July 2nd, 1992
"What kind of frosting does Mike like?"
"Shit, I don't know, funfetti?"
"He doesn't seem like a funfetti guy."
"You asked!"
Inside Derry's local supermarket stood the two teenagers; Jaime Criss and Eddie Kaspbrak. Their arms were already packed full of the ingredients for a cake ("We will NOT be making Mike a shitty pre-packaged cake for his sixteenth birthday," Jaime had told the other four). The whole idea had been Jaime's anyway; none of the other losers even remembered it was almost Mike's birthday. But not only would it be his birthday, the month of July would also mark the month Jaime was to leave Derry for New York. By the end of this month, she'd be in an entirely new bed under her mother's roof.
"Well, it's not like we could ask him these things without giving away our intentions. He's smarter than all of us combined, you know." Jaime reminds Eddie, whom regards her with rolled eyes. As time passed, the two got along worse and worse. Richie was the only bond keeping them friends, and Jaime didn't like that, but Eddie peeved her more often than not. However, he had been the most on board with giving Mike a good birthday, plus he actually had some baking skill, so he joined Jaime on her quest to the store. Stan was occupying Mike around town, making sure the boy didn't have plans the next day so he could properly be surprised by his former best friends.
"I think everyone likes funfetti." Eddie says. "Unless you're not... fun."
The weak pun falls on deaf ears, Jaime having been far too used to that sort of thing from her boyfriend. "Alright. Yellow cake with funfetti frosting. Absolutely no peanuts involved, because he's allergic--"
"And I am too."
"And you are too," she sighs in exasperation, arms aching under the bags of flour and sugar, "anyway, should we make our own frosting, like we are with the cake?"
"Hell no." Eddie shakes his head. "I agreed to help with the cake. That's it. You want homemade frosting, you're making it yourself."
Jaime uses her free hand to grab a can of funfetti frosting, rolling her eyes. Eddie couldn't even pretend like he enjoyed her presence nowadays, which... at least he wasn't faking it.
The two rush over to the checkout and dump their items on the conveyor belt. Jaime hands the bored cashier a twenty, receives the change, then follows a (now rather tall) Eddie to Victor's car that she had so gracefully borrowed... without asking.
At her house, they bustle around the kitchen, spilling ingredients across the counters and floor. It goes by blissfully unnoticed, though. Eventually, the front door opens and Stan walks in, looking more tired than usual.
"He's free tomorrow... uh, guys? How much of the cake ended up in the oven, and not on your clothes?" He asks upon entering the kitchen. Jaime, smearing frosting on the first layer of the cake, shrugs.
"Enough. Second cake's in the oven." She jerks her head back towards Eddie, who peers into the oven window cautiously at the slowly rising cake.
"Is there anything I can do to... oh screw it, count me out, I've done enough today." Stan waves his hand dismissively. "See you guys tomorrow."
"Thank you for staying with Mike all day!" Jaime calls as Stan leaves her house. "Now, where were we?"
The next day, Jaime once again uses Victor's car to pick up the four others. She starts with Richie, who is assigned with the task of holding the container of cake in the passenger seat. He plays The Smiths on the car stereo, which Stan begs him to turn off the moment he slides into the backseat. Eddie and Ben come next, jamming awkwardly together in the backseat, their hips bumping together with each rocky bump on the neglected Derry roads. Jaime glances at the four boys, smiling sadly. If only Bill and Beverly were still here.
Mike ends up loving the cake, of course. The gesture alone brings tears to his eyes. The losers each give him some money in the form of gift cards. Jaime knew it was a lousy gift, but hey, she didn't know what the farmer boy liked. Not like she was going to buy him some fertilizer for his birthday.
The sun was receding behind the horizon by the time Jaime slipped onto the back porch of the Hanlon household, taking a seat in Mike's deceased grandmother's rocking chair. She rocks slowly, listening to the noises of the five boys inside laughing rambunctiously (mainly Richie, only God knows why).
