Chapter Text
"What the fuck am I doing?" Richie asked himself as he boarded the plane. He couldn't believe that he spent almost five hundred dollars to visit a place that he grew up in. Who the fuck forgets their hometown? What else was he forgetting?
Richie shook his head as he sat down in his seat. How the fuck do you just forget people? He kept trying to imagine any of the details, but it seemed as someone had over-developed the film in his brain. The images were there, but none of the details were. He could see glimpses. He remembered Mike from the phone call, but there wasn't much else that was coming to him.
Who else was he forgetting?
How many of them were going back?
Was he going to be the only one who showed up?
"Sir, are you okay?" the flight attendant asked in a worried voice. She glanced down at his hands quickly.
Richie looked up quickly. He took a deep breath and opened his fists a few time to create blood flow again. He hadn't noticed how tight his grip was on the armrest until that moment. "Can I get as much whiskey as you can give me at once, please?"
The flight attendant nodded, and Richie could have sworn that there was a judgment in her eyes. There was pity swirling in them as she looked at him. He wondered if she was going to tell her friends about how Richie Tozier, the famous comedian who just had a special on Netflix, was a nervous wreck guzzling whiskey on the plane after canceling multiple late-night appearances to take a random trip to Maine. He couldn't wait for the rumors that he had checked himself into a rehab center across the country.
He made a mental note to discuss more of this with his joke writer once he returned to LA. There had to be jokes buried in this nightmare.
God, he hoped that least he'd get something out of this trip.
His internal panic fell silent as he heard the voice of the pilot fill the cabin.
"This is your captain speaking welcoming to your nonstop flight to Bangor, Maine today. My name is Eduardo and I'll –"
Rich felt the air suddenly knocked out of his lungs. He tried to take a deep breath, but he could barely pull in any oxygen. It felt as if someone was choking him. He wondered if this is what it felt like for Eddie during his asthma attacks.
Fucking hell, his mind raced as his mind was suddenly flooded with flashes of this frantic boy always talking too fast and using his inhaler far too much.
The thought just brought more pain to his lungs as he continued to attempt to catch his breath.
"Mr. Tozier," the flight attendant said quietly passing him two small containers of whiskey.
Richie grabbed them quickly and had never been more grateful for timing in his life. He quickly unscrewed the lid and gulped one down. Eyes closed
Admittedly, he wasn't even sure what he remembered. He could remember that Eddie existed and assumed that he had also received a phone call last night. If you asked him for any other specific memories of the boy, nothing else definite came to mind other than his manic energy, inhaler, and just a feeling of calm. Remembering Eddie's existence was the first thing to calm his anxiety over this trip back to Derry.
He decided to take advantage of his sudden calm and took out his phone and slowly searched, "Derry, Maine." He hoped that he could refresh some of those memories back before he was physically inside of them. He wanted to know what he was walking back into.
"Jesus Christ." He scrolled through the news hoping to find at least one article that didn't mention a missing child or murder. Maybe that explained the horrible sinking feeling he had about returning. What sort of warped murder town did he grow up?
He clicked on the first article to satisfy his curiosity.
"Body Identified as Adrian Mellon in Kissing Bridge Murder."
For a moment, Richie thought that he could picture this bridge. He could see himself on it, but he was alone in this flash. He wondered if he had shared a kiss on it, but that flash wasn't coming to him.
"Mellon, an asthmatic, was thrown off the bridge in town commonly referred to as the Kissing Bridge after an alleged hate crime according to a personal statement from his boyfriend. The body was found heavily mutilated and missing an arm."
Rich unclipped his seat belt without even checking if it was okay to move in the cabin. He rushed to the front of the plane barely making it inside the bathroom before emptying d the contents of his stomach into the steel toilet. His body could barely fit in the space, and there wasn't the strength to stand back up. He was also afraid he might throw up again as specific memories came flooding back to him.
At least you didn't come out before returning to hate crime central, Rich, he thought. He rested his head in his hands. Even his weak attempt at humor didn't do anything to calm his own nerves.
He closed his eyes, attempting to picture those memories a little clearer. He thought back to the article and for the first time since childhood thought about Georgie. He had completely forgotten about the murder of his best friend's brother. He for a moment thought that he remembered seeing him after the death missing his arm, but he told himself that was fucking crazy.
Everything about this was crazy. Today, pieces of himself were uncovered that hadn't seen daylight in years.
He wanted to put the extra pieces back away. He didn't want to remember Georgie. He didn't want to remember what it was like growing up in Derry. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to remember Eddie.
He could taste acid building up in his throat again thinking back to the article.
An asthmatic gay man was murdered and thrown into the water and mutilated.
