Bill Denbrough (bill_denbrough) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2019-10-11 22:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | bill denbrough, katherine lokadóttir |
Who: Bill and some of his family
Where: Witcham Street, heading for Neibolt Street
What: Bill is exploring his hometown
When: October 11, early afternoon
Open: to family members
Bill walked along old familiar streets and felt lost. He knew where he was going, he knew the names of the families in each of the houses he walked past, and who ran the shops further down the hill. He could have walked straight to all his friends' houses, or out to the Barrens, or anywhere in the town. Nothing had changed. Nothing.
Except for him, of course. He was 25 years out of place. His friends were here, his birth parents were here, but none of them would know him. And it was only to be expected that nothing had changed, since this was when he'd been brought to the station all those years ago. Nothing could possibly have changed.
He walked up Witcham with his hands shoved in his pockets, and couldn't help but slow down as he approached the storm drain. This bit of street was the place where his little brother had died, where that bastard clown had ripped Georgie's arm right off and left him dead in the rain. He blinked and then saw that he'd actually stopped across the road from where it had happened.
He wiped at his face, smoothing down his beard and glanced behind him. The old man was somewhere behind him, no doubt hiding in plain sight, and he was pretty certain that Zu and his mom were close by as well. They were letting him explore his home on his own, without letting him out of their sight, and he was beyond grateful for it. Still, he needed to keep walking. People were going to talk if he stayed where he was, after all. So he kept walking up the hill.
He stopped again outside his house. There was his room, looking out over the street, and the window that looked down the hill had been Georgie's. And there were bikes in the garden. There was Silver, and that was Mike's bike, Ben's and Bev's, Richie's was lying in a heap beside the mailbox and Stan's and Eddie's bikes were propped up neatly in the driveway. Oh. Shit. Everyone was there and he needed to move. What if they came outside and saw him? What if they recognized him?
He kept walking, out towards Route 2, as if he was heading out to Mike's farm. Then he turned right and headed for the train yard, and Neibolt Street. He wanted his grandfather to see the house where the werewolf had nearly killed Richie and him. The house where It lived.