcase she took her toiletries bag and set to work on her-ITs makeup. Stark white face-paint, pronounced yet hairless eyebrows that were thin and slanted, and of course a dark, bloody red lipstick she coated over her mouth and over the tip of her rounded nose. She used a pencil of the same dark red to draw twin lines from the corners of her mouth, up past her cheeks to the center of her lower eyelids. She continued the marks from the top of her nonexistent brow to the edge of her forehead. Once the lines were drawn, could no longer look at her reflection in the mirror as the creature from her nightmares began to take form.

Beverly changed out of her dress and sandals and into the silver jumpsuit made just for her five and a half foot frame. She designed it so that it only appeared to have a corseted back; the real closures were the tiny silver buttons along front of the costume. Beverly opened the last button near the costume's crotch and stepped into each pant leg, then pushed her arms through the puffy sleeves and began buttoning the jumpsuit back up.

Beverly glanced at the door and wondered, wouldn't it be funny if somebody just walked in and saw me like this? Bald and half-dressed?

She supposed they would understand, being fans of the band and thus well-versed in the clown lore.

Beneath the collar was the last button and Beverly closed it, thereby sealing herself into the silver suit. Beverly had repurposed a material that was intended for drapery or curtains and had lined it with a soft material. It felt slightly heavy against her slim body but it wasn't unbearable.

Bev fluffed the three red poms, plucked out the puffy sleeves, and poofed out the pantaloons over her butt and thighs. She smoothed over the multi-layered soft beige Elizabethan collar around her neck and was careful not to rip the delicate folds. She took a moment to glance at the mirror and was surprised at how proud she felt about what she'd managed to create in the span of a couple of weeks.

Not bad, she drew her fingers over the front of the collar again. Not bad at all. Almost makes up for all the sleep and food I denied myself during that time.

Bev took out the wig; it was a standard copper-colored wig made of genuine human hair, styled into a thick and feathered shoulder-length bob. Bev plugged her curling iron into an outlet near the hand dryers and placed it on its the counter-top while it heated up. She grabbed her hair accessories from the shopping bag and set about transforming the wig into the clown's unusual hairstyle; flipped outward on all sides with a coif in the middle at the top.

Beverly placed the finished product snugly over her head. Again she looked in the mirror with great reluctance and could barely recognize herself at first glance, but her distinct, ice-blue eyes helped distinguish her from the clown. That, and her small stature, which was slightly aided by the height her platform boots afforded her. She opened the plastic seal that a pair of luxurious white gloves were packaged in and slid them onto each of her hands, wriggling her fingers after doing so.

"Well, it's now or never," Beverly whispered to herself.

Hearing her own voice come from the image of her altered reflection was downright uncanny. If ever she wanted to know ITs thoughts on her, it was in that moment: she wanted to know how IT would feel if IT could see what she'd done.

Would IT be offended? Flattered?

It was just a thought that flitted through her mind, nothing of real consequence.

The last thing she did was take an extra large, ankle-length black cloak she'd gotten from a Halloween store out of her suitcase and enshroud herself in it fully, even covering the deep cowl over her head so that all but her red nose and lips were showing.. She didn't want Richie to see her before she was nearby and risk him fleeing the scene before she had a chance to talk to him.

Beverly cleaned up her temporary work station and carried her bags and suitcase out of the bathroom. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten but it hadn't been recently and for that she was grateful; she felt nauseous and sweaty.

The building's air conditioning kept her from ruining her makeup as she once again entered the lobby and looked around for the arena's double door entrance. She stepped back into the concert but didn't go back to her seat. She stood by the doors until the show officially ended.

Last chance to back out now.

She didn't.

Beverly waited until the lights came back up around the stage and the call was made for all clowns to go back into the lobby. Beverly did so and was quickly astounded as more and more clowns began to file out of the arena and into the waiting area. She stood off to the side by herself and wondered if she would even get picked.

"Alright, fellas, let's get a single-file line going," A staff member of the arena said.

