Mixtape

34

34

Richie sits patiently, watching the library door for the last of their group to arrive. Richie taps his pencil against the cover of his algebra book, nervously tapping his foot.
"He'll be here soon," Ben says in a comforting tone. He's sitting across from Richie at the table, pouring himself over the world studies textbook. "Relax."
Richie bites his lip and glances at Ben, trying his best to remain calm. Richie doesn't reply, only because Ben wasn't at the lunch table the day that Richie and Eddie came back after being held at knifepoint by two closeted queers. Now, any time Eddie is late, Richie can't help but fear the worst has happened. With a broken arm, Eddie is just about ten times more vulnerable than he already is, so it's only natural that Richie feels more on edge than usual.
"H-H-He's okay, R-Richie," Bill stutters. "C-Can you huh-help with my m-mm-math?"
"Yeah," Richie nods, averting his gaze from the door to focus on the textbook Bill is sliding across the library table.
For the past three days, the losers have been using their fifth periods as study halls for upcoming finals. Next week is finals, then the week after that is the start of their Christmas break. Richie feels uneasy with the upcoming holiday, but he guesses there's no real reason to be afraid when his parents aren't around in the first place. Richie hates Christmas, mainly because his mother drinks more than usual. He hates hearing about what gifts the kids at school were spoiled with, and he hates knowing that he will never receive a gift in his life. But without his parents around, maybe Christmas won't be spent hiding out in his room.
"Just carry the exponent over," Richie marks on Bill's paper, trying to explain the equation in simple terms. Bill is awful at math, so Richie tries to tutor him before the upcoming tests. But Stan is bad at chemistry, so Richie also tries to help there. On top of that, Bev is failing her lit&lang class, but he's hoping that Ben the Poet will help her with that one. "Here. Multiply these two - yeah, like that. See! You're getting the hang of it, Billy boy."
"Th-Th-Thanks, Rich," Bill smiles, then writes down an answer that is totally incorrect.
Before Richie can point out his error, Stan is tapping him on the shoulder. Stan is much more subtle in his approach, too prideful to admit that he needs help from Richie of all people. Stan rests his hand on Richie's arm, then says "Hey. Do you remember the formula for density?"
"Yeah, yeah, let me finish up with Bill," Richie nods, his hand coming to brush over Stan's. He remembers Eddie's dejected expression after learning of their thirteen shared kisses, so Richie pulls his hand away guiltily. It's not that he's against showing platonic affection, he just really doesn't want Eddie feels insecure with the idea of Stan being a back up plan.
Just then, the library door opens, and Eddie Kaspbrak bustles in, arms full of books and lungs out of air. He rushes over to the table, looking at the two boys on either side of Richie, then shamefully takes a seat next to Beverly.
Richie stands up, ready to swap seats, but realizes he doesn't want to bring so much attention to this secret love that the two boys are sharing. It's really not that secret, just about everyone at the table knows how the two feel about one another, but that doesn't mean Richie particularly wants to confirm what is meant to be only his and Eddie's.
"Where ya been? We were worried," Richie sits back down with flushed cheeks. Nobody says anything about his abrupt movements, probably just equating it to classic Richie Tozier ADHD tendencies.
"Sorry, sorry," Eddie exhales, digging around to find his inhaler. "I was talking to Mr. Irwin about my report, apparently I got a D."
"What? We were up all night writing that one," Ben huffs, shaking his head.
"He said the writing was spectacular, it was just my facts that were fabricated," Eddie shrugs, taking a few hits off of his aspirator as quietly as he can in the silent library. Around them, many other kids study for their finals as well, but most of them are actually doing proper work instead of socializing.
There is a table that Richie knows for a fact isn't doing any work. He spotted them when he came in; Victor Criss and Belch Huggins waiting in Richie's familiar back table isolated behind shelves. It seemed like they were waiting, and that is made abundantly clear when Henry and Patrick come in a few moments after Eddie sits down. The two have flushed cheeks and their appearances are in disarray, and Henry is busy wiping the corners of his mouth away when he makes brief eye contact with Richie.
