Chapter Text
To say Mike Hanlon was frustrated would be an understatement.
He looked down at the list of phone numbers, addresses, and names.
All were crossed off. All except one.
Richie Tozier.
He was the only one Mike had yet to speak with. The only one who refused to even pick up the phone. In fact, it hadn’t even been ringing. It would go straight to voicemail every time.
So, yeah, Mike was frustrated. But he was also worried.
What if, somehow, Pennywise had managed to go beyond Derry and hurt him? Or worse, kill him?
He had already been stressed that the cursed twenty-seven years had arrived, but this new issue added a whole other layer to his worry.
A day after getting ahold of Bill, Eddie, Beverly, Stan, and Ben, they were all gathered at the Mandarin Restaurant where Mike had reserved a room. It was nice and private. Perfect for them all to reunite and remember.
Mike was excited to see his friends again, of course, but that didn’t stop the heavy guilt he felt for having to uproot their lives in order to do so.
He kept trying to reassure himself that it would all be over soon.
It would all come to an end and they could all finally be free.
Mike kept expecting – or at least, hoping – that their seventh friend would appear that evening. He had left voicemails. Ten of them, actually; telling Richie where to meet them and on what date. Yet, food and drink all came and went with no Richie.
“So, is Richie just not going to show, or...?” Eddie asked.
“I know my memory is a little messed up right now, but something tells me he’s not coming. He hated this town,” Ben said.
“So did we,” Stan pointed out.
They were silent for a few seconds, deep in thought over realizations and forgotten memories.
“I remember enough to know that Richie would’ve come back. For us, he would’ve,” Bill said earnestly.
Eddie nodded, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the table, all jovialness gone from his face. “Yeah. Yeah, he would’ve.”
What followed shortly after was a horrifying fiasco that only Pennywise could create for them.
Imaginary blood, floating heads in the fish tank, gruesome creatures and body parts spilling from fortune cookies...along with a disturbing fortune that spelled out:
Guess
Richie
Could
Not
Cut
It
It had sent a shiver down all of their spines, especially Mike, who still had all his memories of just what Pennywise was capable of.
Had it gotten to Richie despite him residing outside of Derry?
There was only one way to find out.
.
.
.
.
.
Mike felt like he was leading a gaggle of lost baby ducklings on a cross-country trip.
Each of the Losers – with the exception of Mike himself – had gone on their own separate quests around Derry, collecting tokens and regaining memories. Then, they’d each purchased an impromptu, exorbitantly-priced plane ticket to Los Angeles International Airport.
While they had each regained almost all of their lost memories, that didn’t change the fact that Beverly, Ben, Bill, Stan, and Eddie were still quite stupefied by everything.
Mike supposed he couldn’t blame them. This was a lot to take in within just seventy-two hours. To make matters worse, they were running on virtually zero sleep.
“Okay, so we need to go to...uh, Conch Bay Avenue?” Mike said, reading off a piece of wrinkled notebook paper as he walked through the airport’s sliding automatic doors.
“How is it you know where he lives?” Stan asked.
“I know where all of you live,” Mike replied simply, not looking up from his list.
“Wait, what-” Eddie started.
“Alright, got it,” Ben said, looking at the GPS on his phone. “It’s...over an hour away.”
“W-we’ll rent a couple cars,” Bill said. “Better than getting an Uber to fit all of us.”
“Agreed,” Mike nodded. “Let’s go.”
Mike, Bill, and Stan were in one car while Eddie, Beverly, and Ben were in the other. Bill insisted on driving, which Mike was thankful for because he was definitely not used to this kind of traffic.
“Damn, Eddie really does drive like a maniac,” Bill said as he followed the weaving vehicle. “Shit- Eddie! We n-need to get there alive!”
Alive.
Mike really hoped Richie would be.
The fortune cookie message had been playing out in his head over and over again. And he knew he wasn’t alone in this…Mike had a feeling that it was a major contributor to Eddie’s erratic driving.
Eddie may have only just remembered the man, but he and Richie had held a special relationship when they were younger. There was no doubt he still felt that unique bond even now.
They parked a short walk down from Richie’s address. It wasn’t far from a quiet beach, and they could hear the waves crashing against the shore.
A seagull flew right over Eddie’s head as soon as he got out of the car. He ducked, cursing and glaring at it.
“Okay, you guys ready?” Mike asked.
“Yes, but before we do this, are we sure we should all go?” Stan asked.
“Why not?”
Stan raised his eyebrows, “Um, I don’t know about you, but if a group of six strangers showed up at my door, I definitely wouldn’t answer. Especially if I lived alone.”
“How do you know he isn’t married?” Ben questioned.
Stan stared at him blankly before stating, “It’s Richie.”
“Okay, okay...” Bill said, stepping up. “I’ll g-go.”
“Me too,” Mike nodded.
Eddie raised his hand, “I’ll go too.”
The three walked the short distance to Richie’s address while Stan, Bev, and Ben stayed back at the cars.
“So, what are we gonna do if he’s not home?” Eddie asked anxiously.
Mike sighed and replied, “We wait.”
Richie lived in a small, powder blue house that could best be described as cute and cozy. There wasn’t much landscaping, but there were a couple large pots on either side of the short steps that held beautiful arrangements of lantana and red verbena. The small driveway was made up of river rock...and it was empty.
“Nnnnot a good start,” Bill said.
“Maybe he’s just running errands,” Eddie offered.
“Still doesn’t hurt to knock,” Mike said, walking up the steps to the front door.
He knocked.
No answer.
He rang the doorbell.
Still, no answer.
Mike let out a breath of frustration.
“I’m sure he’s just out, Mikey,” Bill said, the nickname slipping from his tongue effortlessly. “He’ll be back.”
“Yeah. Maybe...”
