Unwritten 🎈Ben Hanscom Fanfiction🎈

~🎈31🎈~

🎈CHAPTER 31🎈

•°Corinne's POV°•

I didn't go to my room. I just sat on the bottom step of the inn's staircase, the worn postcard held gently in my hands. My mind was a chaotic whirlwind of fear, guilt, and fragmented memories.

The front door slammed open, making me jump. "Guys?"Ben's voice called out, laced with urgency.

"Hey there," I said softly, pulling his attention from the empty lobby.

"Hey." He walked over, his heavy footsteps slowing as he approached. The worry on his face softened when he saw me. "So," he began, his tone gentle, "what did you see out there?"

"Things I wish I couldn't remember," I whispered, my gaze dropping to my scuffed shoes.

Ben didn't press. He just came closer and sat down on the step beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. The simple contact was a comfort.

"So, what," he said after a moment, "we just... we kill it, and then we just forget everything again?"

"To be honest, yeah," I said, leaning my head back against the wooden banister with a sigh. "Don't you?"

"I don't know. I guess I want to hold on to the good stuff, you know?" He offered a small, hopeful smile.

"I get that. But some of the good is connected to the bad. So in the end, it's either you remember everything or forget everything." I kept my voice flat, trying to distance myself from the pain of the equation.

"Come on," he nudged me gently. "There must be something in the past that you don't want to forget again."

I thought for a moment. "I remember being scared so many times. Not just for myself, but for everyone else too."

"Cold," Ben said, and the ridiculousness of the understatement made me laugh—a small, real sound that felt foreign.

"I also remember you guys in your underwear," I told him, a smirk finally touching my lips.

"Okay. Please forget that moment," he said, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

My smile softened. "I remember this." I held up the postcard and the mixtape. "And the boy who gave them to me. I remember everything about him. Even the way he made me feel. And a wonderful kiss we shared."

From the corner of my eye, I saw his face break into a wide, genuine smile that mirrored my own.

"But then," I continued, my voice growing heavy again, "I remember the moment I just left without saying anything. I can't imagine how much I put him through. I thought it would be best because if I did tell him, he might have begged me to stay. And I didn't ever want to see such a sad expression on his face." I looked down, fiddling with my fingers in my lap.

A warm hand covered mine, stilling them. I looked up. Ben was still smiling, his eyes full of an understanding that took my breath away. He was about to speak when the front door burst open again.

"Move. Move." Richie's voice was sharp with panic as he stormed in.

I pulled my legs in to let him pass. "What's wrong?"

"I'm leaving." That was all he said, making a beeline for the stairs.

"What? You can't leave, man," Ben said, jumping to his feet. I rose beside him. "We split up, we all die."

"Yeah, I'll take my chances," Richie tossed over his shoulder from the staircase. "We're gonna die anyway." And with that, he disappeared down the second-floor hallway.

"Rich. Um..." Ben looked torn, a war raging behind his eyes. He glanced at me, his expression full of apology, then made a decision. "I'll be right back," he said, and then he was taking the stairs two at a time after Richie.

I decided to head to my own room to change into something more comfortable for whatever the night would bring. You never knew what could happen in Derry after dark.

After a quick, tense shower, I was pulling on a fresh sweater when I heard a commotion outside my room—raised voices, a door slamming. I cracked my door open and saw Ben sprinting down the hall toward the stairs, yelling.

"Bill! Bev!"

I followed him, my heart starting to hammer again. I reached the top of the stairs just in time to hear him demand, "What is this? What happened?"

"Uh..." Beverly's voice was shaky.

"Did Bill just leave?" Ben asked, his voice rising in disbelief.

"I couldn't stop him," Bev said, wringing her hands nervously. "Everybody's leaving."

"It'll be okay," I said, joining them at the foot of the stairs, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "He'll be right back. I mean, it's Bill we're talking about."

"Well, at least I got Richie to stay," Ben said, slightly out of breath from his sprint.

"Guys!" Eddie's scream tore through the inn from upstairs. It was a sound of pure terror.

I didn't think. I just ran, taking the stairs back up faster than I thought possible, Ben and Bev right behind me. We skidded to a halt in the doorway of Eddie's room.

He was standing in the middle of the floor, one hand clamped to his face. Blood seeped through his fingers, streaming down his wrist. A deep, horrifying gash split his cheek open. A scream caught in my throat, coming out as a choked gasp.

"Jesus, Eddie. What the hell?" Beverly cried, rushing to him as he sank to his knees on the carpet.

"Bowers," Eddie choked out, his voice thick with pain and terror. "Bowers is in my room."

"Oh, my god..." Bev whispered.

A noise came from the ensuite bathroom—the sound of shattering glass. Ben moved first, pushing the door open. I was right behind him, my fear for Eddie overriding my own sense of self-preservation.

The bathroom was a wreck. Blood was smeared on the white tiles. The window was shattered, shards of glass glittering on the floor and in the sink.

Ben went to the window and looked out into the parking lot. I peered over his shoulder.

Henry Bowers was standing there in the dim light. He slowly pulled a large hunting knife from his own chest, a grotesque, impossible smile on his face. He turned and looked directly up at us in the window.

Ben stared down, his face a mask of fear and boiling anger. Bowers blew a mocking kiss our way, let out a low, grating laugh, and then ambled toward a beat-up blue car idling in the road, waiting just for him.

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