At least they weren't terrorizing Eddie. Sure, probably getting up to no good with one another in a bathroom stall, but they seem to be leaving Eddie alone. That's what matters.
As Richie looks away to avoid tempting Henry through prolonged eye contact, he assumes the role of his southern Voice and turns to his friends. "Eye'sa do declare that we's gon havta go on down to that boy there Hanlon's farm-o."
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Stan nods in agreement. "He could help us with history. You guys in?"
"I'm not failing history," Bev laughs. She leans back in her chair, putting an arm around Eddie comfortably. The boy smiles and leans into her side, but not in a way that Richie should feel jealous of. He knows better than to think anything of Beverly's friendly gestures, that's just how she is. The girl points a single finger gun at Richie and asks "Neither are you, meaning we can go down and catch a flick at the Aladdin."
Richie's eyes glance over to the cast adorning Eddie's arm, then the pair of hazel clean eyes pouring into him. Richie shrugs, then says "I'm the one who suggested going to Mike's. Don't you think it would be a little weird if I didn't go?"
Bev frowns, feeling dejected and humiliated. She takes her arm off of Eddie, fully realizing that the small boy is the only reason that Richie is not shooting out of his seat at the idea of a movie. It's as if she needed a reminder that Richie no longer considers them best friends.
"I'll g-g-go with you, B-Bev," Bill pipes up, doing his best to give a comforting smile. "D-Don't really wuh-want t-t-to be ssss-smelling like cow shit anyways."
Bev laughs, then nods and agrees to go with Bill, but it's undeniable that it's not really the same. Her and Richie used to throw popcorn into people's hair, and then sneak outside snacks in through Richie's pants. The two would almost always get caught, and nothing can beat the way that the security guard shone his flashlight on the two loud mouthed teenagers in Richie's prime moment; trousers down and twizzlers in each hand. Bev is sure that Bill will be just as fun, but again, she just wants her best friend back.
Richie doesn't dwell on it for too long. No, his attention is almost immediately snapped up by Stan folding paper delicately, his fingers creasing the edges of his creation with artistic precision. Both Richie and Eddie watch, the two enthralled in Stan's fastidious movements. Eddie picks up early on what the boy is crafting, but Richie doesn't quite comprehend until the paper bird is placed upon his text book.
"Oh, shit, Uris!" Richie picks up the paper bird by the wing and turns it over in his hands to inspect the intricate folds. "Stan the man! I didn't know you like origami!"
"Shh," Ben hushes Richie, reminding the trashmouth that they are in fact still located within a library. Upon being shushed, Richie guiltily raises a hand in apology, then gives Eddie a sheepish look.
"Just something I picked up on," Stan shrugs, tearing out another sheet of notebook paper to make another bird. "I don't know. It just kinda makes sense to me, you know?"
Richie nods, though he doesn't know at all. Still, even then, he watches Stan more closely this time, trying very hard to memorize the movements. Stanley finishes the paper swan off with a bit of a flourish, then takes his pen and begins to ink something into the wing. When he finishes, he sets the bird down on Eddie's notebook, giving the small boy a friendly smile.
Later on, when the losers are all packing up and heading to their sixth period, Richie holds the door open for a lagging Eddie who got caught up checking a book out. When Eddie finally makes it to the door, Richie lets his hand grace against the back of Eddie's neck, his finger running along the shaved stubble growing in from Eddie's last haircut.
"What did Stan write on the bird?" Richie asks, habitually following Eddie to his locker as he always does.
"Hm? Oh, hold on," Eddie shifts his books to one side of his arm, then digs around in his pocket for the bird. Despite being stuffed into Eddie's tight jeans, the bird still remains stiff and untouched, blessed by the gentle hands of Stan Uris. Eddie holds it out, wings up, and shows the inky word 'Bellbird'.
