[Richie gives him a glance of mild bewilderment. It's so obvious to him that he can't think of how someone would miss it.] No, no. Henry broke his arm just before this. It just feels off, you know. One short of the set.
[They'd been growing used to it, returning back as grown men and one grown woman. Being a man short. They were two short by the early morning, with Mike seeing the bad end of Henry's blade and landing himself in the E.R. But as kids it ought to be the whole gang. He can feel that unnatural sense of togetherness even as a shade from the future. He can feel the gap where Eddie should be.
It's his memory though, not Byerly's. This man wasn't part of their curious circle. Perhaps none of this nebulous surety comes through with the same weight for him. Didn't come with the Day Pass, he reckons.
Richie gives a tortured groan at the potshot. He stops moping at phantom Stan for long enough to shoot a withering look at his younger self. It's worse than he remembers: his eyes seem to take up a third of his face, magnified and fuzzed at the edges by the heft and curve of the lenses. What a blight upon the land.]
God, I fucking hated those things. I would have given my left nut for perfect vision. Still would, as a matter of fact. Maybe my squadron of little Richies would be halved but at least I wouldn't have wasted my youth as a bug-eyed Cretin.
[Beyond them, little Bill ties the string to the fridge handle with overcautious fingers.]
no subject
[They'd been growing used to it, returning back as grown men and one grown woman. Being a man short. They were two short by the early morning, with Mike seeing the bad end of Henry's blade and landing himself in the E.R. But as kids it ought to be the whole gang. He can feel that unnatural sense of togetherness even as a shade from the future. He can feel the gap where Eddie should be.
It's his memory though, not Byerly's. This man wasn't part of their curious circle. Perhaps none of this nebulous surety comes through with the same weight for him. Didn't come with the Day Pass, he reckons.
Richie gives a tortured groan at the potshot. He stops moping at phantom Stan for long enough to shoot a withering look at his younger self. It's worse than he remembers: his eyes seem to take up a third of his face, magnified and fuzzed at the edges by the heft and curve of the lenses. What a blight upon the land.]
God, I fucking hated those things. I would have given my left nut for perfect vision. Still would, as a matter of fact. Maybe my squadron of little Richies would be halved but at least I wouldn't have wasted my youth as a bug-eyed Cretin.
[Beyond them, little Bill ties the string to the fridge handle with overcautious fingers.]