chapter seven
initiate mission kill bill
☼ ☽
Jealousy was a tricky thing for Jill Samson to comprehend. Anger, she got. She understood if she held her hand above a lighter and let the flames lick her skin, it'd ignite the same feeling rooted deep within her veins when she blew a fuse. Its unruly wrath against her reasoning was not hard to comprehend. It was easy to get lost in its flames and watch her skin burn. Sometimes she found it comforting. After all, she was a child born with a fire enclosing her heart—it had been the only thing Jill knew ever since she was young. Jealousy, on the other hand, was not foreign to her senses, but it was hard to comprehend when in a battle against anger.
One might think jealousy and anger went hand in hand, but Jill Samson thought otherwise. With anger, everything was easy—you break shit, scream, maybe even cry a little. But with jealousy . . . you weren't supposed to express any of that. If you did, you'd risk the root of your jealousy discovering the reason you might have acted differently one day then another way the next. With anger, it was just her and her emotions, but with jealousy, she had to deal with Beverly versus everyone else on top of her fucked up brain. That was what was tricky for Jill to understand. She just wanted to scream, but she couldn't because then Beverly would find out about her stupid little crush on her and then her entire life would be over.
Jill found it especially hard to contain her jealousy that early morning when Beverly called her on the landline and claimed she had something she had to show the group. The group. The group of boys, she meant. That was what pissed Jill off. Why did Beverly have to call them? They had known each other for like two days and suddenly they were supposed to be acting like best friends. Why? She didn't want to deal with Bill that day or even Richie. The others were okay, but they were still gross, annoying boys. They'd probably burp in her face or something. Ew.
Jill forced herself out of bed and threw on some clothes she felt comfortable in. She dressed in a short-sleeve button-up shirt with a splatter paint design paired with some jeans and a white scrunchie to tie back the hairs out of her face. She despised the feeling of hair on her skin, it made her want to pull out her hair altogether or just shave it off. With that, she quickly shoved on a pair of beaten-up shoes and headed for her kitchen. But something stopped her before she could advance in her routine.
A scratch on the flooring near the sink caught her eye and Jill couldn't bring herself to look away. Flashes of the night before came rushing back, infiltrating her mind and consuming it with thoughts of her mother, the hand, and her cup of stars. They were all gone now. Even her cup had disappeared. She assumed her father must have trashed the thing. So that was that. Everything was gone—down the drain with the rest of her memories.
As soon as the memories had prodded too far into her brain, Jill snapped herself out of it and grabbed two bananas before she headed for the front door. She couldn't be thinking of her dreams or whatever they were right now. She had to help Beverly before the boys got there and stole her away. So she shoved everything to the back of her mind and slammed the door behind her, descending the fire escape stairs to Beverly's apartment.
Just a little way in front of her, sat a girl lounging on the steps of the fire escape. Jill had to blink a few times in order to see the redhead, but when the sun moved out of her sight, she saw her clearly. Beverly appeared to have something on her mind as she inhaled a long drag from her cigarette and picked at the frayed edges of her jean shorts.
"Hey," Jill said, sitting down on the step next to the redhead. Beverly snapped her attention to Jill and gave her a strained smile. She looked concerned. That worried Jill. "Here." Jill shoved one of the bananas toward the girl. "I brought you a banana. I could tell by your voice on the phone that you were too . . . occupied to eat."
A smile kissed Beverly's lips as she grabbed the banana from Jill and set it on her lap. "Thanks." She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes they stole from the pharmacy. She plucked a cigarette from the box and offered it to Jill. "Cig?"
Jill shrugged. Why not? "Duh." She took the cigarette from the girl's hand, extending the butt so Beverly could light it with the lighter she pulled from her back pocket. The light burned the end of the cigarette, sending fumes into the atmosphere as Jill brought it to her lips and inhaled, but her eyes stayed glued to the redhead as she took a few puffs. "So what happened?"