Richie then fishes out his own bird, turning it upside down to inspect the underside of the spread wings. As expected, in Stan's precise handwriting, the word 'Chickadee'.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Richie asks, comparing their origami swans to one another. The boys start descending the flights of stairs it takes to get to Eddie's locker on the first floor, and Richie watches carefully to make sure that Eddie does not slip his footing anywhere.
"That's me," Eddie points at the bird in Richie's hand. "I'm chickadee."
"You're what?" Richie laughs. His eyes linger on the cast wrapped around Eddie's arm, feeling a bit bad about the fact that it's his own fault Eddie got hurt.
"You seriously don't know?" Eddie asks in mild surprise. "You were oh so chummy with Stan, yet he never told you about the birds?"
"I know he likes them," Richie states a bit defensively. He hates when Eddie acts like a know-it-all, it makes him feel completely foolish. "I don't know any of the names."
"Stan gives all of his friends these, uh, assigned birds? I guess that's what he would call it. I don't know, it's just always been his thing. We all have a designated bird that fits our personalities. Mike is a saddleback, Ben's a kiwi, I'm a chickadee, you know."
"Then who's the bellbird of the group?" Richie asks, stopping beside Eddie as the small boyish begins to put in his locker combination. Richie admires the paper swan honestly, completely astonished by Stan's artistic precision.
"Well, I'm assuming you are, dipshit," Eddie remarks, swinging his locker door open.
Richie lifts his head to throw back a quick-witted remark, but he's caught off guard by a photo of himself staring back at him. Still taped up inside Eddie's locker, still on display for the whole school to see. Eddie carefully makes room amongst his pharmacy for the tiny paper bird to nest, then begins to grab his chemistry textbook from his bookbag.
Richie feels himself burning up with admiration, so he covers his face with his ring-clad hand. He would make some smart comment about Eddie's inability to carry more than one book at a time, but his tongue seems to be stuck in his throat after seeing such a blatant love proclamation. Especially such a public one.
He expected Eddie to take that picture down, that he was only keeping it in his locker for that one day so that he would not lose it. Richie did not expect the photo to stay there, especially not to be joined by a gift of Richie's designated bird given to him by their friend. Stan giving the two boys the other's respective birds was as much approval as they could ask for, meaning that at least one of the losers is okay with the two of them dating. Richie wonders how long they can keep this facade up before the rest of them find out what they probably already know.
"I'll see you after school," Eddie then says, shutting his locker and spinning the lock dial absentmindedly. He stands on his tiptoes to get Richie's attention, the curious boy saying "Okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," Richie blurts out, nodding his reddened face. "Yeah. Sorry. Zoning out."
Eddie smiles a completely bashful smile, his face practically being a dead giveaway about his feelings for the boy in front of him. Thankfully, nobody is really paying attention to the two, so their embarrassed and flushed actions go unnoticed.
"I'll wait out back behind the soccer field," Eddie says, his expression one full of mischief and trouble. "Maybe you can finally get me a fancy Walkman to match yours."
Richie pouts. "But if you get your own, what else would I have to offer?"
"True," Eddie nods, half smirking. "Maybe your handsome face and dazzling personality can make up for it."
Richie bends down to Eddie's height, grinning with satisfaction. The bell rings, but neither of the two really move from their conversation, too absorbed in each other's dreamy eyes. "You think my personality is dazzling, Eds?"
Eddie frowns, furrowing his brows as he scrunches his nose up in faux disgust. He says, "Let me rephrase that; your obnoxious personality."
"Oh, but you love it," Richie moves forward, only for Eddie to lean back. Richie suddenly remembers where they are and quickly stands up, correcting his posture in an attempt to collect his composure. Embarrassment seeps into him, the boy nervously glancing around to see if anybody caught onto the kiss that nearly just unfolded.
"You're an idiot," Eddie then says, but the smile is back just as soon as the words leave his mouth. "After school, Tozier."
