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Eddie Kaspbrak was dying.
Eddie Kaspbrak was dying, and all he could think about was how unfair it was that he had to die in this filthy, bloodstained cavern.
He had spent so much of his life imagining his own death. From the time he was a small child, he used to be kept awake at night at the thought of being mauled by a dog, or catching bacteria in a cut on his hand that festers into his bloodstream and slowly kills him, or accidentally eating a peanut, or getting diagnosed with leukaemia, or AIDS, or-
The point is, Eddie Kaspbrak has pictured exactly how his death would go hundreds of times, but in no scenario was he ever getting impaled by the clown that has haunted his nightmares for twenty-seven years.
“It’s gonna’ be alright, man.” Richie was mumbling over and over, forming a stream of nonsensical reassurances. Eddie couldn’t respond, blood rising in his throat every time he tried to murmur something back, but he squeezed Richie’s hand harder and hoped that he understood everything he couldn’t say.
The others were gone, somewhere in the distance. He could hear their angry screaming, hurling insults at the clown, and after a moment Richie joined in, too. Eddie wanted to tell him to be quiet because he was screaming right in his ear and he just wanted a little peace and quiet as he died, if that wasn’t too much to ask, but he still found himself unable to speak.
Richie’s gaze kept sliding between the clown (which was rapidly shrinking, small like It was in the pharmacy, Eddie noted deliriously) and Eddie’s face. He squeezed his hand tight, regretfully, before pulling away to join the others.
“I’ll be right back, Eds. I’ll be right back, okay? Just hold on. We’ll get you out of here.”
Eddie closed his eyes. He thought about Richie. Richie, with his winning grin and raven-coloured hair and glasses that magnify his eyes enough that Eddie feels like he can see straight through his soul, into his heart.
He thought about Richie as a kid. How Eddie used to wipe the blood from his nose after Bowers would beat on him. How Richie’s brows would crease in concentration when he was reading his comic books, chewing on his lip, and how Eddie would just stare at him from the other end of the hammock. How sometimes their pinkies used to brush when they would sit next to each other at the movies and neither of them would move, like this private thing that was just theirs even if they never put a name to it.
He thought about Richie now. How Eddie first saw him in the Chinese restaurant and, suddenly, the fact that he had relentlessly and secretly pined for this boy when he was thirteen came rushing back to him. How he still had that same smile, that same look of concentration when he was particularly focused on something. How he had shouted for Eddie when they were being attacked by that bat-baby-thing, so desperate and… and full of love?
Eddie Kaspbrak was in love with Richie Tozier, and he was about to die, and Richie would never know.
He was going to die while still being married to Myra, who he never really loved. He cared about Myra, he loved Myra, but he had never once felt like he was in love with her. Eddie didn’t even have the experience of being in love to compare it to, but somewhere deep in his heart he thought that he had been in love before and it was never the same with Myra.
It only comes to him now, after twelve years of marriage, that Richie-fucking-Tozier was the real love that never was, the feeling that he has spent most of his life trying to place but never being able to.
Eddie opened his eyes again, trying to spot the others, but they were too far away. He could still hear their angry chanting.
Richie, he wanted to say, Richie, come back here. I’m in love with you, you stupid asshole.
His vision slowly fades, melting into a black void. He brushes his fingers against his own, trembling stomach. He feels the wetness of the blood.
Eventually that feeling started to fade too, and he thought of Richie, age eleven, trying to catch a handful of popcorn that he had tossed into the air with his mouth. One piece got lodged behind his glasses. Eddie had laughed so hard that he… that he…
-
Minute One:
Eddie loved the ocean.
He loved the deep shade of blue, how it was the same colour as his bedroom walls and his daddy’s favourite shirt. He loved how it moved like a dance, crashing up against the wooden posts of the boardwalk, making the air smell salty and feel cool against his skin.
A wet plop pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked down to see that a drop of his caramel fudge ice cream had melted into his daddy’s hair. Eddie giggled, little feet kicking against his daddy’s chest from where he was perched on his shoulders.
“Don’t get ice cream in daddy’s hair, Eddie.” His daddy laughed, reaching up to rub at the spot. Eddie laughed some more when it just smeared it further into his scalp. His daddy looked up at him and grinned, sticking his tongue out at Eddie. Eddie reached down to pull on it (an old game that they always play) but he moved his head away too quickly.
“You’re a little bugger.”
“‘M not a bugger, daddy.” Eddie laughed, licking his ice cream again. He got caramel fudge because it was his daddy’s favourite flavour and he wanted to match with him, but he loved mint chocolate chip the best. Maybe if he was really good his mummy would let them buy a pint of it when they got back to Derry.