Beverly obeyed and fell in line somewhere near the middle of the hallway beside the arena doors. They were all led by staff members down the hall, around the outside of the stadium and to the side entrance of the backstage area. It looked like a sort of lounge, with couches and tables furnishing the area and a kitchen and bar area along the back wall. On the left wall was a door that led onstage. Beverly put her suitcase and bags underneath one of the tables for safekeeping and then stood off to the side nearby it.

Without further instruction, the clowns all began to mingle and murmur amongst themselves. Bev shifted from foot to foot and wrung her gloved hands.

I really hope this works.

"Alright, let's see what we've got," The bassist announced as he stepped into the lounge.

Following him through the stage door were the keyboardist and front-man, and through the doorway Beverly heard pre-recorded music playing on the speakers inside of the arena. The trio of musicians came over to the now-hushed crowd of clowns and began to survey their costumes with humor and laughter.

"Where'd you get this wig, man? Party City?"

"Sick prop, dude. My kid brother's got one just like it."

"There's, like, at least five of you here with the same exact outfit on."

Beverly felt like her chances of being picked were actually getting better with each snarky comment. Then the bassist saw her standing apart and pointed at her.

"You: Darth Sidious; take off the robe."

Beverly now had the floor as all heads turned to see who the bassist was addressing. The room was silent as she took a breath, then reached up and slowly removed her hood.

"Whoa."

"Holy shit."

She shrugged out of the cloak and draped it onto the back of the chair beside her.

"Jesus."

"Fuck, man."

Bev's pride once again flared as the other clowns joined the band in making sounds of approval at her jumpsuit.

Time to seal the deal.

Beverly stepped away from the table and said a quick prayer in her head that she wouldn't fall flat on her face as she attempted her next stunt: she bent her elbows with her fists in front of her waist and placed her weight on her left leg, with her right leg extended to the side. She then hopped and switched her weight to the right, kicking her left leg outward and bouncing her shoulders and fists up and down with the motion. She did it again and again, moving faster and faster, recreating the dance that the clown had performed for her so many years ago.

"God, that is so fucking creepy!"

"Dude!"

The room was once more buzzing excitedly as the band members came over and started appraising her handiwork.

"This is so fucking sick, man!" The bassist grinned. He glanced back at the other clowns and said, "I'm sorry but this guy just blew all your asses out of the fucking water, I mean goddamn!" He laughed heartily.

The keyboardist was shaking his head in awe as he reached out to tentatively touch Bev's red wig.

"Tozier's gonna' shit bricks when he sees you!" The front-man cackled. "I hope you're ready to get your ass kicked!"

"Hey, go get him a waiver!"

A pen and paper was brought over to Beverly so she took a moment to fill it out. Her hand was shaking badly because she just couldn't believe that her plan was actually working! She was about to come face to face with Richie Tozier.

"Sorry you guys," The front-man addressed the clowns. "I think we've got our winner."

There were some groans and other disappointed gripes, but for the most part everyone could understand the band's decision and seemed to agree with them. They filed out of the lounge just as Beverly was finishing up. The front-man collected her waiver without so much as looking at it; he just folded it up and put it in his back pocket with a devious grin.

"I like what you did with the cloak," The keyboardist admired. "I think you should keep it on."

"Yeah, and right when Tozier comes out you should just rip it right off all dramatic-like!" The bassist suggested.

Beverly was getting light-headed. Her heart raced as she nervously pulled the cloak back onto herself, shielding her body and face from view once more. The band members led her over towards the door that led onstage and Beverly tried not to trip in her platform boots.

"God, this is gonna' be epic!"

Beverly was trembling by the time they held open the door for her. She stepped through it and took a few steps onto the well-lit stage before freezing in place.

She was never one for shyness, but this was different. She wasn't prepared to be standing in front of such a loud, boisterous crowd of people and the fact that she was about to reunite with Richie in front of all of them made her stomach flip-flop, made her sway on her feet clumsily-

"Easy," The keyboardist reached out a hand against her shoulder from beside her and chuckled. "Don't be nervous, man. You should be fine. You want some protective gear?"