"Right. After school. See you later, chickadee."
Eddie rolls his eyes at the nickname, but does not protest it. He shakes his head, turning on his heel to hurry to class, leaving Richie standing lovestruck and whisked away with infatuation.
Richie doesn't know how anything could possibly mess this up.
As promised, Eddie Kaspbrak is waiting so very patiently by the end of the soccer field at 3 pm, his petite body leaning against the frame of the goal. He perks up when he sees Richie approaching, the tiny boy grabbing his bag from the ground and jogging to meet Richie halfway across the empty field. The snow crunches beneath their footsteps, and Richie genuinely wants to remember the earth like this forever. Eddie's shoes leaving marks as they run to come meet up with his own footprints. Nothing seems more beautiful than the display of their paths connecting.
"Hey," Eddie grins, his words completely breathless.
Richie wraps his arms around Eddie's middle, picking the boy up as Richie scatters tiny little kisses all over Eddie's melting face. Eddie laughs, so brightly and alive, tiny hands pushing on Richie's chest with no real force.
"Knock it off!" Eddie giggles, his legs wrapping around Richie's hips tightly. "You saw me, like, an hour ago!"
"Tell me about it," Richie mumbles between kisses, his lips craving to be pressed against Eddie for the rest of eternity.
"Richie, stop, someone could see us," Eddie protests, but his fingers still entangle with the back of Richie's perpetually messy hair.
"Let them," Richie shrugs, his hands finding the back of Eddie's thighs to support the boy clinging onto him. Richie looks up at Eddie, enjoying the ring of light reflecting in sugar tea eyes, and he asks, "May I kiss you?"
"You may," Eddie nods, leaning forward to brush his lips against Richie's.
Richie surges forward just the slightest, invoking the most gentle of kisses, just a pinch of sweetness on both of their lips. Then, he lets Eddie down, his hands traveling up the small one's back as he does so. He smiles, brushes some snow out of Eddie's hair, and asks "Ready to go, chickadee?"
Richie and Eddie spend hours downtown shopping with one another, blowing money on useless trinkets that remind each other of one another, Richie showing Eddie how easy it is to shoplift despite the boy's protests, and more importantly, traveling to Blue's to get Eddie a proper tape player.
Richie was careful to guide Eddie around in that store, not wanting the boy to accidentally slip past the beaded curtain and be greeted by the plumes of smoke that pirouetted throughout the air. He kept his hands on Eddie's shoulders the whole time, guiding the tiny one around like a toy car. They did not stop and look at the vinyls, they did not check out the TV playing MTV, they went to the walkmans and then straight to the register. In and out in under five minutes. That store is no place for Eddie to be hanging out, and Richie really doesn't want the aroma of hemp getting caught in the threads of Eddie's knit sweaters.
Now, the one he so carefully protects, sits on his bed and fiddles with the batteries for his fancy new Walkman. He's said thank you about a million times, but Richie keeps waving him off. It was money left on the kitchen counter, presumably from his father's pocket. He can't remember what he was told to buy with that money, but nothing seems appealing enough to purchase unless it's for Eddie.
Richie sits in the desk chair, his long legs pulled up as he holds the mug to his chest. Eddie's own hot cocoa remains untouched on the nightstand, but something about his pure excitement erases all offense Richie might have taken.
"Hey," Richie speaks up, his eyes trained on the golden halo of afternoon light glowing throughout the silk threads of Eddie's hair. He thinks of how beautiful this boy is, inside and out, and he know he needs to do something about it.
"Hmm?" Eddie hums, his delicate fingers finally pinching the back into place. Then, with the side of his cast, he scratches the spot above his knee absentmindedly.
"We should talk," Richie sits forward, letting his legs drop from the chair onto the floor. This seems to catch Eddie's attention, his wide fauna eyes lifting up to penetrate Richie's.
"What's up?" Eddie sets the tape aside, now reaching over and taking the lukewarm mug into his hands. Richie watches the way that his gentle fingers wrap around it, finding new ways to love every appendage on this hypochondriac boy.