Beverly faced her friend, but her eyes stayed glued to the steps below. "It's better if we wait for the boys," she muttered, her voice quiet and restrained. "It's just . . . you have to see it to believe it . . . or maybe there's nothing there to believe. I don't know."
The Samson girl furrowed her dark brows as she searched Beverly's face for any indicators about the problem at hand. She wondered for a second if Beverly had had a strange occurrence of her own. Maybe it wasn't just a bad dream. Maybe something really was wrong with Derry and the two girls were at the center of it. "Did something bad happen?" Jill queried, taking another drag of her cigarette. "Like—" she blew out the smoke, watching as the gray clouds were whisked away in the wind— "a . . . uh . . . bad dream?"
"Sort of," Beverly admitted quietly, squinting her eyes due to the blinding sun. She sighed heavily, then inhaled through her nose. It seemed her mind was somewhere else—somewhere in her subconscious where her fears lurked. "It felt real though." She took one last drag of her cigarette before putting it out and flicking it into oblivion. Her hands were peeling the banana a second later.
Jill watched her in silence, taking a sharp inhale of air a second later. She pursed her lips and picked at her chewed nails (It had become a habit she happened to do when she was nervous). "I've been having those, too," she said slowly, still trying to process the words her lips formed. "It's like I'm dreaming, but when I wake up . . . I guess, it feels like it actually happened. And the stuff that happen in the dreams seem to transfer into my actual life." She paused for a second as the memories of the hand choking her infiltrated her mind. She brought a hand up to her throat, gently touching the area where It had left its mark. The skin felt raw and dry, but she still had no idea if a bruise was left. She had been too afraid to admit the truth that she refused to look in a mirror that morning. She didn't want it to be real. If it was, that thing had the power to kill and it was hungry for blood. "It's fucked. Like a bad trip. It might even turn me into an alcoholic."
Beverly snorted, gently slapping Jill's knee. "Oh, shut up. You? An alcoholic? Okay, then," she said, turning to look at the girl beside her once again, but this time she saw something different about her. Jill's throat was stained with a purple bruise, encircling the skin all the way around. "Woah, Jill—" she shot forward, brushing the girl's brown hair out of the way so she could get a better look at the wound—" what the fuck happened?"
Jill furrowed her brows in confusion, but her heart pounded in realization. "What?" she asked even though she knew the answer.
"Your neck," the red-haired girl uttered bluntly. "Your neck is fuckin' purple."
The Samson girl's eyes grew wider. "Oh . . . uh . . . that's what I was talking about," she explained, instinctively covering her neck with the palm of her hand. "This happened in my dream."
"What? How?"
Jill stared at Beverly for a while, taking in the way concern swirled in her blue eyes. She wondered what Beverly would do if she told her what she thought had happened. She wondered if she'd think she was crazy, because maybe she was, and maybe she had choked herself like a crazy person would do. But this was Beverly. Beverly Marsh, her best friend. Surely she would believe her. Maybe she had even had her own experience with It. "There was a hand in my sink and it tried to get me to follow it or something, but I didn't and then it got mad," she explained slowly, keeping her eyes on her shoes. "It got mad and then it choked me. And I don't think it would have stopped if my dad hadn't come home. But . . . maybe it was just a dream. I could have done it to myself in . . . in my dream or whatever."
Silence consumed the two girls after the words left Jill's lips. She wondered if Beverly thought she was crazy. Because maybe she was and this was all just some figment of her imagination. Either way, Jill didn't have enough courage to glance up from her shoes, so she began to count the scuff marks on them in an attempt to distract her from the deafening silence.
Another minute passed and Jill began to regret her entire existence. Fuck. "Listen, maybe I was wrong. Maybe—"
"I saw something, too," Beverly cut her off with a calm, solemn voice. "Well . . . actually, I heard voices. They told me to float with them. And then there was blood. So much blood."
