CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

'Bill!' I said. 'What the hell are you doing?'

'We're going to take it down,' he said. 'I'm going to help. I don't care if I have to die to do it.'

'If you try this, then you probably are going to die,' I protested.

'Well, alright then.'

'Bill-'

'Sara, let me come.'

I shrunk away from his voice, which was now so powerful that it scared me.

'Alright,' I said. Maybe the only thing I could have said.

'Then come on!'

We raced through the Deadlights, although not as fast; not at the speed of sound. No, that was with Stan, sent to try and save him. Nonetheless, we found it.

It was fading, becoming one with its Deadlights.

I grew ready to attack, but then I glanced to my right, and saw Bill standing next to me. I sighed and waited for his orders. But he and I were thinking on the same wavelength. He ran in and attacked it without a backwards glance to see if I was following.

(Aim with the eye)

I watched him, and almost ran in to help.

(Shoot with the mind)

I shot off a ball of hatred to It at a suicidal speed. It was something real and very deadly.

(Kill with the heart)

My mind-bullet struck, and it was crippled, maybe dying. I then joined Bill, and with it crippled, it was a simple task to bring it down.

There was much more to killing it than just the physical blows that he and I landed, but it was all that I can remember now. I had hoped that my tale would be more fully recorded before this would happen, but its spell is working much faster now.

I have only the vaguest memories now of killing it, of the Deadlights starting to loop and swoon wildly while Bill quickly winked out to go back without ever saying good-bye. I turned and found a door… and I walked through it.

And now, the memories return. Its spell could only work for so long; could only cover so much.

I expected to hear my mom calling me as I had heard (distant and echo-ey) in my brief lapse of time when I thought I was going to snap back, but there wasn't anything. It was 10:09 when I had left…and judging by the sun's position, it still was.

"Son-of-a-bitch," I said quietly. The arrow that had struck the door full-on was still lying in the dirt, but the top was still clean, as though it had only been lying there for a few minutes, instead of the week or two that I was gone.

I picked up the broken arrow. With the last of my mind-powers, I reached for my memories, and copied it down.

When I look over these pages, especially the ones at the beginning, I see that I don't remember any of it at all. It makes sense, and it fits into the story…but it could have well happened to someone else. When this happens, I pick up the arrow, and just sit in a revere for a while. I've tried the magic that I had found at Derry, but it's gone now. I can't feel it, except for what I've fused into the arrow. It's all that's left, and all that convinces me that this is real, and not just a dream.

I've had to keep three copies of this at a time. My first copy that I started, handwritten, somehow flew into the fire a few months ago, and each of the computers that have had it saved on them would more often then not meet with mysterious deaths…or the story, my story, would just be gone from them. However, it's finished now. Maybe this computer will crash too. But once it's finished, I guess I put it away. For good.

The end