"What do you think?" Richie asks, suddenly losing his nerve and glancing over to the photos taped to his wall. Next to a picture of Bev on a swing set, there's a napkin from Curly's that has a reminder set on it. The reminder is cryptic to anybody who isn't Richie. Learn to love other things besides b-sides. He looks back to Eddie, and he knows that this may be his only chance to fall in love with something outside of music. "About us?"
"What about us?" Eddie feigns innocence.
Richie bites his lip, but finds the courage to continue. "Like...? You know? Like Bev and Ben."
Eddie spills out a hearty giggle, attempting to hide his mouth behind the rim of the mug, but it's too late. The damage is already done. Richie is already shaking his head, attempting to move onto the next subject.
Fuck. Fix this, Kaspbrak Eddie thinks to himself.
"I think we could be boyfriends," Eddie says suddenly. "If that's what you want, too. We could work towards that, yeah? Keep going on proper dates and doing it how Bev and Ben do."
The two realize that the only real couple they have in their lives are the redhead and her chubby companion. That's not much of a good model at all, however. Not when you're both boys.
"You think?" Richie sounds hopeful. "Like, for real? Real boyfriends? Not just high school dating, you know, like, only dating for the reputation."
"Jesus, if I was worried about my reputation, do you really think I'd go and fall for the likes of you?" Eddie teases, a tone so loving that it can't be mistaken as an insult. Richie understands it as it was meant to be understood, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Much less another man."
This raises concern.
"We'd have to keep it a secret," Richie nods. "Nobody could know. I don't- I don't want to find out what would happen to you if people thought you were a fruit."
"But I am," Eddie finally admits outloud.
Richie must say, he's shocked. He stops in his tracks, mouth held agape, a complete surprise taking over his emotions.
"You are?" Richie asks.
"I thought the kisses would have explained that," Eddie bites sarcastically, taking a long sip of his cocoa. "Maybe you're too dull to understand that, though."
"Shut up," Richie laughs, setting his mug down carefully. "I'm serious, dude. Nobody can find out. They'd... I don't know. They wouldn't approve. So if you're serious about being serious, then it has to be a serious secret."
"What about the losers?" Eddie asks. It's a valid question; can they trust their own best friends? Their homemade family?
"Let's be real," Richie says, "They already know. I think Ben is the only loser without a clue, but it won't take him long to pick up on it."
Eddie nods, accompanied by a laugh. He glances down at his mug as if he sees a mystifying truth swirling around in the substance. What he comes up with, however, seems to be "Yeah, that's okay. We should keep it a secret. That way... it's just for us."
"Are you serious about this, though?" Richie isn't sure how many times he can ask for emotional validation before Eddie gets tired.
"Deadly," Eddie responds. "I really like you, Rich. For some odd reason, I really like you. Are you... Are you not serious?"
"No, I am! I am, I promise I am!" Richie quickly protests, his mind panicking at the thought of losing Eddie. He pushes some hair out of his eyes and continues.  "I really want to be with you, too. Like, outside of high school too. Like... when we're adults and shit."
"I think people would frown upon two men living together," Eddie mumbles.
"Fuck 'em. We'll move somewhere crazy. We'll move out to Vermont, or Oregon, or California. One of those crazy places. Hell, we can build our lives in San Francisco, I hear it's the gay capital of the world," Richie rambles in his usual overly energetic fashion.
Eddie watches him with a fond smile, loving that little jitter that Richie gets in his bones whenever he is excited. He listens to Richie list off capitals and cities, before finally interjecting. "You wanna start a life together? Just the two of us?"
Richie stops in his tracks, realizing the grave danger he's put himself in. With a knot in his stomach, he begins to ramble once more, but this time he spends his time backtracking. "I mean, yeah. We're young and stupid, and I've only known you for, like, two months, but why not? We'd be good at it. It would be fun, just the two of us. Just think about it; the shenanigans. Imagine one day opening a pill bottle and a bunch of snakes jump out of the can. How great would that be? Again, I know I'm getting too far ahead of myself, but I really like you, Eds. I don't know what could come in the way of that."
