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It’s not at all what Eddie is expecting. Although, to be fair, he hadn’t expected anything at all. An odd side effect of his mom ramming illness down his throat for thirty years was a severe awareness of death as the worst thing imaginable, something you don’t come back from, something that has to be avoided at all costs. Eddie had avoided it. Up to now, obviously.
It’s obvious because Eddie is staring down at his body and he’s not in it.
It's not a pretty sight. Eddie doesn't really like looking at it, this carcass that used to be him, half-sunk into sewage.
Ergo, he must be in the afterlife. Or about to go into the afterlife. He hopes it’s the second option, because otherwise he’ll be trapped in the sewers forever and the very thought of that makes him want to vomit. Which he can’t do because he hasn’t got a body.
He can’t move, either. He tried to walk in the direction of the hatch they’d come through, only for it to feel like his feet were stuck in jello. He had tried for hours. Nothing. Nothing but being frozen in place with a view of that fucking sewer and that fucking clown. Or what’s left of it.
He’s glad they stopped it. Obviously.
He just wishes they’d managed to get to him too.
They must’ve got out though, because when he- woke up? Is that the right word? Whatever. When he “woke up” he was alone. Which means they must’ve got out, and left him behind.
Bastards.
He doesn't mean that, not really. But he wonders if this is what Stan felt when that creature was gnawing on his face. The sense of abandonment, the anger, the fear, the keen knowledge of everything unsaid or said stupidly. And he can’t get out to do anything about it. All there is, is to wait, and think.
He thinks about Richie. Go fucking figure: you forget a guy for 27 years, and the second you remember him: boom! Like he never left. Dominating your thoughts alongside everything else. He’d missed him though, without quite knowing it. Not like the others. Somehow with Richie it was different, like it always had been. He was still a stupid, stupid bastard, ridiculously tall and put together like a broken Chinese puzzle box but he was still Richie. And he thought Eddie was still enough like Eddie to be worth liking. And when Eddie had drunkenly slipped and said something about kissing Richie’s hand had gripped back and he’d grinned like Eddie was all there was. No one had ever looked at him like that, before or since. Especially not his wife.
Which was why when he’d seen Richie in the deadlights he had to do something about it, didn’t he? He couldn’t let him die. Nearly thirty years without Trashmouth was bad enough- the rest of a lifetime?
Better not to have one.
Although, obviously, that hadn’t worked out, had it.
He tries to move again. Nothing. In frustration he aims a kick at the sad sack of flesh that’d been his body, and shouts:
‘You fuckers! You fucker, clown! Fuck!’
There is a flutter of birds above him. Eddie pauses. Does that mean-
‘Fuck!’ he tries again, same volume, trying to suppress the crack in his voice. Birds again: the sound of an echo.
Awkwardly, he tries to nudge his body. It shifts.
It. Shifts.
Well.
Fuck.
He shouts again.
‘Can anyone hear me? Anyone? Please?’
Nothing. No one was near enough, obviously. And everything above him seemed collapsed.
But he had a presence, didn’t he? A physical presence. This wasn’t the afterlife (slightly disappointing). Which meant-
He tries moving his feet again. There was a marvellous unsticking feeling, and Eddie lets out a huff of breath he doesn’t need to as his foot surges forward, right through his own chest.
Shit. There was a big fucking hole there wasn’t there?
Real nice going, Eds.
He rolls his eyes. Dead, and Richie Tozier’s voice wouldn’t leave his fucking head.
Well, he couldn’t get back to that body anyway. He gives it a little salute, something to confirm that yes, he had inhabited that for forty years, what a fucking shame, but that was over now. He turns his head away from the congealing, hamburger mess. Trying to avoid the rest of his body, Eddie walks towards the entrance, trying to avoid the half-decaying clown bits and sludge. Disgusting. He needs a shower.
Gingerly he grabs the handle to the sewer opening. Very slowly, it opens for him and Eddie let out a laugh, turned round at the sewer and throws his middle fingers up in the imitation of someone much loved:
‘Screw you, fucktard!’
And walks through, back to him.