“I don’t like you holding him up there, Frank.” His mummy said, stomping angrily a few paces behind them. Sometimes Eddie wanted to laugh when he saw his mummy walk because her stomach bounces up and down, but his daddy made him promise to stop laughing because it hurt his mummy’s feelings. “If you dropped him he would break his neck.”
“I’m not gonna’ drop him, Sonia, please.”
“Well, excuse me for caring about our son’s welfare.”
“Oh my God, you make me sound like an invalid-”
“Why are you treating me like this?” Eddie’s mummy burst out into tears. A few people on the boardwalk looked over, startled. Eddie’s daddy sighed heavily, grip tightening on Eddie’s ankles before picking him off his shoulders and letting him down on the ground. Eddie wanted to protest, but he knew that his daddy got upset when his mummy got like this and he didn’t want to make it worse.
His mummy kept wailing, and his daddy was talking quietly and rapidly to her, trying to get her to calm down. Eddie took another lick of his ice cream and his attention got scooped up by a little boy passing by with his parents, holding a Superman action figure.
Eddie eyed the figure in the boy's hand. He wanted to stop him and ask if he would play with it, but then he would probably get lost and Eddie suspected his mummy would be more upset than he had ever seen her before.
Maybe he would ask his parents for his own Superman figure for his fifth birthday next month. His mummy didn’t care for comic books but his daddy could usually convince her to cave and buy him some superhero-related toys.
He turned back to his parents to ask just that. “Hey, mummy-”
“Not now, Eddie.” His daddy shushed him. His mummy was hiding her face in a tissue and bawling. People were still looking at them. His daddy pulled a quarter out of his pocket and passed it to him, pointing to one of the little rides along the edge of the dock. “Go play for a minute, okay?”
“Oh, so he can get electrocuted?” His mummy shouted hysterically.
-
Minute Two:
The nurses’ station had a tiny Christmas tree.
Eddie had thoroughly enjoyed his last three visits because of that tree. He loved standing on his tip-toes at the counter, folding his arms under his chin, and watching the soft yellow lights glow from the pine. They weren’t allowed to have a Christmas tree at home because his mummy said that he was allergic to them and the lights eat up electricity so that they wouldn’t have any heat in the winter, so the hospital visits were the only time he could see a Christmas tree up-close.
“You like the tree, sweetheart?” One of the nurses asked him. She was pretty, with reddish hair and big glasses. She sort of reminded Eddie of Mrs. Denbrough if she was taller.
Eddie nodded. “I like the lights.”
“Eddie-bear!” His mummy appeared beside him, yanking his arm away from the tree. He stumbled a bit. The nurse shot his mummy an odd look. His mummy started to pull him away, towards the double-doors that led to his dad’s room. There was a big, fancy word printed there: Oncology. “Don’t touch anything in here, you hear me? There’s disease everywhere in here.”
That didn’t make much sense to Eddie; the hospital was where you went to get better, not to get disease.
Still, he stayed silent until they got to his dad’s room. He had to share the room with another man, but the man was old and slept all the time, so they didn’t bother them much.
“Hi, dad.” Eddie rushed forward when he spotted his dad. His mummy tugged on his arm and reminded him to be gentle, because if he moved the wrong way he could hurt his dad even more. His dad smiled at him and helped Eddie climb up onto the hospital bed next to him.
“Hey, buddy.” His voice sounded so different than he used to, like he had been chewing rocks. Eddie didn’t like it. “How’s school?”
“Good.” Eddie played with the hem of his dad’s hospital gown. The material was strange. It reminded him of bedsheets. His mummy sat down in the chair across from the bed, eyes narrowing with disapproval at every little thing she deemed wrong with the room, probably getting ready to yell at the next nurse she saw.
“Make any new friends?” He asked.
“No.” Eddie shook his head. “Billy’s still my only friend.”
Not that Eddie minded that. He loved Bill. Bill was smart and cool and brave. He was everything Eddie wished he was. He didn’t even care when the other kids at school made fun of his stutter.
His parents talked for a while about things that Eddie didn’t understand, his brain deeming them unimportant. He busied himself with stacking the plastic forks that come with the meal trays and adjusting the beanie pulled over his dad’s head, which was now completely bald.
At the end of his visit, when his mummy had excused herself to the bathroom, Eddie leaned close to his dad’s face, who blinked tiredly at him. He smiled less and less every time Eddie came to visit. It made Eddie sad, but if he was sick in bed all day he wouldn’t be very happy, either!