Eddie says nothing, just smiles. He takes long drinks of his hot cocoa, nearly finishing off the cup as Richie watches him. Not expectantly, no, Richie would never push Eddie to answer, just waiting to see what Eddie has to say.
Eventually, Eddie opens his mouth to reply, but before the words can inject themselves to the tip of his tongue, there's an echoing chime that rings throughout the whole house. Richie and Eddie both freeze, unsure of who would be disturbing the Tozier residence. They don't ignore it for long, however, because frantic pounding begins to beat the front door immediately consequently following the bell.
Richie stands up, Eddie of course following him. The two hold hands as they descend the stairs, but when Richie sees the flashing red and blue of police cars through the smoked glass, he drops Eddie's hand and pushes on the boy's chest.
He turns around, keeping Eddie contained to the bottom of the staircase. From the front door, the stairs are hidden, so Eddie will be fine if he stays out of sight. Richie points a finger at Eddie very accusingly and says "Don't move, Eds. Don't move."
"Rich-" Eddie reaches out for Richie's sleeve, but he misses the fabric by a fraction of a centimeter. To busy his hands, he retrieves his inhaler from his pocket, and he begins nervously huffing on the mouthpiece.
Richie braves up to answer the door, knowing that it would be far worse if the police were to bust the door in and barge in themselves. He tries to look respectable and mature, the boy straightening his back out and he smooths some of his hair back.
"Hello, officers?" Richie's voice shakes despite his confident demeanor. Upon the words leaving his mouth, he realizes that there is only one police officer, accompanied by a woman wearing a very fancy business suit. She's got a stack of paper in her hands, all tucked into a manila folder.
"Hello, I'm from the Derry PD, I've received an anonymous tip that there's a case of child neglect and abandonment? May I speak to the man of the house?" The police officer's voice sounds growling, a threat that sends Richie's bones into a chill.
"Ch-Ch-Child abandonment?" Richie feigns ignorance, his words jumbling up, making him sound like Stuttering Bill.
The woman with a pantsuit seems much more calm and friendly. She opens the file in her arms, and then asks "May I speak to Mrs. Tozier, please? Is Maggie home?"
"They're, uh, both at work," Richie begins to outwardly panic, his legs tapping against the doorframe, his hand patting his thigh in rapid successions. "They work late. That's all."
"It shows here that Mr. and Mrs. Tozier haven't showed up to work in the past... 42 days? Does that sound right, Richie?"
Richie's vision begins to blur, his brain exploding. This can't be happening, no, this can't be happening. Nobody was supposed to know. Richie has grown up in the shadows, always being cast aside and ignored because he was taught that his life didn't matter. He grew up with the assumption that he could go missing one day, and nobody would look for him. Now, here are two adults, accusing him of being abandoned, and he doesn't understand it. How did they know? Who told them? Who saw Richie's loneliness and decided to go to the police?
Richie's heart thuds inside of his chest, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts at a millions miles per second. He instantly retreats from the door, recoiling and instinctively drawing in on himself, attempting to find some shelter in the isolation that he has grown up in. He feels naked, raw, exposed. In his driveway, there are two cop cars, and then a third SUV parked across the street. Here are all these people that suddenly notice him, see him and his flaws, his imperfections and all the little details that his mother never understood. He feels naked, but worse, he feels as if he's being stared at. Richie is not an exhibitionist, he can't stand the idea of being examined. Once, Bev spoke of getting a psych evaluation, and the idea of having his brain picked apart like that sends Richie into a frenzy of over exposure. He doesn't like being noticed, he doesn't like being in the spotlight.
For someone whose entire personality revolves around desperate attempts to gain attention, he now realizes all at once that he absolutely hates being singled out.