Bill furrowed his eyebrows while Eddie looked at him with a thoughtful doe-eyed stare.
“You’re worried too?” the latter asked quietly.
Mike nodded and said, “Look…I don’t think It can move outside Derry, but…what if it can? The whole fortune cookie thing, maybe it was just to scare us…but what if it was a presage for what was to come?”
Eddie’s lips tightened. Bill’s expression darkened.
Mike was right.
Richie could be in danger. He could be in need of saving right at that very moment.
“You want to break in?” Stan asked in disbelief when they had rejoined at the cars.
“He could need our help, Stan,” Bill reasoned.
“Yeah, or he could not be home and we risk getting arrested for breaking and entering.”
Ben nodded in agreement while Beverly appeared contemplative, biting her lip and looking down.
“If it looks like he’s just not home, then we’ll leave and we’ll wait. But if it looks like something bad has happened…” Mike trailed off, leaving the foreboding statement to hang in the air.
Beverly thought for a couple more seconds before saying, “I’m in.”
Ben rubbed the back of his head nervously but gave in as well, “Me too.”
Everyone turned to Stanley, who had his arms crossed in disdain.
He looked at each of their earnestly determined faces before giving in and sighing, “Fine.”
Thanks to Beverly, it wasn’t all that difficult breaking into Richie’s house. As part of her freshly regained memories, she realized she had a knack for picking locks.
“Okay, I got it,” she whispered before standing from her crouch and opening the door.
They all stayed rooted to the front step for a few seconds before Bill decided to make the first move. He slowly stepped inside the quiet house, floor boards squeaking a little under his shoes.
“Richie?” Ben called out, making them all jump.
“Shh!” Eddie and Stan hissed.
Ben held up his hands, “What? If he’s here, I’d rather him hear us first. We don’t want to scare him. What if he has a gun?”
“He doesn’t have a gun,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes.
“How do you know?”
“It’s Richie,” Eddie replied, because that seemed answer enough as of late.
Between the six of them, they were able to sweep the house in about five minutes. Nothing seemed amiss in the living room, bathroom, or the upstairs. It wasn’t until Ben began looking through the kitchen that things took a more uneasy turn.
“Um, guys?”
“What? What is it?” Mike questioned as he walked in, the others close behind.
It didn’t take them long to see why Ben had gone so pale.
Blood.
It was pooled in the sink and dribbled across the counter.
There was a knife on the floor. The blood on the blade was partly dried but sickening all the same.
“Oh shit,” Eddie croaked, looking sick.
Mike bent down to examine the knife without touching it. Bill crouched beside him, dread radiating from his stance.
“W-what’s going on, M-Mikey?” Bill asked lowly.
Mike licked his dry lips, unsure of how to answer.
Something had happened to Richie. But…where the hell was he?
“Okay…okay…this doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Stan reasoned nervously. “Let’s not panic.”
“Doesn’t mean anything?” Eddie said, dumbfounded. “There’s a bloody knife on the floor, Stanley!”
Stan held up his hand in a calming manner, “I know, but there could be a simple explanation.”
“Like what?” Beverly asked softly.
Stan thought for a moment before saying, “He cut himself while cooking.”
“Cut himself while cooking,” Eddie repeated. “There’s no food in here, Stanley!”
Stan closed his eyes in agitation over the outburst…but the sound of a knob turning made them fly back open.
It was the front door.
“Oh, shit,” Eddie murmured as his eyes widened.
.
.
.
.
.
“Thanks for taking me to the hospital, Mrs. González,” Richie said.
“Of course, dear,” the older woman cooed. “You really should be more careful.”
Richie smiled good-naturedly, “So I’ve been told.”
“You know, if you ever need anything, I’m just across the street. Even if it’s just to cut some apples.”
“Thank you,” he said, keeping up the smile.
“But I know you probably won’t take me up on that.”
Richie shrugged, “What can I say? I manage well enough.”
He knew she meant well, but he didn’t need to be treated with kid gloves. He wasn’t an invalid, just blind. He had been for well over a decade now.
Mrs. González parked in the driveway.
“Take care, honey!” she called to him when he got out.
“You too! And thanks again.”
Richie could hear the tires crackling as she backed out of his driveway. He waved before fishing his keys from his pocket. His white cane was around his wrist, but he didn’t bother extending it. He knew his house inside and out.
He fumbled a bit with the keys, the heavy gauze on his left hand making it a little difficult.
When he turned the key the correct way to unlock the knob, however, he realized it already was unlocked.
His eyebrows furrowed.
He could’ve sworn that he’d locked up his house.
He had been clutching a kitchen towel against his lacerated palm to try and stop the bleeding, but he had made sure to lock up before getting help. Still, though...maybe he’d turned the key only a fraction of the way in his haste?
Richie tentatively stepped inside. He toed off his black Converse shoes on the rubber mat he had by the door specifically for the habit. He removed his sunglasses, putting them right next to the little dish he kept his keys in.
The house was quiet. Exactly how it should be with no one in it. But...he couldn’t shake the additional presence he felt there.
Richie made his way to the kitchen, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling.
He was hungry, having left as he was fixing the beginnings of a chicken salad for lunch. He thought longingly of the apple he’d dropped into the trash when he’d cut his hand. He could begin slicing another, but he knew he’d made a bloody mess of the kitchen. He could still smell the coppery scent lingering in the air.
Lunch would have to wait.
Richie sighed and got on his knees. He began feeling carefully around on the floor. He knew he’d dropped the knife, and in his haste to stop the bleeding, he had failed to pick it up.
As he scooted his hand around on the floor, it did land on something...but that something was definitely not a knife.
It was synthetic leather and laces.
Richie froze.
It was a shoe.
And he never left shoes lying about the house...so that meant...
Richie screamed.
.
.
.
.
.