The realization that she'd be leaving Derry in a few weeks struck her once again, slicing through her insides and sending her blood to her feet. She'd known for awhile, so the wound was old, dated. But every time she thought of it in depth, it was as if the wound was being torn open again and dipped in salt. It was ironic, really, because she was more excited about leaving than anything. In fact, the idea of staying in Derry for much longer induced her with far more anxiety than leaving did. New York had her brother (who would be moving with her to study Architecture at a local college), her mother, her step-brothers, and countless career options. Jaime hadn't told anyone yet, but she'd taken an interest in audio engineering, having already borrowed every book covering the topic that Derry Library had to offer. Most importantly, New York didn't have the ghosts of the past that Derry did.
Jaime fishes a stray cigarette from the breast pocket of Richie's Hawaiian shirt she was wearing (he had given her all the shirts he could no longer fit into a couple years back, but she was already planning on giving them to the local thrift store before she left). Just as she lights it with a hot-pink lighter that reads 'R + J' in Sharpie across it, the screen door swings open.
"Getting kinda chill out here." Mike comments, taking a seat in one of the metal chairs to Jaime's left. She blows smoke into the wind, thankful it doesn't blow into Mike's face. Above them, the sky is slowly transitioning into a brilliant navy blue. Jaime's curfew would be arriving anytime now, though it's not as if her dad would be home to care. He was probably the only one keeping the local pub in Derry in business.
"It's nice. This summer's been a bitch." She replies, flicking ash onto the dark wood below.
"Oh yeah. I'm certainly not complaining." Mike says, shooting her a dazzling smile. "No fun working in this heat."
He's grown to be so effortlessly charming, Jaime can't wrap her head around the fact that he's single. He's all bulk and muscle now, though it's as if he doesn't even notice his toned arms and biceps. Mike's such a peacemaker, too. Now that she thinks of it, he's far too good for the promiscuous girls at Derry High. Always bustling with the latest drama, craving attention and fights for superiority. Mike doesn't deserve to be dragged into all that under the guise of a pretty girl who's in love with the idea of him.
"I bet not. But if you still want to go to Florida, bear in mind it's probably much hotter there."
"Hmph, yes. There's waves there, though."
"You wanna surf?" Jaime questions, rocking slightly as she stares intently at his considering expression.
"I think it'd be fun, you know? Up here, water is so uneventful... it's just used for the ships to transport. Down there... there's beaches that have sunsets every evening, and there's water that never stops. This might be some child naivety coming through, but the television always makes Florida look so beautiful." Mike explains animatedly, moving his hands as he speaks with a wistful smile. Jaime's caught in a trance as he speaks. He's notorious for being able to capture everyone's attention with nothing but his smooth voice.
"You're right. I think you'd be great at surfing, as long as you have good balance. Plus..."
"Anywhere is better than here." He finishes for her, eyebrows knitting together. "Yeah, I can tell you're pretty stoked about moving, deep down."
She groans, then sputters a bit on cigarette smoke. Mike watches her cough in poorly-masked amusement. "That obvious, huh?"
"Are you making an effort to hide it?" He asks, eliciting another guttural noise of discontent from Jaime.
"Well, yes. I don't want Richie and Stan to know how much I want to leave." She stubs her cigarette on the ash-stained wood then tosses the butt into the ashtray on the small table between them.
"They do." Mike nods, then smiles at her warmly when her jaw drops. "Jay, we all wanna go. We've all wanted to go since we were born into this place. I don't think they blame you in the slightest for seizing this opportunity."
A lump the size of a rock forms in her throat for probably the millionth time that day. An owl begins hooting in a nearby tree on the Hanlon property, indicating that nighttime was finally here. Jaime ducks her head, picking at a loose thread dangling from her shorts. "It sucks. I'll miss you guys, a lot. And fuck, I feel like I'm the only reason Richie has yet to be arrested or dead."
"But that's just the thing, you aren't his parent." Mike points out wisely. "You're his girlfriend, you shouldn't be responsible for him like that. He's a big boy. He'll keep himself in line. If he does get arrested, he'll face the consequences. And he won't die, but if he did happen to, it'd probably be from something like 'Local Teenager Falls While Climbing Neighbor's Avocado Tree, Hits Head on Same Rock He Used to Climb Said Tree' or something along those lines." He says, putting on his best reporter voice. Jaime giggles, despite the situation.