After the words spilled from Beverly's lips, Jill finally tore her gaze from her shoes and stared at the ginger. Beverly had her hands in her hair, her fingers tangled in the orange curls. Jill wondered what she was thinking. Was it the blood on her mind? Did this thing really exist? Maybe the horror movie marathons they had together rubbed off on both of them and they were torturing themselves. Jill didn't know, but she didn't have enough time to process it before the sound of boys' voices inched closer to their apartment complex.
Jill buried her head in her hands and groaned. Fuck. They had arrived.
"They're here," Beverly muttered solemnly, springing to her feet and peering over the edge of the railing to see how close they were. When she caught a glimpse of Bill Denbrough's reddish brown hair, she threw the banana peel on the ground and dashed down the steps. Jill flicked the cigarette into the air and followed after her, but her actions were more reluctant and strained. She tried to delay greeting them as much as she could, but before she could even blink, she was standing in the grass in front of the boys.
The boys bickered among themselves, Richie and Eddie being the loudest of the group as they spewed insults back and forth. Jill rolled her eyes and crossed her hands over her chest. She would have called them idiots if Beverly hadn't spoken first. "I need to show you guys something," she said, her voice raspy due to her being slightly out of breath from running down the stairs.
"More of what we saw at the Quarry?" Richie asked, smirking as he adjusted his glasses. Stan rolled his eyes and smacked him on the back of the head.
Jill scoffed. "Perv," she spat under her breath.
"You know you want me, baby." Richie smirked. Jill wanted to punch it off his face, instead, she gave him a look and flipped him off.
Beverly ignored them and continued, "My dad will kill me if he finds out I had boys in the apartment." She fiddled with the fabric of her jean shorts as she gnawed on the inside of her cheek.
Bill nodded in acknowledgment. "Wuh—Wuh—We'll leave a lookout," he offered, looking around at the group before his eyes landed on someone. "Richie, stay here."
Richie threw his hands up in protest, making sure they slapped his sides loud enough to be heard by all the Losers when gravity took its toll on his body. The other preteens ignored him and headed for the fire escape. A few of them were already ascending the staircase. "Hey, wait! What do I do if her dad comes back?"
Stanley turned back with a sour look on his face. "Just do what you always do. Start talking."
Jill snorted, giving Stan a high-five. "Nice one."
Richie groaned and threw his bike to the ground. "It's a gift," he stated, plopping down on the grass hill.
"More like a curse!" Jill yelled before she ascended the stairs after Stan.
As she ascended, she pushed past the kids playing on the fire escape, pretending not to notice when she accidentally kicked a toy from the stairs. The kid started screaming a second later, and Jill cringed, scrambling up the rest of the stairs leading to Beverly's apartment. Beverly opened the front door, stiffening as it creaked. All of them tried to ignore the fear bubbling in their chests as they piled into the apartment and followed the ginger. The smell of copper immediately hit Jill's senses as they inched closer to their destination. The smell overpowered any cigarette smoke that normally scented the interior of the Marshs' apartment. Jill missed how the scent would comfort her on her darkest days and longed to feel wrapped in its consuming fumes, but the copper smell had washed away any residue.
"In there," Beverly said as they rounded a bend and stopped before her bathroom.
Jill furrowed her brows. What was in the bathroom? She looked closer, taking in how a red light peeked out from under the door. She wracked her brain for an explanation, but every possible answer led her to a dead end.
"You're taking us to the bathroom?" Eddie questioned, beginning to breathe heavily as his eyes darted across the door. "You know that eighty nine percent of the worst accidents occur in the bathroom and kitchen. And that's where all the bacteria and fungi are . . . and it is not a hygienic place . . . it—"
Bill cut him off by pushing the door open. It opened with an eerie creak and revealed the crimson walls covered with sticky blood. Nobody spoke. No one had any words to say. Only utter disgust and terror filled their veins.
