The Losers
A free knife is a free knife would have been fucking hilarious if Eddie'd ever had time to get through the whole joke. But he hadn't and Richie was too busy gaping like an absolute idiot at the rush of blood that was coming out of the elevator. More than he thought an elevator could possibly hold -- and he didn't know why the fuck his brain was trying to math out the volume of blood that should or should not have been able to be stored in an elevator, because that was the exact kind of shit that wasn't even remotely normal and shouldn't have been a thing in the first place.
Just like horror houses, demon Pomeranians , and alien eldritch clowns shouldn't have been a thing. But there they'd been, and here they were. And Richie didn't actually get it into his brain that he ought to be running until Eddie was tugging at his arm and it didn't really matter by that point anyway -- they weren't possibly fast enough to avoid the majority of it.
"Eddie!" Why was it always his default to just scream Eddie's name every time something awful was happening? It didn't matter, clinging or running or not, they were absolutely soaked in crimson, until the elevator was empty and everything in the nearby hall was a giant puddle of horror. "Fuck me," he said, voice cracking, eyes too big behind his glasses. "So this is how Bev felt."