“Dad, are you gonna’ die?” Eddie asked before he could stop himself. He thinks it might be bad manners, but hopefully his dad won’t get too mad at him if it is.
His dad was quiet for a moment before responding, “I don’t know, Eddie.”
Eddie chewed on his lip. “If you die, will you go to Heaven?”
More silence. “I hope so.”
-
Minute Three:
Eddie’s first time hosting a birthday party with more guests than just Bill was his ninth birthday.
They were all gathered in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor and watching the Return of the Jedi DVD that Richie had brought over. After weeks of begging, Eddie’s mummy relented and agreed to buy the four boys a pizza for the occasion. The only topping they were allowed was cheese because his mummy said that meat could give him heartburn and the vegetables they use in pizza shops are probably unwashed and carry all kinds of bacteria. The greasy paper plates were lying next to them now, smudged with sauce.
Halfway through the movie, Eddie noticed that Richie kept glancing down the hallway, towards his mummy’s room. His eyes would flick between the TV and the door, as if waiting for something. Eddie’s mummy had sort of been in their business all night, so he thought that Richie was just seeing if she was going to come bother them some more.
“Hey, Eds?” Richie asked.
“Hmm?” Eddie was trying to focus on the movie, as the camera was focused on Princess Leia in her golden bikini.
“Is your mom asleep?” He lowered his voice to a whisper halfway through the sentence when Stan kicked him for being too loud.
Eddie glanced down the dark hallway. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
Richie grinned and grabbed his overnight bag next to the couch, rifling through it for a moment before pulling out a different DVD and holding it out for the boys to see. Cujo.
“Is that the movie w-with the k-killer d-d-dog?” Bill whispered as he took the DVD from him to examine it, scandalized. “G-Georgie snuck o-out of b-bed and saw my p-p-parents watching it and he had n-nightmares for a w-week!”
“Henry Bowers said that there’s a scene where Cujo rips a little boy’s face off and vomits it all over his parents.” Richie said.
“Ew, Richie.” Stan kicked him again, wide-eyed.
“What do you have it for?” Eddie asked, giving into the urge to examine it himself when Bill passed it to him. There were bloody, terrifying pictures all over the back.
“Let’s pop it in.” Richie grinned.
“No way.” Stan was already rapidly shaking his head. “I’m not watching that.”
“Oh, come on, Stan. Don’t be a pussy.” That was a new word they heard Patrick Hockstetter say on the playground and Richie seemed to think it was hilarious. He enjoyed using it at every opportunity, including in class, which got him the strap from Principal O’Riley a few days ago. “It’s Eddie’s birthday so he should get to choose, right, Eddie?”
“I don’t wanna’ watch that either, idiot.” Eddie tossed the DVD back to Richie and crossed his arms. “I wanna’ finish Star Wars.”
“Ugh.” Richie flopped face-down onto the carpet. “Why can’t we just have fun for once?”
“Star Wars is fun!”
“Says who?”
“You’re the one who said Princess Leia was the hottest girl ever!”
There’s a thump from down the hall suddenly and a shrill voice, “Eddie-bear? What are you boys doing out there?”
“Nothing, mommy!” Eddie shouted back frantically, snatching the DVD back and trying to stuff it back into Richie’s bag. “Just watching the movie!”
“Come give mommy a goodnight kiss!” His mummy hollered, and Bill had to slap his hands over Richie’s mouth to quiet the howls of laughter.
-
Minute Four:
“Wouldn’t the water just run over the hump?” Beverly asked, fingers tracing the page.
“Not if you build it high enough.” Ben replied, eyes fixated on Beverly. The sun was hitting her hair at just the right angle, making it look like it was on fire. Ben and Bill were both staring, mouths slightly agape, and Eddie rolled his eyes. They were so unsubtle it was laughable.
“Let’s go get some wood, then.” Bill decided, always the leader. They all stood from their impromptu, cross-legged circle in the grass (minus Eddie, who saw a bug crawling around in the tall green plane and wasn’t in the mood to deal with Lime Disease) and brushed themselves off.
“I’ve got all the wood you need right here, Bill.” Richie emphasised as he clutched his shorts.
Eddie smacked him in the shoulder. “Beep Beep, Richie.”
The dam had been Ben’s idea. They were walking back from the clubhouse, fanning their faces from the hot July air that left them all with ruddy cheeks and sweat along their hairlines, when Ben had said that they should build a dam along the river. No one had argued; they were all searching for the best way to spend their afternoon, anyways.