"I knew it," Eddie gagged, plugging his nose with his hand. His gags continued as he covered his face with his shirt and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Do you see it?" Beverly softly asked, glancing at all their shocked faces and biting her lip in hopes they'd speak the answer she needed to hear. She needed to know she wasn't crazy.
A chorus of acknowledgment erupted amongst the group, but no one could bring themselves to say anything more. Jill wanted to be more disgusted, but after what had happened to her last night, all she felt was relief. She wasn't crazy. This shit was happening to other people. Only that led her to another startling discovery—it was real. It was real and it had almost killed her. Fuck.
"What happened here?" Stan asked, anxiously.
"My dad couldn't see it. I thought that I might be crazy," Beverly whispered, unsteadily. Jill could sense her friend's nervousness and she stepped forward to grasp Bev's hand in her own. Bev tore her eyes from the murder scene to Jill who simply gave the redhead a tight smile and rubbed her hand with her thumb. Beverly gave a strained smile back.
"Well, if you're crazy, then we're all crazy," Ben mumbled, making the two girls break eye contact and turn their attention back to the bloodied bathroom, but they stayed holding hands.
Bill stepped into the bathroom, his watchful eyes taking in the entire scene. "We cuh—cuh—cuh—can't leave it like this," he said, turning around to face the rest of the preteens. He made eye-contact with Beverly. "Wuh—W—Where are your cleaning suh—supplies?"
"The last door on the left," Jill answered for her, pointing her free hand in the direction of the door.
Bill tore his gaze from Beverly and stared at Jill for a moment before he gave her a curt nod and made his way through the group to grab the cleaning supplies. He came back in a matter of a few seconds, dropping all the supplies on the bathroom floor and handing out mops and sponges. Stan was the first to grab rubber gloves. He slid them onto his hands before he took a sponge from Bill and headed over to the window. Ben was tasked with scrubbing the tile floors. Eddie attempted to grab a mop to clean the floor with the new kid, but he kept gagging, so Beverly went in search of a close pin for him to clip over his nose. He seemed grateful, but he still scowled as he drenched the floors with water. While they went to work, Bill slowly put on his rubber gloves, sneaking glances at Beverly and she did the same. Jill watched them in disgust, sliding on her own rubber gloves.
Once Beverly slid on her gloves, Bill scrambled to grab a rag to hand to her. He tapped her freckled arm, earning her wide-eyed attention. "Here yuh—you go, Bev," Bill said with a small smile as he held out the rag to offer to the girl.
Beverly smiled, flicking her eyes down to the rag in his hands. "Oh, thanks, Bill," she said softly, taking the rag from him. Their hands touched in the exchange which made a light rouge color tint their cheeks. Neither of them acknowledged the occurrence, instead, Beverly flashed him another grin then turned on her heels and walked to her mirror, leaving Bill and Jill alone.
Bill stared after the redhead with a small smile playing on his lips. He seemed to be too occupied with encoding her existence to notice the brunette glaring holes into his head. Jill was seriously going to kill Bill if he kept this up. Yeah, she was jealous. So what? Bill kept wedging himself between them that now Beverly wouldn't even look at her when he was around. It was bullshit.
That was when she realized something. Maybe jealousy and anger weren't so different. Sure, she couldn't exactly express her jealousy or else Beverly would know about her dirty little secret, but the feelings attached to the jealousy she felt all originated with her burning anger. Whatever. It didn't matter anyway. All that mattered was getting away from Bill Stenchbrough before she shoved his head in the blood. Jill coughed, holding out her hand toward Bill just as he turned his attention back to her.
"Jill," Bill said, his green eyes wide as he took in her angry expression.
The snarky brunette raised a brow. "Bill."
Bill's gaze shifted to the brunette's open palm and he responded by giving her a small smile before he handed her a wet rag.
"Thanks," she sneered, walking over to where Stan stood. She swung one leg over the bathtub, clasping a hand on Stan's back as she straightened her stance.
Stan glanced at her and smiled. "Hey."