Beverly shook her head.

If Richie does end up kicking my ass, it'll definitely be justified.

Beverly blinked and stared out at the crowd. Seeing all those people made her head spin but she took a few sobering breaths and held it together.

"Go get Tozier."

Beverly watched as the bassist rushed to follow the front-man's command and said front-man took his mic in hand.

"You guys ready for this?"

The crowd hollered.

"I don't think you guys are ready for this," The front-man laughed and shot a knowing look towards the keyboardist, who went back into the lounge.

He came back out a few seconds later with a camcorder in hand and, from the opposite end of the stage, the bassist came back out giving two thumbs up. And right on his heels was Richie, jogging onstage with a bat in his hands.

The crowd lost it.

He lapped the entire stage, passing her by as he did, and then he started dancing and gyrating to the beat of the music playing in the background.

Richie ripped off his shirt and flung it out into the audience, revealing his pale but surprisingly athletic upper body. He jumped up and down with his bat in the air and took a few practice swings. Something about the movement of his hips and torso made Beverly's mouth go dry.

Am I seriously getting turned on by Richie freaking Tozier?!

It certainly felt like she was as she continued to stare at him. He swung his bat in one hand and sent a wink and a smirk at someone in the audience, then tossed the bat in the air, let it flip, and caught it effortlessly in his other hand behind his back.

Okay, that was kinda' hot.

Richie sauntered over towards Bev and waved at the camera in the keyboardist's hand.

"Well, well, well," Richie smirked. "Got a mystery one tonight, eh?"

Beverly never wanted someone as badly as she wanted Richie right then; how could she not when he was looming over her all sweaty and cock-strong?

He beamed broadly and tried to peek his head beneath her hood, and when he smiled she caught a glimpse of his subtly protruding front teeth.

They used to tease him about that in middle school, she remembered. They used to call him Bucky Beaver.

Beverly felt overwhelmed with nostalgia and guilt. She took a step back and began shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, then said more loudly, "I can't do this! I changed my mind."

"Wait, you're a girl?" Richie frowned, glancing over at his band-mates. "Did you know it was a chick under there?"

Their flabbergasted expressions told him that they did not. The audience members were highly entertained.

Richie turned to the crowd and claimed, "I don't know, guys, I'm not a woman-beater." They roared with laughter.

Propping the bat behind his head onto his shoulders, Richie surveyed Beverly anew and said slyly, "I guess I'll have to change my name to Clown Fucker, huh?" He reached forward and said, "Let's have a look, then, shall we?"

Beverly stepped backwards.

"It's alright, Sweetheart, I just wanna' see." Richie coaxed playfully. He held out his hand to her and she held her breath.

Taking one step, and then another, Beverly pulled her arms out of the cloak sleeves and reached forward to slip her gloved hand in his. His grip was sure and strong, until she let the cloak fall away from her head and shoulders.

To say that Richie was scared would be an understatement. As the audience took a collective look at her costume, Beverly watched Richie's up-close reaction.

First his expression fell, the mirth melting right off his features. Then his face whitened and his eyes-or what she could see of them-widened in utter terror. He retracted his hand with a startled cry and propelled himself backwards, dropping his bat and then tripping over it and falling onto his ass.

The crowd started howling and the rest of the band were sharing in what they thought was an awesome moment of Richie having met his match, but Beverly felt her chest tighten like it was being squeezed in someone's fist.

She stepped forward and said, "Richie-"

Richie screamed and clambered to his feet and then bolted off stage back through the door he'd previously come from.

"Did you get all that on tape?"

"You bet your ass, I did!"

Beverly wasted no time in following after Richie and, probably hoping to capture more golden footage, the band followed her and kept filming the ordeal.

Beverly entered the twin lounge and saw that Richie was in the kitchenette on his hands and knees, puking his guts out into a small metal trashcan. She tried to approach him as carefully as she could and held both her gloved hands up in clear supplication.