Eddie naturally migrated to Richie’s side as they headed back into the shallow part of the woods to gather sticks for the dam.
Beverly and Bill were walking a few paces ahead of them, heads bent low as they talked. Beverly was grinning this giddy little girl grin, like everything Bill said was the gospel, and Eddie found himself wondering what it was like to be a girl and be in love. He remembered hearing Greta Keene and Sally Mueller in Social Studies talk about how Eric Atkinson made their hearts feel all fluttery in gym class, and Eddie was sort of grateful to not be a girl, because he doesn’t think a fluttery heart would be a good feeling.
He heard Richie make a pained sound next to him. Eddie glanced down and saw him scratching viciously at a spot on his wrist, wincing.
“What’s wrong with you?” Eddie asked.
“Stupid bugbite.” Richie mumbled. He held out his wrist to show Eddie the open, red sore on his wrist.
Eddie barely suppressed a gag. Without really thinking about it, he zipped open his fanny pack and rooted around until he found the tiny bottle nestled near the bottom. He grabbed Richie’s wrist and tipped the bottle over, pouring some onto the sore.
“Fuck!” Richie exclaimed, trying to pull away, but Eddie kept a firm grip on his wrist. “It stings! Shit!”
“It’s to make it less itchy, dipshit.” Eddie rolled his eyes, and after trying (and failing) to twist his wrist away some more, Richie eventually relented. Eddie used the tips of his fingers to dab the liquid into Richie’s wrist, and they were both strangely silent.
He glanced up at Richie, confused at the lack of tasteless jokes. Richie was just staring at him, eyes searching his behind those big glasses. They were practically holding hands, with Eddie’s thumb curling into the middle of Richie’s palm.
Eddie’s chest felt strange suddenly. It was this odd sensation, something that made it feel like there were bugs crawling all around him, and he pulled away, afraid he was having a heart attack before it all clicked in.
His heart was fluttering.
Oh, shit.
-
Minute Five:
Rain was just starting to break through the deep grey clouds overhead when Eddie made it to the Toziers’ front yard.
He had stomped all the way from his own house, twenty minutes away, to the quiet suburb where the Tozier, Denbrough, and Hanscom households were, driven by nothing but anger and a desire to throw Richie Tozier out of a window.
Eddie knocked on the front door. He was furious, but it wasn’t about to break into the house, or anything. Not when he truly adored Richie’s parents as much as he did, with their cheesy jokes and limitless kindness.
Richie’s mother opened the door seconds later. She smiled when she saw him, even if she looked a little surprised to see him without his bike, at ten o’clock on a school night, shivering in the cold air. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Mrs. Tozier.” Eddie felt a little bad that he was about to go scream at her son. “Is Richie home?”
“He’s upstairs.” She stepped aside to let him in. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just need to… we have a…” Eddie stood at the bottom of the stairs, cursing himself for not thinking of an excuse on the way over. “A project that I needed to ask him about.”
She nodded, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew that there was more to the story. He smiled at her tensely again before turning and half-running up the stairs. When he made it to Richie’s room at the furthest end of the hallway, he didn’t bother knocking.
Richie jumped nearly a foot in the air when Eddie ripped the door open. He was in bed with his walkman, now sitting up and staring at Eddie in bewilderment.
“Uh…” Richie started.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you.” Eddie stated plainly, arms crossed.
“What the hell is wrong with me? More like what the hell is wrong with you! You just broke into my house, weirdo!”
“Your mom let me in. And I’m serious. Why’ve you been acting like such an asshole all week?”
“I haven’t been acting like-”
“You’ve been ignoring me, not walking to class with me, bailing out on me every time I say that we should go to the Aladdin-”
“Why do you even care?” Richie’s expression turned cold as he flopped back down on his bed, as if Eddie wasn’t worth his time.
Eddie exploded. “I care because you’re my best friend and clearly you’re mad at me for something! I deserve an explanation, dickhead.”
Richie didn’t respond, jaw set tight.
Eddie thought back on the last week, trying to think of anything that might have set Richie off, when what happened last Friday pops into his mind.
Eddie’s voice was quieter when he asked, “Is this… is this about Ginny Peters asking me to the Sadie Hawkins?”
Richie jerked his head up in shock. “Eds…”
“Do you like Ginny Peters?”
It was silent between them. Richie swallowed thickly, before nodding so quickly he looked like a bobble head, glasses sliding down his nose. “Yes. Yeah. I like Ginny Peters. That’s why I was upset. I was jealous that she asked you and not me.”