"Th-They're here, they're in town," Richie stammers over his words, his chest rising and falling with rapid acceleration. His stomach squeezes beneath a tight fist, a pool of dread settling in his chest like a concrete slab solidifying inside of him. "They're in town. They leave me notes. They leave me money. They didn't abandon me, they're here."
The two standing on the front porch step exchange sneaky glances, a conversation between their eyes that drives Richie crazy. He needs to know what they're saying about him, he needs to hear it out loud. He can't deal with this body language and behavioral subtext, he needs to know what they're saying about him.
"May I come in and look around?" The woman asks, her voice sweet and kind. Richie decides that he hates her more, her aura appearing too plastic to be considered real. He doesn't trust her one bit, but he's more afraid of the gun strapped to the police officer's belt to say no to her.
Richie nods feebly, opening the door a bit wider so that the woman and police officer can step inside. Upon doing so, the cop shuts the door behind them, leaving Richie and him trapped in the living room.
Richie nervously bites his nails as the woman approaches the kitchen, knowing that Eddie is going to be discovered. For some unknown reason, Richie prays that Eddie had enough common sense to go upstairs and hide when this conversation first ensued.
But he didn't, and that is made apparent when the woman stops in her tracks and looks to the stairs as if her eyes have met something. She holds a hand outwards, and says "We've got another. This one looks younger, just under 11 or 12. Broken arm."
Eddie is pulled from his hiding spot, his ghostly face frozen in absolute horror. His eyes find Richie's for some sort of comfort, but the taller one is just as scared as he is, if not more terrified. The room feels tight, and neither of the two boys think they can breathe.
"This your baby brother, son?" The cop asks Richie, planting a large hand on Richie's skinny shoulder.
"N-No," Richie shakes his head, saying "He's just a friend. He's got a mom. He's just a friend."
Despite the situation, the words still sting in Eddie's ears. But he knows that Richie can't exactly tell a cop that Eddie is his boyfriend, that would seem too... too bold. He doesn't want to risk the two of them being arrested, as delusional as that may be.
The woman seems satisfied with that answer, and then leaves to enter the kitchen. Richie feels his guts knot up in anguish and fear, and without having to speak a single word to Eddie, the smaller one automatically follows the woman to see what she's doing. Once he knows that Eddie is on the case, he visibly relaxes, some of the tension easing up in his shoulders.
"Son, would you come down to the station to answer a few questions for us?"
Richie's relaxation is cut short as his blood runs cold. He feels as if he's been shot in the chest, and now he is bleeding out all over this cop and the polished hardwood floors that his mother worked on so fervently.
Suddenly, all in one moment, Richie misses his mother. He knows that there's no real reason to miss the reason you're now being investigated by the local police, but he still feels sick with nostalgia as he remembers the scent of her perfume. He misses waking up on Saturday mornings to the sounds of her doing laundry, he misses coming downstairs and being yelled at for not washing the dishes already, he misses being slapped around for dragging mud in the house from outside. He misses the way she filled her wine glasses with whiskey during dinner, and he misses the way that she looked at him with confusion in her stare. It wasn't that she hated him, she didn't, she just never understood him. That's all.
Richie even misses his father. His father was a bit nicer, would occasionally go out and throw a ball around with Richie if he had had a good day at the office. He encouraged Richie's voices sometimes, but other times, would get irritated and slap the boy upside the the head to get him to stop. He misses his father blackmailing him into chores, the way his father's aftershave smelled, and the way that his father looked at his mother as if he could learn to love her if she would just give him a chance. But she never did, and Richie supposes he misses that too.
Richie ends up with his arms wrapped around himself in an attempt to shield himself from the raw stare the policeman is giving to him. He needs some sort of protection from the outside world. Eddie has now followed the woman upstairs, so Richie has no choice but to protect himself alone.
"Sure," he murmurs quietly, as if the house is too big to talk in without hearing an echo. He doesn't want to hear himself; not now, not ever. His own incessant babbling is what ultimately drove his parents away.