"Stan the Man," she acknowledged with a curt nod, then she got to work and began to wipe down the wall next to the window.
Stan halted in his cleaning and peered at the girl out of the corner of his eye. "Erm . . . what happened to your neck?"
Jill turned to him. "Same thing that happened to Beverly, I guess," she suggested with a shrug. "I didn't do it to myself. Now, that would be weird." She awkwardly laughed, but Stan didn't join her. God, shut up! What is wrong with you? She quickly stopped laughing and cleared her throat, turning her attention back to the issue at hand.
"Are you okay?" Stan piped up again, this time looking the girl directly in the eyes. He seemed to be almost concerned, and maybe that made Jill feel slightly better about everything.
No. "Yeah, totally."
Stan gave her a tight smile. "Good."
The two of them went back to work, focusing on getting the dried blood out of the cracks and creases. Jill felt like puking when the blood wiped off on her exposed skin, and the stench wasn't helping whatsoever. As the hours passed by, the six of them became used to the smell, but Eddie still insisted on wearing the close pin on his nose despite it turning his skin red. He said the pain had gone away after a few minutes, replaced by numbness. He claimed it was better than inhaling the stench of dried blood, especially since the sun had shone through the window almost all day. Dried blood plus heat was never a good mix, so maybe Eddie Kaspbrak had a point.
Around noon, the group had cleaned almost every inch of the bathroom, not leaving one spec of blood. Stan had made sure it was spotless. He told Jill it would bother him if it didn't look the way it had before the murder scene had commenced. Eddie, too, agreed they had to clean every corner of the room just in case the blood was tainted. He claimed it was a hazard if even a little bit of blood was left behind. The other kids only shrugged and followed their orders, until the room was spotless.
Eddie and Ben took out the full trash bags of bloodied sponges and rags while Jill continued stuffing the last of the dirty rags into a garbage bag before she tied the bag shut and flung it over her shoulder. Stan was at the sink, cleaning his hands thoroughly. Jill trudged over to him and peered over his head to look in the mirror. She took in her appearance for the first time that day, absorbing the image of her bruised neck as she stared. Her fingers inched their way to touch the skin. She flinched the moment her fingers made contact with the wound. It still hurt. That only made her believe the impossible even more.
"This is so fucked," Jill scoffed, dropping her hand to her side.
Stan glanced at her reflection in the mirror. "What is?"
"This—" Jill gestured to the room— "All of it. I mean it's just fuckin' weird how we didn't even question it. We just cleaned all this shit up like it was nothing." She shook her head, her eyes finding their way to the bruise on her neck. Something had done that. It had to have. Otherwise, there was no way she would be bruised.
"I don't know. It's weird, but don't you think maybe she did this on purpose?" Stan suggested, drying his hands on his pants.
Jill frowned. "No, Beverly would never lie."
Stan sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right . . . it's just if she didn't, what does that mean? I don't know . . . it just doesn't seem real."
"Yeah," Jill inhaled shakily, "I get that."
Silence consumed them. Jill felt uncomfortable drifting in the white noise. Say something, you idiot. She needed to speak or unless she might explode. She hated that feeling—feeling like you needed to say something to fill the void. She shouldn't have felt that way, but it had been a hard day, so give her a damn break.
"Um . . . do you want me to take that for you?" Stan offered, gesturing to the trash bag hanging over her shoulder.
Jill looked at the black bag. "Oh, but won't you have to wash your hands again?"
"Eddie probably has hand sanitizer and you look tired."
Jill offered him a smile. "Okay . . . then um . . . thanks," she mumbled, handing him the bag.
Stan gave her a wave before he disappeared down the hallway, out of her sight. Jill tore her eyes from the empty hallway, letting out a sigh as she leaned against the edge of the sink. She wondered what more would happen that day and if she would have enough energy to survive it.
"Hey, Jill?" Beverly called, earning Jill's attention. "Could you take this trash bag out while me and Bill finish cleaning up?"
