As Mike Hanlon's screams—following Beverly's shrieks of terror—echoed throughout the sewers, Bill now began to suspect that he was completely alone. He knew this, somehow sensed it as he made his way further up and further into the stinking sewer. It was a fact that had taken him some time to become accustomed to and accept, but he had no other choice. He would have to kill It by himself, as impossible as that now seemed, and put an end it It's reign of terror.
Among this new and rather startling knowledge, Bill also had come to terms with the fact that he would probably never see his friends again, and this hurt him deeply. This hurt him so much that, in fact, he spent the last few feet of his journey into It's lair sobbing and sniffling.
I can not let It win...I can not cry...I can not...I can...not...I...
"I have to cry." he said aloud now as he stopped walking. In a matter of minutes, it seemed like reality had come crashing down around Bill Denbrough, and it felt as if it were crushing the air out of him with every breath he took, like a deadly snake might do to its prey.
"I-I-I'm suh-suh-sorry...Juh-Juh-Juh..." and his voice trailed off as he lowered his head. I'm sorry Georgie. He thought wretchedly as he leaned back against the cool concrete of the sewer wall and closed his eyes.
Thoughtlessly, Bill began repeating a poem that his mother had once recited to him. She had said that it would help him to rid himself temporarily from his stutter when it got too severe. Sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn't, but either way it provided some sort of small comfort for Bill, so he said it with a firm yet failing voice. "He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists that he sees the ghosts. H-H-He th-th—shit!" and he broke down and held his head in his hands for one precious moment before he allowed his emotions to spill over and for tears to trail from his closed eyes.
In the back of his mind the insistent voice of It, in all its wretched, horrible glory, began to speak, drowning out every other thought that had been pounding in his brain. It said, I warned you, I told you what I was, but you didn't listen! Now your friends are dead and it's YOUR fault. They all died horrible, painful deaths because of YOU. It's your fault, it's your--
"Shu-Shut up!" Bill screamed as he pressed his hands against his ears, silently pleading to God to make the voice stop. It didn't.
Mockingly the voice of It began to whisper in an almost comforting way, He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists that he sees the ghosts...
They're coming for you now, Billie, they're coming to kill you...
"Nuh-Nuh-No!" he said as he reached for the flashlight and began to look around the tunnel. "There is no one down here but us, just you and me. Show yourself!"
And out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw something yellow and bright. He looked and gasped. "Juh-Juh-Georgie?"
The little boy in the yellow rain slicker smiled in what was meant to be a sweet way, but it just appeared fake, like the painted-on smile of a clown. Bill backed away from his brother, ignoring the screaming voice in his heart that was commanding him to race forward and embrace him, to tell him how much he loved him, tell him how much he would always love him.
But Georgie just stood there smiling for a moment before he reached into the pocket of his rain slicker. He brought out a perfect boat, made of newspaper and perfectly waterproofed. Still grinning, Georgie bent down and placed the boat into the ever rushing current of the sewer waters beneath his rubber boots. Bill watched as the paper vessel floated leisurely towards him, closer and closer until--
"Hey, Henry, I found 'im!"
Bill gasped and his eyes popped open. Where was he? In his room, sick and waterproofing a newspaper boat for Georgie to take out to play with in the flood waters that still flowed in Derry? Or perhaps he was watching his parents sob as Dave Gardener, who stood there in the doorway with a solemn look, delivered the one-armed corpse of his little brother, watching the little, ruby droplets of blood fall from a tattered fringe of his yellow rain slicker onto the floor. Bill couldn't tell anymore, not even as he heard the approaching, sloshing footsteps of Henry Bowers approaching him.
In a moment he felt himself being lifted to his feet. Bill heard Henry's instructions to Belch quite clearly through his haze of confusion: "Hold him and don't let him go."
Bill felt Belch nod and heard a surprisingly fearful voice say just barely above a whisper, "Yeah, okay, Henry. I'll hold 'im for ya."
"Good." and then Henry said to Bill, "Open your eyes, you little shit. Open 'em so I can see the whites of your eyes."
Though Bill wondered how Henry could do this despite the fact that it was hopelessly dark, he obeyed anyway, and winced as a penetrating, golden light was aimed directly into his eyes. After about a second, though, Bill opened his eyes again, and stared down at the rushing waters below their feet. Henry stood in front of him, sweat dripping from his once perfectly greased-back hair, Bill's flashlight in his hands. His eyes were wide and furious as he stared at Bill.
