THE GHOST IN YOU - IT [2]

chapter six

Almost zombie-like, Bill stands and pulls his jacket off the coat hanger next to the staircase. After he shrugs it on, he wordlessly follows Jaime through the lobby to her parked rental car in the parking lot. The traffic begins picking up as it nears six in the morning. Derry is covered by a thick layer of morning fog, causing Jaime to practically lean over the steering wheel as she navigates to the diner. The silence between the two inhabitants of the vehicle is welcomed by each, though.

When Jaime finds the diner, she parks and gets out of the car alongside Bill. They walk up the familiar steps, Jaime softly smiling at a memory of Beverly tripping down the stairs, falling into Mike, who then fell into Stan, who then fell into Ben. The four had fallen onto the pavement, scraping their skin and causing nasty contusions to form. Despite the blood, they had been laughing, which prompted the four unscathed children to laugh too, until they all felt like they'd puke up their meals if they kept going.

"Remember when Beverly fell on these stairs?" She asks Bill as he politely tugs open the diner door for her.

He chuckles, walking in behind her. "Yeah, Eddie was f-flipping out about everyone's wounds."

"That only made them laugh harder." Jaime chuckles to herself. A waitress approaches the podium and retrieves two menus, before even asking 'two?'

They follow her to a free booth, which isn't scarce. The diner is near desolate, save for some visibly wasted college kids eating omelettes at the bar, and an elderly couple in a far back booth. She asks what they'd like to drink, to which they both eagerly reply coffee. Jaime adds a glass of water for Bill, because she isn't sure just how drunk he is.

"This place has changed a bit." She notes, eyes scanning the brightly-lit diner. The classic red-white checkered pattern had been swapped for a sleek, modern pattern of greens and mahogany. Potted plants sat in seemingly every corner, leaves glistening with a fresh watering. However, the large wall of vintage license plates from across the States remained, the collection twice the size it had been in the late 80s.

"Wonder if the food tastes the same." He comments from across from her, playing with the sticker that had held his napkin and silverware together.

"That would certainly be a blessing." Jaime nods. "God, those blueberry pancakes..."

"Bev and I, w-we went on a... date, sorta thing here." Bill scoffs, scratching his nose. "I don't know. There was a creep working the bar, a-and she got a free milkshake out of him."

Jaime shivers despite the comfortable temperature. Beverly had been notorious for that. 'Pennypinching.' She'd called it, giving Jaime that sly grin. They'd gone to a record store together once, and Beverly had gotten the new Faith No More record for free. Just by being airy, flirtatious, suggestive. There had been so many creeps in Derry, men and women alike, that Beverly had persuaded Jaime to try it. She had, once, but not again. She told Beverly she wasn't pretty like she was, wasn't effortlessly suave. Beverly insisted otherwise, calling her a 'total babe,' laughing when she flushed to her hairline. That in itself was a prime example of the effect Beverly had on anyone who happened to fall victim to her smoothness.

The waitress returns with two empty mugs, a pot of steaming coffee, a tray of sugars and creamers, and a glass of water. Bill thanks her idly as she leaves. The two each pour their coffees, add the desired amount of creamer until the black liquid turns milky-brown, and sip at the beverages carefully. They study their menus and make idle chit-chat about the food until the waitress comes back to take their orders.

The coffee nurses the slight hangover Jaime's suffering through and causes her eyelids to no longer gravitate downwards. Outside, the fog clears upon the sun peeking over the horizon. People begin entering the diner at a slightly more frequent pace. Jaime taps her manicured nails against the table to the tune of the 50s rockabilly hit playing from the speakers.