More flashes of Eddie came to his mind. Sleepovers. Subtle touches. The not so subtle touches that had made Riche's heart race in a way that scared him when he was a kid. The way Eddie was afraid of everything. His asthma.
Richie threw up again.
He closed his eyes, and he was suddenly in his childhood bedroom. He had thought about this room in at least 27 years. It was the first memory that had come to him fully. Everything else felt like someone had burned out bits and pieces with a cigarette, but this was complete.
There was barely a free spot on the wall not covered by a poster. The chaos was limited to just the walls as the floor was littered with humor magazines and comic books. Cups of water were scattered throughout the room. Eddie looked distinctly out of place in this environment.
Richie was lying on his bed, flipping through a comic book. He occasionally glanced over at Eddie who was frantically looking through his fanny pack.
"What the fuck are you doing? Can you just relax?" Richie asked.
"No, I need to find my inhaler, asshole." There was a slight panic in Eddie's voice.
Richie didn't look up from his comic book. "Did you check your second fanny pack?"
Eddie glared at Richie while throwing his fanny pack at the ground. "I only brought one today."
"Okay," Richie started.
"This isn't okay, Richie. If I don't find my inhaler, my airway is going to constrict, and I am going to fucking die. I'm going to die in your disgusting bedroom and who knows what is fucking growing in here," Eddie was using hands to punctuate most of his words. He sat down on the ground to look through his fanny pack again.
"Eds, you're not going to die."
"You – don't – know – that!" Eddie yelled, taking a gasp between each word.
Richie finally put down the comic book and looked at Eddie. It was a normal occurrence to watch Eddie occasionally have a meltdown, but they had more frequent once they started high school. Some passed quickly, and others felt that they were never going to end. Rich hoped it was the first, but he feared this one might be more catastrophic. The fact that Eddie was sitting on his dirty floor confirmed that.
He started walking over towards Eddie. "Just breath, dude."
"Without – my – inhaler," Eddie started to say through wheezes.
"Shut the fuck up, and just breathe before I end up killing you."
Eddie glared at Richie.
Richie took a deep breath and placed both of his hands on Eddie's face and his body tense slightly at the touch. He waited for a moment for Eddie to tell him to remove his hands, but when he didn't, he adjusted his grip. He ran his thumb against Eddie's earlobe gently. "Just breath. Slowly. In and out."
Richie continued to guide Eddie through taking breaths. He wasn't sure how long they had stayed like that. He didn't move until he felt the tension leave from Eddie's face and noticed that his breathing seemed to have slowed.
The two sat there in silence with Richie cradling Eddie's head.
Richie dropped his hands quickly as he heard a knock on his door. "Boys, it's time for dinner!"
Richie awkwardly adjusted his glasses standing up. "I won't let you die on a dirty bedroom floor."
Richie opened his eyes and was back in a disgusting airplane bathroom. Eddie would have hated this. He would have an entire list of reasons why sitting on this floor could possibly kill him and at least four diseases that are commonly found on airplanes.
He leaned his head back, praying for the first time he could remember. God, don't let Eddie be brave enough to come back to Derry. Please let him be a coward this one time. Please listen to this and let me save him his life just one more time.
He wondered about the man that Eddie Kaspbrak would have grown into and the life that he had.
Did he marry a woman?
Richie knew the answer. Of course, he did. He thought there might have been memories of them standing too close, but they were just dumb boys who didn't respect boundaries. They liked to push each other's buttons.
They had never talked about it. Richie had never spoken to anyone about it, and he was content keeping it that way.
It was a childhood crush. A dumb, small, dead childhood crush.
"Sir, are you okay?" The voice came from the other side of the door.
Richie chuckled. This flight attendant was definitely going to tell her friends that he was on a bender.
He dragged his body off the floor. It took a moment since every part of his body felt like it had been replaced by cement.
"I'm great," Richie said as he opened the door. "Motion sickness."
The flight attendant smiled at him. Her smile didn't reach her eyes as she looked at him with sad eyes.
He made a mental note to find a gift for his publicist for when he returned home.
Or was it if he returned home? Would he also end up dead under a bridge in the middle of nowhere Maine?
"Can I have some whiskey please?" Richie asked a different flight attendant as she walked past.
She gave him the same sad, sympathetic smile he had received early. "Of course, Mr. Tozier."
Fuck, it's going to have to be a really fucking good gift, he thought. At this point, he didn't care. He needed a drink. Or twelve. Or maybe even a cigarette. Where was Bev when you needed her?
He decided that it was no time not to remember anything anymore. He wasn't sure how many of those tiny whiskeys he consumed, and he didn't want to know. He was just glad that he was finally able to sleep.