He doesn't know how long he stands there, he doesn't count the minutes. He knows it feels like an eternity though, and his racing thoughts aren't doing him any favors towards calming him down. He feels as if he spends a lifetime next to that police officer, standing there and waiting for Eddie to come back downstairs and report on what the woman is doing. He feels like he has aged years by the time the two both come back down, and when he dares to look up at Eddie's face, he's not pleased by the expression that he's greeted with.
Eddie is looking at him with sympathy.
Sympathy.
No, no, no. That's not supposed to happen. Eddie knows his parents are in town, he knows. Why is Eddie looking at him like that? Eddie shouldn't pity him, he shouldn't feel sorry for Richie, there's nothing to feel sorry for. What had the woman done or said that suddenly turned Eddie against him?
"The tip was correct, there's perishables that have been bought recently, but the master bedroom wardrobes have been cleared out," the woman says to the officer as if the two boys weren't even standing there. "Food was most likely bought by our tipper. There's a collection of dust over everything in that room, they haven't been home in awhile."
Richie's stomach plummets through his body, freefalling off of a high story building and leaving Richie weightless, with nothing to anchor him. He looks at Eddie, his eyes lost at sea and pleading for comfort, but Eddie betrayed him by giving him another sad expression.
No, no, no, no. Richie becomes so painfully aware of how alone he is in that exact moment, and it isn't fair at all.
"Can you come down to the station for us, son?" The officer now asks Richie, and the tallest of the two kids can only nod.
Eddie has never seen him this grim before. Sure, Richie gets upset and anxious, but never has he seen Richie so... complacent. Flaccid. Passive. Richie always fights back just for the sake of arguing. He always stirs up trouble, even if he knows he's wrong. He lives for being stubborn, but now... he's just surrendering, showing how weak he truly is. Eddie doesn't think he's seen anything sadder.
"Only if I can come with," Eddie interjects, taking a deep breath in and trying his best to appear taller. If Richie won't argue, if Richie won't fight, if Richie won't be Richie, then Eddie will. Eddie twists his face up in embarrassment at what he's about to do, but then clears his throat and tries his best at Richie's auctioneer voice. "Buy one, get one free! Step right up! We've got a package deal; you can't take one without getting the other!"
Richie immediately breaks into a grin, one focused towards the ground, but a grin nonetheless. He can't believe Eddie sometimes, that boy is going to be the death of Richie. What's he doing making a fool of himself like this?
It dawns on Richie as the two are escorted to the officer's vehicle; Eddie is trying to make him smile. The sympathy nearly crushed Richie, and Eddie could sense that. So to return the balance to their relationship, Eddie did his best to bring some of the fire inside him to the surface.
"You impersonation was awful," Richie says in the backseat. He smiles at Eddie, his face not exactly matching the true emotions he's feeling at the moment.
Eddie looks away from the window, or more specifically, the people outside the window. The woman probably retells the scene of complete abandonment that Eddie had witnessed with her the second they stepped foot into that master bedroom, but for now, he can't worry about that. He turns back to Richie and frowns, saying "I didn't see you doing any better."
Richie shrugs, a small smile on his face. His life may be coming to an end in this moment, but by God he is so completely and utterly head over heels for Eddie Kaspbrak. Who else would follow him into the back of a cop car? Not Bev, no, she hates cops. Definitely not Henry, he's got a record twice as long as anybody else in all of Derry. Eddie Kaspbrak is the only one crazy enough to follow him into the backseat of a sheriff's temporary holding cell. But it's not just that, no, Richie thinks that Eddie would follow him anywhere.
The two boys both reach over at the exact same time, entwining their fingers with one another, gripping their hands like it's the last time they'll ever touch. And as Richie brings their connection up to his face so he can press a kiss to the back of Eddie's hand, both boys think the exact same thing.
It very well might be the last time. It might be.