Somewhere in the back of Eddie’s mind, as he told Richie that he’ll turn Ginny Peters down and that Richie should go for her if he really likes her, he was disappointed. Some deep part of him that Eddie was really growing to despise wanted Richie to be jealous of Ginny Peters, not of Eddie.
-
Minute Six:
Eddie has never been a big drinker, but the burn of whiskey as it sloshed down his throat was heavenly, this horrible day.
This horrible day! What was wrong with him? It was his wedding day, and here he was in his hotel room, pounding back bottles of whatever he could find, thinking about making a run for it and diving out the nearest window. He was only three stories up, after all…
Eddie slammed his glass down on the bathroom counter and leaned over the sink to splash cold water over his face.
He stared at himself in the mirror, at the dark spots under his eyes and the wrinkles that had started to form on his forehead and, God, he looked like his dad. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to Eddie as a child but his dad always looked so tired, so defeated, even before he got sick. Eddie was weeks away from his twenty-eighth birthday and he looked worse than his cancer-ridden father did at forty-three.
Maybe it was Eddie’s mother that made him like that. Maybe Sonia Kaspbrak and Myra were made of the same kind of poison.
In forty-five minutes, he was going to be married.
It wasn’t too late to run, he thought, somewhat hysterically. It wasn’t too late to march across the hall to Myra’s room, where her and her sisters were squawking like birds fighting over garbage across the hall, and tell her that he was very sorry but this three-year relationship had been a terrible mistake, that he thinks the only reason he ever agreed to go out with her is because he had just buried his mother two months earlier and he was too much of a coward to break it off with her at any point since and he was pretty sure he was gay.
Eddie slapped his hands over his face, trying to stave off those thoughts as he pressed his palms into his eyes.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Myra was overbearing and made him feel like he was a little kid under his mommy’s thumb again, but she wasn’t a monster. Eddie often pitied her; she was so lovestruck when they first met, and it didn’t take long for her to reveal that she had never had a real boyfriend before him. It was like kicking a dog.
Eddie could hear another round of roaring laughter from Myra’s room. He took another gulp of the whiskey, throat burning, and closed his eyes tight.
It was too late to run.
-
Minute Seven:
“Oh my God, do you guys remember the first time Richie tried a cigarette?”
Richie sank down into his chair, laughing with embarrassment as he hid his face. Beverly was already giggling at her own joke, tipsy and flushed. Eddie didn’t know what she was talking about until the memory clicked in and he was laughing, too.
“I forgot about that!” Ben slapped the table. “He threw up all over the clubhouse!”
“I didn’t throw up all over the clubhouse.” Richie mumbled. “It was more like… confined to one area.”
“Yeah, from the door to the other side.” Mike laughed and shook his head.
The thought made Eddie smile. That memory didn’t exist until ten seconds ago, but now he doesn’t understand how he could ever forget it. Richie had been begging Beverly for days to try a cigarette, and she finally caved and passed him one. He took one long drag, before coughing once, then throwing up everywhere.
“And do you remember what Eddie said?” Mike continued, eyes sparkling.
Richie suddenly launched into his high-pitched thirteen-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak impression, embarrassment long forgotten. “That’s what you get, Trashmouth! That’s what nerds like you and Beverly Marsh get for smoking cigarettes! Do you want cancer or what?”
Bill was laughing so hard that he was bent over the table, head between his knees. Beverly had tears in her eyes.
“How did this turn into making fun of me?” Eddie complained.
The laughter died down after a long while, and they all broke off into separate conversations again. Eddie was half-listening to Bill and Beverly talk about one of Bill’s old books with a familiar title, until he turned to Richie and noticed him staring. Richie averted his eyes and cleared his throat.
Eddie watched him. He watched the sharp curve of Richie’s jaw, the way his glasses sat on his nose, and he thought about all those old feelings he had as a kid that used to crawl up his stomach like some insect that lived inside of him that couldn’t be squashed.
“I stand by that, by the way.” Eddie found himself saying before he could think about it.
Richie glanced back up at him. “Huh?”
“The cigarette thing. The cancer thing. You shouldn’t smoke.”
He expected Richie to make fun of him, but his smile just turned soft, like Eddie was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. Eddie’s heart clenched. “I don’t, Eddie Spaghetti.”
Eddie smiled back. “I hated it when you called me that.”
Blackness overcame him then, filling his field of vision, distorting the world around him. It felt like he was floating through and endless pool for a moment, until he hit the bottom.
Eddie Kaspbrak was dead.