Jill glanced between the trash bag in Beverly's hand to the two preteens in front of her. Bill was giving her a look—something between boredom and amusement. What a dick. She fought the urge to glare at him, and instead slapped on a smile and took the bag from Beverly. "Sure," she muttered, her voice dripping with venom.
Beverly muttered a thank you before turning back to Bill and continuing her point. Jill's heart dropped to the bottom of her body and she had to dig her fingernails into the palms of her hands to stop herself from screaming or crying . . . she didn't really know what she would do. Instead, she turned around and trudged out of the room with a glum expression on her face. She had just willingly left the sea to consume her moon, and she had never felt worse.
Jill began to make her way out of the apartment, but before she could even get out of the bathroom, she spotted a familiar postcard resting on Beverly's bed inside her bedroom. The brunette let her curiosity get the best of her and she stalked into Beverly's room, setting the garbage bag down on the floor and picking up the postcard. It was so familiar yet she couldn't quite place where she had seen it before. She huffed as she flipped it over. Perfectly crafted writing inked the postcard and as she read the words, her heart sunk deeper and deeper.
Your hair is winter fire,
January embers,
My heart burns there too.
A Haiku. A beautifully sculpted poem dedicated to her best friend. Jill felt her heart rip a little more inside her chest. She wracked her brain, trying to figure out who would write Beverly the poem. Then it dawned on her and her heart ripped even more. There was only one person Jill could think who would write such things to Beverly, and all fingers pointed to none other than Bill Denbrough. He had done it again; he had stolen the moon's heart and made her feel special, something the sun had concluded she could never do.
"Jill, what are you doing?" she heard Ben's soft voice ask from behind her.
She whipped around quickly and stared at Ben with wide eyes. "Um . . . " She glanced at the postcard in her hand and awkwardly laughed. "Um . . . " Fuck, stop stuttering. Just be calm and put the damn thing down. She listened to her thoughts and placed the postcard back on the bed. "Uh . . . I thought this was mine and I left it here on accident, but it's not." Silence, again. God, she loathed silence. "So, anyways—"
Jill was cut off by a laugh; a laugh she had grown to adore—Beverly's laugh. The brunette's brows furrowed and her lips parted as she picked up the trash bag, threw it over her shoulder, and walked out of the bedroom. She tried not to make it obvious that she was spying on Beverly and Bill, but she was sure Ben could tell considering she had stopped right before the bathroom and stared into it. She didn't care, though. All she could think about was the aching in her chest as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.
The brunette watched as Bill smiled cheerfully at Beverly with a look in his eyes that clearly screamed adoration. Beverly stared back at him with a grin on her freckled face. Jill didn't want to know what the look on her face meant. If she knew, her heart would surly turn to ash. But whatever had happened, he must have said something hilarious because Beverly let out a loud laugh and bounced on her feet with her hands tucked into her jean pockets. Fuck. Fuck this.
Jill wanted to scream or punch something, but she couldn't, because no matter how closely related jealousy and anger were, she couldn't show how it had taken a toll on her, so she buried it. She took a page from Beverly's coping mechanisms, rounded up all her feelings, and locked them in a bottle. She wished there was some type of key that would unlock her mind, so she could go in there and kill all her anger, all her jealousy. Life would be so much better if Jill Samson couldn't feel.
"Jill?" Ben's soft voice brought her back to reality. Jill reluctantly turned her attention to the shorter boy. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, duh," Jill said, with a shrug. She went to leave, but then a thought popped into her head and she stayed glued to her spot. Because maybe Bill had captured Beverly's attention because he wasn't like Jill. Maybe if Jill wasn't so angry all the time, Beverly would want to be around her more. "Um . . . can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Am I an asshole?"
Ben blinked. "Oh."
"It's okay, you can answer honestly," Jill said, nodding her head to let him know he could continue.
Ben scratched the back of his neck. "Um . . . you can be a little mean, but you're not . . . you're not an asshole."