"Rich-"

Richie whipped his head around and let out a shriek. He scrambled wildly like a crab across the tiled kitchen floor and, for a brief and guilty second, Beverly understood the appeal in eliciting fear; it made her feel powerful.

"Stay back!" Richie screeched. "Just stay the fuck away from me!" There were tears coming down his face.

The sight of them stole away all traces of her errant satisfaction and brought her right back down into the valley of guilt.

Richie was hyperventilating and Beverly was afraid he might actually have a heart attack, so she turned to the band members and found that only the keyboardist looked actually concerned; the other two were still cracking up, thinking it was just a joke.

"...Is he okay?" The keyboardist asked.

The front-man and bassist quieted and one of them asked, "Yo Tozier, you good man?"

Beverly didn't see or hear his answer because she was backing away. She felt so bad for deriving any sort of pleasure from her friend's abject terror.

Seriously, what's come over me? Oh yeah...IT

She blamed ITs influence for how she reacted; what other explanation could there be? She wasn't the type of person to do that...was she?

Beverly rushed across the stage to the other lounge and went over towards the table where she'd stored her belongings. She began stripping away the horrid costume piece by piece. She pulled off the wig and bald cap, then used several makeup wipes to rid her face of the staunch white paint and makeup. She then freed her natural red locks from the dozens of bobby pins and let her hair come tumbling down her shoulders and back. In the absence of company, Beverly unbuttoned the jumpsuit and changed back into her dress, switching her boots out for her sandals and pulling off the silky white gloves. She was raking her fingers through her hair when the door to the lounge came bursting open.

"Hey-" The bassist's eyes widened and his entire tone changed, dropped an octave as he repeated, "...hey. Uh. I-did you want to get a picture or something?"

Beverly frowned in confusion.

"I mean, this isn't how these things typically go," The bassist explained. "I didn't know Tozier was gonna' freak out that bad-"

"I need to talk to him," Beverly cut in desperately. "He's an old friend of mine, from middle school, I know this sounds crazy-"

"No, no, it's fine!" The bassist insisted. "Meet and greet; that's do-able." He gestured towards the open doorway, "Come on."

Beverly followed the bassist back out of the lounge and, as she crossed the stage for the third time, there was a litany of wolf-whistles and hoots from the crowd. She ignored them and wrapped her arms around herself nervously.

The scene in the lounge was a bit better; while Richie was still on the kitchen floor, he appeared to have calmed down. The frontman was crouched next to him with his hand on Richie's shoulder and the keyboardist was standing nearby looking on with concern.

They looked up as the bassist approached with Beverly and all three of them looked up. Like the bassist, the other band members gazed at Beverly with keen interest. Richie looked wary and confused, almost childlike in his bewilderment.

"Richie," Beverly said softly as she came near.

Richie drew up his knees and frowned up at the incoming redhead.

"It's me, Trashmouth," She told him gently. "It's Beverly Marsh."

Richie didn't react at first, he just frowned in confusion until his features suddenly slackened.

And then so did the rest of him.

"Shit!" The bassist swore.

Beverly launched forward and grabbed hold of his upper body before his head could make contact with the hard floor. She positioned herself behind him with his head in her lap and moved his hair out of the way of his eyes: he was passed out.

"Can you get me a wet towel?" Beverly asked of the keyboardist, who finally set down his camera and immediately obliged.

Beverly tapped at the side of Richie's angular cheek and dabbed at his forehead with the damp towel. She was relieved beyond compare when Richie's eyes cracked open.

He blinked until his dark eyes stopped rolling around and then focused on Beverly's upside-down, guilt-stricken face.

But he didn't speak.

"Richie?" She whispered tentatively.

He winced.

"Please say something," She implored him with an edge of urgency. "Are you alright?"

God, what if I mentally broke him or something?

Richie's eyes drifted from Beverly's face towards the top of her dress as she was bent over him. The first words out of his mouth were, "Nice rack."