"So," Henry said, almost panting. The excitement of killing the Losers had taken quite a toll on his health, whether he realized it or not. In fact, one could speculate that Henry was now completely out of his mind more than usual, taking a vacation perhaps, from his usual train of thoughts. In Henry's place Pennywise was active, and Bill could sense this somehow. Of course Henry sounded like himself and he also looked like himself, but in some way he had just ceased to be himself.
Apparently, even the dimwitted Belch Huggins had sensed this, and was taking careful precautions to ensure that his personal self remained unharmed by Henry's madness. So far everything had been going fine, just so long as he did whatever Henry said—Hold him Belch. He did. Don't let him get away, Belch. He ensured that said kid didn't so much as travel an inch, but if the command came for him to kill, could he do it?
"Hey, Belch! Watch it!" Henry warned, observing the aloof look in his friend's eyes. Belch nodded and his grip on Bill tightened amazingly.
"Right. Sorry, Henry, I just forgot is all."
Bill tired very hard not to scoff. What a ridiculous way to go, he thought as he watched Henry nod and say, "Good." then turn his attention back to Bill. Henry's mouth twisted into a sneer as he said in a dangerously quiet way, "So, you wanna fuck with me, do you? You wanna run from me when I try to beat you, you wanna smart mouth me when I'm taking, do ya? Huh, do ya?"
Bill tried very hard to shrug, but found that Belch's grip on him was too tight. Instead he just shook his head. "I didn't do anything to you, Bowers, just tried to keep from getting killed."
Henry let out a sudden burst of laughter at this. "Kill you? You thought that I was going to kill you? No, not before you tried to run away and piss me off, but now you've got me cranked up, so hell yeah, now I'm gonna kill you, just for being such a damn smart ass."
And like so many times before, the blade of Henry's knife was pressed against Bill's throat, only this time it wasn't cold, it was warm and sticky with the combined blood of Beverly Marsh, Bill Hanscom, Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris, Michael Hanlon, and Eddie Kaspbrak. Bill didn't really mind this, in fact in a strange way it brought him some comfort. It made him feel as if, though his friends were gone physically, somehow they were still with him, staying close until the end. I'm going to meet them, I guess. I'm gonna see Georgie again and Bevvie...
Beverly. Yes, he had to admit that although he was too young for love, if he, Bill Denbrough, had had the opportunity to date, perhaps get married and have kids, he would've wanted it to happen all with her. It may have been an odd thought for a boy of his young age to have, but at that moment Bill aged about a hundred years. He became eternal.
Bill scarcely felt the sharp and immeasurable pain. To him it seemed to all be a passing thing, like some sort of brief phase. Instead of feeling the pain in its entirely, he had the odd sensation of deflating, of almost being like a punctured balloon, one that is hissing and letting out its air slowly. Above all he felt almost revived.
However, all of this provided little comfort as he let himself slip away into the Macroverse that existed beyond, a place where there were no eternal turtles, child eating clowns named Pennywise, or nightmarish sewer monsters. It was a good place, a place where all the unfortunate children who had died early deaths, such as himself, gathered and forgot about the boys that had bullied them or the siblings that had died; it was a glorious place where every horror that they had ever endured melted from their minds, quite similar to the way that ice cream might melt from the cone on a hot summer day.
They became eternal.
**A/N** First off, I'd like to give the usual disclaimer and say that I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this story, Stephen King does. Also, I would just like to say that Stephen King's IT is probably my favorite book ever written, so with every fanfic that I write in the future I will try and do it the justice that it deserves. Why is it my favorite book? Because it posses a sort of imaginative and unique plot that I do not feel as though other books—regardless if they are under the genre of 'horror' or not—do not have. It is certainly well beyond the realm of just a slice and dice serial killer book. Also, if you are curious, my favorite character is Belch Huggins. Why? Because he burps, his real name is Reginauld, and his last name is Huggins. How could you not love that?
If you like this story and would like to see more IT fanfics, please review or add to favs. Either way I will be thrilled. Thanks and, since I am a total hippie, I feel the need to say PEACE & LOVE to you.
Also, one may note that the previously mentioned 'Macroverse' was reffered to in the book as the place where It originated from, and that the 'eternal Turtle' is also a character in the book; I believe that he is It's worst enemy. Just adding this in on the off chance that you don't know...after all, I'm not crazy, right?