Jill scoffed. What a load of shit. Here was the thing about Jill Samson: she had a knack for knowing when people were lying, and Ben Hanscom totally was. "Don't make me seem like the good guy. I know I'm an asshole and I was an asshole to you. You can admit it."
"Well . . . the day we met you didn't even acknowledge my presence and then you kind of left without saying anything," he explained, awkwardly.
Jill blinked. "Really?" She hadn't even realized. When was the first day she met Ben? In the alleyway? No, that wasn't right. And then it hit her and she felt like a complete idiot.
After the last day of school, Jill and Beverly had walked out of the back entrance to avoid Greta and her friends. She remembered bumping into a boy, but she didn't stick around long enough to care. Beverly had later told her his name and that she thought he was sweet, but Jill hadn't cared. Instead, the girl had pushed past the boy and told Beverly she'd wait for her at the front entrance when she was done. That was a dick move, even Jill could admit that. Plus, she had said that all boys were stupid just because Henry Bowers had cut him. It wasn't like the boy was responsible for Henry Bowers being an asshole. Fuck. She was such an asshole. No wonder Beverly chose Bill.
"Fuck," Jill swore, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry. I treated you like shit. That's on me. You . . . you didn't deserve that."
The Hanscom boy breathed out a small laugh, nodding as if to say he accepted her apology. Jill slightly smiled but her smile soon fell when Ben shot his hand out toward her. She didn't know what he was asking of her or if it were some kind of trick.
"Friends?" Ben finally asked, motioning to his hand with his eyes as if to tell her his only intentions were a truce.
"Friends." Jillian Samson smiled from ear-to-ear and took the shorter boy's hand in hers, shaking it. "So what are you doing back up here?"
Ben pulled back his hand. "Oh, I came to see if there were any more garbage bags."
Jill looked around, seeing nothing but Beverly and Bill still talking. She did her best to ignore them, but the anger nipped at her skin. "Nope, nothing else," she said through gritted teeth.
Silence befell the two of them for a few seconds before Beverly and Bill approached them. The two of them looked pleased with the work done in the bathroom, although Jill noticed Beverly seemed to be a little disappointed about something. Jill wondered what was wrong and decided she'd ask her later.
"You guys ready?" Ben asked, but his voice fell short of enthusiasm. Jill furrowed her brows, studying the boy beside her. What was bothering him?
"Yeah, but I don't really feel like staying in this place for the rest of the day," Beverly explained, shoving her hands in her back pockets. "It just feels weird to be here after cleaning up . . . blood. Maybe we can go into town? Or the Quarry? Anything's better than this."
Bill nodded in agreement. "I think there—there's a new ice—ice cream place duh—duh—downtown."
A chorus of agreement was passed among the four of them as they made their way to where the rest of the group resided. They walked out of the apartment and trudged down the fire escape stairs in silence. The children had left, leaving the staircase empty. Good, Jill thought. She hated children.
Jill let out a sigh as she thought back on the events of the day. She couldn't believe a few minutes ago she was cleaning up blood. Real blood was on her hands and it had supposedly come out of the sink. She should have felt more confused, and she was, but if anything it made her feel more calm. Beverly's bathroom meant her dreams or whatever they were might be real, and although that terrified her, it meant she wasn't going crazy. It meant she hadn't tried to strangle herself. But then what had tried to kill her? She wondered what could possibly manage such things, which pegged the question of what lengths it would go to accomplish its mission.
Maybe this was the thing stealing kids in the middle of the night. But why? What would do that? Why, why, why? Jill didn't know, but she wished she did. If she didn't find out soon, it'd keep plaguing her. And there was one thing in particular that had been haunting her ever since the thoughts popped into her head. Who would go missing next? Would it be one of them? Would it be her?
a/n: the title to this chapter is v v accurate & valid to me!!! okay but i love, bill . . . no hate to the best boy!!
thank you for reading!