Beverly sank back onto her heels with a shuddering breath and the band members laughed in the background.

"Are you alright, man?" The bassist asked him.

Richie gave him a weak smile and a limp thumbs up.

Beverly turned to the band and asked, "Could you guys give us a minute?"

They did so without hesitation or complaint, much to Beverly's relief.

She pulled back and Richie rose up on his elbows, then rolled onto his stomach. Beverly stood and offered him a hand, which he accepted and she pulled him to his feet.

"How much do you remember?"

"What?"

"It's important," Beverly insisted. "How much do you remember?"

Richie suddenly looked around the lounge and asked, "Am I going crazy or was there a..."

"A clown?" Beverly supplied. "Yeah. That was me."

Richie frowned dubiously until he realized she was telling the truth. Beverly took his clammy hand in hers and led him over to one of the soft black couches. She sat across from him and drew her knees and bare feet underneath her, resting her hands on her thighs as she gave Richie a moment to process things.

Then she carefully asked again, "How much do you remember?"

"Not much." Richie sighed. "I...I remember you," He gave her a once-over. "Were you always this hot?"

Beverly smirked.

"Yeah, you were! Like, half the school wanted you and the other half were jealous as fuck-especially that one bitchy chick, Greta-something; you know 90% of the rumors about you in school were started by her?"

"I can believe it," Beverly rolled her eyes. "What else do you remember?"

Richie tipped back his head with his arms spread over the back and arm of the couch. "Ummmm...shit..." He drummed his fingers on the couch cushion.

"Think, Richie."

"Cut me some slack, Red, I thought I was about to fucking die five minutes ago, alright?"

Beverly softened at the mention of his old nickname for her. The way it rolled off his tongue was satisfying to hear.

"You got a light?" Richie asked, another holdover from their childhood.

They used to smoke together in the T-building classroom, skipping class and talking shit.

He used to ask me that exact question all the time, she thought with tears in her eyes.

Beverly leaned forward and drew him into a tight and lingering hug. Richie returned it, wrapping his tattooed arms around her and humming in delight.

"Now see, this how you greet a guy." Richie stated. "You don't go sneaking up on him dressed as a fucking killer clown."

Beverly sat back with a brief laugh, the tears sliding down her cheeks. She stared up at Richie with both relief and fondness, a sentiment mirrored in his easy smile. He thumbed the tears away from her cheeks and the feeling of being so close to him-a living remnant of the better parts of her past-was overwhelming. Not to mention the celebrity element at play; she'd only just seen him on TV hours ago and was feeling a bit star-struck.

"You okay?" Richie asked.

Bev realized she'd been staring at him for seconds on end without blinking; she realized she may have creeped him out.

"Yeah," Beverly stammered. "I just...missed you a lot."

Richie grinned broadly.

Beverly blushed and looked down at her hands in her lap. Right next to her knees was Richie's left leg, and near that was his-

"So," Richie promptly spoke. "How's LA?"

Did he see me looking at his-Oh God, I hope he didn't see.

"Uh..."

"Did you enjoy the show?" Richie eagerly awaited her response.

"Yeah, it was good-it was amazing, actually. I didn't know you were so talented."

"You'd be surprised, Red."

Beverly saw that his smirk was back and the sight of it quickened her heart rate.

"I feel like I wanna' kiss you right now-" Richie blurted. "Is that weird? It's weird. I'm being weird right now, I'm sorry."

Before she could even remark on the outburst, he was changing the subject.

"Do you wanna' go somewhere and, like, catch up?" He motioned towards the stage door and said, "We were gonna' get something to eat, you wanna' come with?"

"Um." Beverly blinked and then nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Richie broke out another huge grin.

"My stuff," Beverly mentioned. "I left it on the other side."

"I'll go get it," Richie offered at once and pushed off of the couch. He was gone before she could even get her feet back onto the floor.

Beverly stood and put her sandals back on, and then went over the night's events with tentative relief.

So far so good.

A.N.: Let me know if you want to read more and I'll post the next chapter!