"You're probably right, Mike. It's hard, I guess I just have felt like I've had to keep him in line since that summer." And she does feel that way. She had to force him away from the alcohol when he started stealing his mom's vodka and drinking the entire bottle in one sitting. She had to convince him not to spray paint Belch's car. Most importantly, she had to convince him that he was still loved, because every time he slipped into one of his depressive episodes, he was entirely convinced everyone around him loathed his presence. But all of that was nearly a year ago. Richie was growing more sensible, staying in his own lane and gently pushing away any obstacle in front of him. Jaime realizes she's not as necessary as she once was. The idea is bittersweet.
"He'll be okay." Mike nods to himself. "If I hear he's gotten in any deep water, I'll ring you. You are pretty much the only one he'll listen to. He loves you a lot."
Jaime shrugs, watching a moth flutter around the porch light. "I don't know. The older we get, the less he shows that he actually does love me. But hey, we're still together, right? That's saying something."
"You've stood the test of time, for sure." Mike reassures her, reaching over and patting her knee comfortingly. "Try not to worry too much, okay? You've got this amazing city ahead of you, with so many opportunities--"
"No waves though." She remarks, smiling cheekily.
He points a finger at her. "Okay, you got me. I don't envy you that much for that. You've got Lake Ontario, though. Not sure how much surfing could be done there."
"Probably not much before I get arrested." Jaime says, standing. Mike mirrors her actions. "Thank you, though. Sorry for unloading on you."
"Are you kidding?" He scoffs. "You made me a cake and threw a bash, even when I was convinced I'd be alone all day today. This has seriously been the best birthday I've had in years. The least I could do is provide some ol' Hanlon wisdom."
"And provide you did!" She laughs, tugging open the screen door. Mike follows her into his house as they weave through the back hallway and to the confetti and balloon decorated living room.
There, they're met with the sight of Stan, Richie, and Eddie standing innocently with their hands behind their backs, smiling at the two. Between all of them happens to be Ben, who has fallen victim to their childish antics by becoming a mummy. He's covered head-to-toe in toilet paper, save for his eyes and nose.
Richie, upon seeing Mike and Jaime's questioning expressions, steps forward and looks at Ben in feigned shock. "Oh my God, Ben, who would commit such a heinous act? The man's suspended in Charmin Ultrasoft! Doctor K, we need your assistance!"
Stan scrunches up his face in annoyed confusion at the bespectacled boy, while Eddie instantly falls into the character of Doctor E. Kaspbrak, spewing some medical shit to Ben that flies over everyone's heads.
Jaime looks over at Mike with a closed-mouth smile. "Happy birthday, Mike."
-
Present Day
"No, no, this happens." Victor insists. "I don't know shit about medical stuff. Something about how her blood pressure gets too high."
"This is a result of her car accident?" Eddie asks knowingly, to which Victor nods. "Makes sense. Then she should naturally wake up anytime."
"Yeah, well, she just was fucking attacked by Spider-Stan. Are we sure it didn't hurt her?" Richie says, leaning down and peering at Jaime's slacked face.
"There's no visible wounds." Mike notes.
"S-she was pretty fucking determined t-to get Stan off of her. She didn't s-sit back and t-take it." Bill recalls to moments prior, grimacing as he looks to the old refrigerator that the creature had emerged from. Their childhood best friend was now an evil creation of It, and Jaime was more angry than scared that Stan had been made into this. They had rolled around, all four of them trying to kill the demon while Ben, Beverly, and Mike were locked in a different room. But when the creature dropped from the ceiling and attacked Jaime, it seems the adrenaline took its toll on her.
"Fucking Hockstetter." Victor grumbles to himself, as if the boy was to blame for every negative thing that had happened lately. In reality, he had no idea if the Patrick he saw was an actual ghost or just a creation of It. Anything could be possible now. Victor's stomach churns unpleasantly, the measly dinner he had shoveled into his mouth at the hotel bar threatening to make an appearance.
"She... she didn't see any deadlights, did she?" Beverly asks feebly, brows creased together in concern.
Bill frowns while Richie runs a hand over his face. "Fuck, I didn't think about that. Shit."
"What the fuck is a deadlight?" Victor asks incredulously.
"It's this thing, where like--" Richie begins, but Beverly detects his sarcasm and cuts him off.