Sleep was his security and safety. It was one time a day where he could just completely shut off his brain. He was grateful that this stayed consistent for him. He had a few moments of peace before the plane landed in Bangor.
The landing was uneventful, and Richie quickly made his way off the plane and away from the sad eyes of those flight attendants.
He put on a baseball cap and quickly made his way through the airport. It didn't happen often, but he wasn't in the mood for someone to recognize him. Most times he loved it when a fan walked up to him, but every stranger right now put him on edge. He wanted to just to Derry. He had to get to Derry.
He approached the rental car counter. "I'm picking up a car. Reservation is for Tozier."
The young man behind the counter smiled without looking at him. He looked at the computer screen. "Do you have a preference for car, Mr. Tozier?"
"Something I'd look good in if I died in it," Richie said.
The worker stopped typing for a second and looked at him before smiling. "I have the perfect car for that."
Richie gave a forced smile back. He thought that maybe he could crash that car on the way. That would be a reason for not making it there.
He nodded and answered the questions the worker asked. He didn't process any of the details as he continued to nod.
He had a pounding headache from the whiskey earlier.
The worker passed over a paper asking for his signature. He signed without even really looking at it.
The worker handed over a set of keys. "Garage is behind me through those doors. The car will be in spot A4. Enjoy your time in Maine."
It was a quick walk to the garage. It was larger than expected and poorly lit. One of the lights flickered in the back corner. It looked like another place where someone could get murdered in Maine.
He walked down the aisles until he came to the correct spot. He shrugged, looking at the car. He could die in this without being completely embarrassed.
Without much thought, Richie typed the hotel's address into the GPS. The drive would take under an hour. He checked the time to make sure that he'd make it to the restaurant on time.
Richie turned up the volume as he pressed the gas pedal. He let the engine rev as he pulled onto the highway. For the first time that entire day, he felt as if he was finally in control.
The car went faster than anticipated, and it felt natural to speed on an empty highway. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen a highway this empty. At times it felt that he was the only car on the road.
That's a great sign, he thought. No one else wants to travel to this place either.
Richie felt that he might vomit again as he drove the giant "WELCOME TO DERRY, MAINE" sign.
"Turn left."
He looked down at the time, noticing that he had at least thirty minutes until he had to be at the restaurant. He didn't know why, but something in his body was telling him to drive straight.
"Recalculating."
Rich turned off the GPS and went off intuition.
He pressed the brakes gently once he realized what he was driving towards. The car stopped on the side of the bridge, and Richie turned the engine off. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel a few times.
There were no words for any of the things he felt, so instead, he screamed. He screamed as loudly as he could and until there was no air left in his lungs.
After a few deep breaths, he stepped out of the car and onto the bridge. In another world, this would have been a beautiful moment. Standing on a bridge looking out at the crimson sunset over the water down below, he understood why this could be one of the romantic spots in this town. It also was the scene of a horrific murder. Beautiful and deadly at the same time.
He tried to go through his own memories again to see if there was a reason to be standing on this bridge.
It hit Richie like a brick. This was where he had said goodbye to Eddie before he moved to California.
He remembered that he started his junior year in California, but never thought about where he was before that. The family never had a real discussion on why they were leaving Derry. Richie always assumed that it was because his mother knew how badly he wanted to perform, and there was no way he was going to accomplish that in this small town. Now he figured all the dead children might have been part of that decision.
Rich remembered that he was the first to leave the town. He was the first broken link in the chain of losers. Did that mean he was the first to forget? Did everyone else forget, too?
He leaned against the old, wooden bridge looking down at the water. He pushed out the thoughts of what was lingering in that water.
He turned and could almost see the two of them standing on the bridge, saying their final goodbyes.
At that moment, Richie was awkward. He had grown six inches during sophomore year and towered over Eddie. The thick glasses didn't help with the awkward look either. Those were one of the first things to go when he moved.
Eddie looked uncomfortable. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, awkwardly shifting his body weight from foot to foot.
"This sucks," Eddie broke the silence.
"You have everyone else. And you'll visit," Richie said. "They'll be so many hot chicks who won't want to fuck you there, too, I bet."
"There's no fucking way I'm getting on a plane. Do you know how much bacteria is on a plane? And the same air circulates the entire time, and that's what a five-hour flight? Just imagine how much bacteria I would inhale in that time," Eddie said. His hands had worked their way out of his pockets. It was almost impossible for him not to speak using his hands when he was frustrated.
"You've been in greywater, but you won't get on a plane to see me?"
"Don't bring that up! You know how I feel about it, and this is completely different."
