prologue.

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WITH A FLEETING GASP and a flutter of her eyelids, Jaime Criss comes to the realization that the last fifteen years of her life had been a lie. The reason all of her memories prior to '92 disappeared wasn't the car accident that nearly dented her cranium. It was that other-wordly being that hung over Derry, Maine, the place she called home for the first sixteen years of her life. That thing, that thing that ripped her childhood right out from under her.

Now, she could remember.

Albeit the details remained fuzzy, she now had a decent timeline of the entire summer of '89. Suddenly, all the inexplicable feelings she'd been experiencing the past two days came into light, easily explained by the things she felt that summer. Twenty-seven years ago now seemed like last week. The realization caused her chest to tighten even more than it already had, made her feel like turning on her heel and walking back to the airport, back to LA with her disloyal husband and her redundant occupation.

As her eyes peeled through the people she stood near, her fight-or-flight response seemed to diminish long enough for her to make a steady decision. I'm not leaving until this is finished. Something reverberated deep within her, telling her if she left now, she would be eternally haunted by images of her friends, children, and innocent souls succumbing to the wrath that was, It. It would be those nightmares she fell deep into each night after that summer up until she left, having to be woken up with fingernails dug into her shoulders and heavy, shouting breath in her face. I know, I know. You dream of losing this pretty face every night, and I'm sure that's traumatic. But I can assure you, hot stuff, I'm not going anywhere. Or she'd see Victor's strained grimace, knowing that the more he comforted his frightful sister, the more guilty he'd feel for not doing anything sooner.

Jaime straightened her posture. Held her chin. Stared directly at Bill Denbrough as he stood on the porch of the house on Neibolt, telling the individuals in front of him that this had to be done. Felt everyone's reluctant agreement, even if they didn't say it. Although her preteen self nagged at her in her head, reminding her of what happened last time, what caused Stan do to what he did, her older self knew it was a sacrifice worth making.

As she looked over and met Richie's lingering gaze with a nod, Jaime was well aware she would have to use the fear she felt as a motivator, to destroy this fucking thing once and for all.

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