"I was caught in them, the deadlights. Back in '89. I was lucky to get out of them," she shoots a swift glance towards Ben, "but they never got out of me."
Jaime's older brother throws his hands up in the air, a scowl pressing onto his face. "Well fuck me sideways! So you're telling me my sister could be under the influence of that fucking clown right now, and we're lucky if we can get her out? Isn't that lovely! You know, if she had told me she was coming to Derry, I would've gotten her and locked her in my basement for a few weeks. Like, what the fuck? What are we even doing here, guys? This is ridiculous--"
"Shut the fuck up." Jaime coughs, sitting up slowly. Looking through fuzzy stars, she meets the gaze of her friends and frowns. "Sorry, guys. The last time that happened was like, five years ago when I got the shower too hot. I guess seeing my former best friend as a fucking arachnid did something to me." She growls to herself, visibly angry at what she had just endured. Before anyone of them can offer to help her up, she shakily rises to her feet, head swimming. "We really don't deserve any of this shit, you know?"
"You got that right." Richie sighs, a hint of a smile on his lips. Victor merely pats her shoulder with a comforting, yet relieved smile.
"Alright, then, let's go do something about it." Ben says impatiently.
Unaware of the lingering tension between the group that had arose while she was passed out, Jaime follows the group through the rest of Neibolt and down the stairs to the well. Behind her, Victor occasionally coughs, reminding her that he's there and won't let anything happen to her. She wants him to know she's here for him, too, and she'll always have some source of protection over him.
They lower into the well the same way they had all those years ago, shakily sliding down a sturdy rope. Once everyone's in the sewer system, they all collectively groan or curse at the putrid odor arising from the so-called greywater. Jaime's Converses soak into the discolored water, making sloshing noises as she walks. In a handbag slung around her shoulder resides her ancient band shirt that she'd be sacrificing during the ritual. She begins wondering where the ritual must take place, until the group slowly stops at the end of a tunnel.
"Shit, this is it. This is where it happened." Ben mutters, shining his flashlight into the cistern. The was a significant increase in water, murky water that various toys floated atop of. Jaime grimaces, preparing to wade through the water, sharing a disgusted glance with Victor. One by one, they all lower into the liquid, but Jaime trudges so fast that she ends up right behind Mike. He stands onto the heap of toys that seemingly melted together and outreaches a hand for Jaime, who takes it gratefully. The rest move silently, each appearing a bit sick.
"Beverly, c'mon. Let's go." She hears Victor say. She whips her head around, seeing Victor and Ben looking back at Beverly, whom had stopped halfway through the water.
"Bev, what is it?" Ben whispers, as if It's listening to their every word.
Beverly slowly turns around. Her flashlight blinds Jaime. "I thought I heard someth--"
Emerging from the deep water is a malformed ghoul. It bursts up as quick as lightning, sending showers around It. Its oversized head sports a crooked, jagged smile. As Beverly screams shrilly, It wraps It's nimble, green arms around her, cackling hysterically. "Time to sing!" It shrieks before lowering her beneath the water.
"Bev!" Everyone choruses in terror. One by one, they jump back in, diving underwater.
Jaime inhales some of the foul substance as she submerges, but it's quickly dismissed as she frantically searches in the darkness. Her eyes sting against the tainted water, cheeks puffed as a feeble air source. The echoed sound of Eddie pleading for them to return only fuels her desire to move faster. At last, she spots Beverly's white shirt underwater, seemingly at the exact same time as her older brother does. Victor wraps his arm around Beverly's waist with the help of Ben and hoists her up. They all resurface, sputtering and soaking wet.
"Oh, thank God," Eddie begins mumbling nonsense tearfully. Jaime quickly swims over to the crying Beverly, putting a hand gently on her shoulder.
"It's okay, we're here. You're here, it's fine." She soothes carefully. Victor purses his lips, obviously attempting to hide his sympathy. He pats Beverly's other shoulder awkwardly.
"Hey Mike?" Richie says, earning the attention from said man. "What now?"
A/N: sorry this took so long tbh i was just dreading having to watch the ending again (and yes i cried AGAIN). i think there'll be two or three more chapters, then an epilogue. damn this shit HURTED