"Yeah, it's only your best friend on the other side of the country. I guess that's not serious enough for you to risk a cold."
Eddie looked down. "That's not…"
The statement was never finished. The two boys just stood there in the silence.
Richie leaned against the wooden bridge. He skimmed the names and different carvings on the bridge while trying to find the words to say. "Eds, I…I…I…"
"Fucked my mom? I know," Eddie finished for him.
Richie nodded. "Yeah, she'll never find someone as good as me."
"She never will."
Richie threw a rock over the bridge to bring himself out of that memory. Eddie was right. He never did end up coming to California. Did they try to visit happened?
The memories so far weren't terrible, which made him worry about the rest of the pages that were ripped from the book. He knew that there were darker chapters that he couldn't remember. For now, he'd stick to the abridged version.
He threw his head back, realizing that most likely that was the exact thing that was about to happen. In less than thirty minutes, he would be sitting in a room with six people that he hadn't seen in almost thirty years. Would he even recognize them? What else would he remember?
He looked down at the water for a final time. He didn't know if he was ready for this.
Richie turned to leave but stopped when he thought he heard something. He wasn't sure, but it almost seemed that laughter was coming from somewhere.
He turned around to see if there was anyone else on the bridge. Looking around, he noticed that he was the only person there.
The first step that he took he thought that he heard the laughter one more time. It sent a chill up his spine because there was something about the cackle that wasn't happy. There was something dark and knowing about it. There was a sudden realization; he was aware that he was standing on a murder bridge in the twilight.
Once he made it into the car, he started the engine as quickly as possible, deciding he would use the GPS. Looking down at the clock, it was apparent was that this detour took more time than initially expected. There wasn't time to go to the Inn. At this point, he decided to drive right to the restaurant. He was nervous that if he didn't go directly there, he might never actually make it.
Mindlessly, he drove, listening to the directions. It said that it would take him seven minutes to get there. He wasn't trying to speed his way there, but he ended up making it there in six. The extra minute was spent with Richie just sitting in his car staring at the sign.
Looking at the other cars, he wondered if any of those belonged to any of the other losers. Where they already here? Richie hoped that he wasn't the first person to show up. He didn't want to start the small talk.
Rich took a deep breath, starting to open the car door. His hand dropped from the handle when he looked up. A man was pacing in front of the entrance. It seemed that the man was having a conversation with him when he walked back and forth. His hands were moving almost as if he was working his way through some list.
There was no mistaking it that Eddie Kaspbrak was standing twenty feet away from Richie. He fucking showed up.
Richie didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to turn the engine back on and drive away. He thought about driving away as fast as he could. He could easily be back at the airport in an hour, and then he'd be back in LA by morning. He would only end up missing one performance.
The other part wanted to run up to Eddie, hug him tight and apologize for forgetting about him. He didn't want to make sure that he knew he didn't do it on purpose. How do you apologize for something like that? Is there a card or a gift basket for that?
This was crazy.
Richie went to put the key in the ignition, and for the first time in many years fully noticed the scar on his palm.
They made a promise. He might have forgotten once, but this was a second chance.
"Fuck this," Richie said as he opened the door of the car.
The car door slammed louder than he had anticipated. Eddie's head snapped towards the sound.
Richie froze once Eddie looked at him. He wanted to run towards Eddie, and it took everything in him to remember to walk at an average pace. He didn't want to look like a maniac.
He kept pouring over what he was going to say when he walked up to him. There were so many things that he wanted to say, and so many things that he felt like he couldn't say. Feelings and memories were flooding back to him, and he stressed how much he could even remember.
"Your comedy specials suck."
Rich couldn't believe that it was Eddie that ended up getting the first word.
"Oh, are you a fan? Would you like an autograph or a selfie?" Richie asked, walking closer. Eddie's face fell slightly at the response. "Or would your mother like one, Eds?"
"Fuck you," Eddie snapped. "Don't call me that, and don't fucking touch me."
Richie laughed as he ignored Eddie. He wasn't about to start listening to him now. The hug was quick. He wanted the moment to last forever, but he knew that it couldn't. He couldn't think about the fact that Eddie hit perfectly into his arms for those few seconds.
He wanted to live in the moment where he was bumping into Eddie on the streets of LA or any other city that isn't Derry. They were only two friends coming back together to catch up on their lives. There wasn't a cryptic childhood promise bringing them back to a murder town.
"Haven't changed a bit." He wasn't lying. He looked the same as Richie could remember from the images that floated back into his mind today.
"You look like shit."
Rich smiled and felt for the first time today that it was going to be okay. There might be something good about this town, and he might be looking at it.