𝐈𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐒

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

June 14th, 2016

You struggled to juggle your clipboard and walkie talkie in one hand as you wiped the lasting sleep from your eyes with the other. You hadn't been able to go back to bed after your dream last night, especially not after seeing the gruesome scene you had unintentionally brought to life. Even at work, hours later, you struggled to decipher what exactly it had been trying to tell you. Maybe I should ask Bill, you thought.

Bill Denbrough was your good friend and technically your boss as well. You met up in college after leaving your hometown. He had recognized you at a party and mentioned that he was writing a horror novel. Purely on a whim, you used his description of major events to doodle a book cover on a bar napkin. He must've liked it because months later you got a call from his agent asking you for more designs.

Eventually, that had evolved into being called in to work on the movie adaptation of The Attic Room as a set designer. You wanted to believe that it wasn't just your artistic talent that led to landing such a well paying job but Bill didn't seem like the kind of guy to put his life's work on the line in the name of a favor for a childhood friend.

As kind and friendly as he was, you always felt strange when you interacted with him. Like there was something on the tip of your tongue that you were longing to say but didn't know how. It was painful, in a way. You knew somehow that there was something you were missing.

Three set assistants approached you with the faux spider webs you had asked for earlier. You shook yourself from your thoughts and smiled, pointing with your walkie talkie to the wooden shed displayed in the middle of the studio surrounded by cameras. "Just put those over there with the others and I'll deal with them later. Thank you!" They nodded and dismissed themselves. You sighed and bit your lip. Out of all the days to be out of it, your subconscious chose the last day of filming. The most stressful day of the year for you.

Ok, focus. Do your job, (Y/N).

You had taken two steps closer to where you were needed when you heard a familiar voice from behind you. You turned and spotted Bill not too off in the crowd of cameramen and costumed actors. He was talking with who looked to be his wife, Audra. You hadn't met her personally besides showing her where to stand during shooting but you could tell that she didn't like you very much.

A hopeful smile broke out on your face and you abandoned all of your prior duties in order to push and shove your way over to where he was standing. You had a gut feeling that he would be able to help you. "Hey, Bill!" You called.

He and Audra halted their argument and faced you. Bill smiled, visibly thankful that you had interrupted what must've been an uncomfortable conversation. He was wearing a tight grey long-sleeved shirt that highlighted his chest muscles and a pair of blue jeans. Audra, still in costume, bit down on a celery stick that she had been holding and crossed her arms over her bloody chest. Without meaning to, you conducted an inspection of her getup. The makeup department had done well on her.

"Hey (Y/N). What can I help you with?" Bill shot you a look that read 'thank you' which only confirmed your suspicions on what you had walked in on. Not wanting to get on either of their nerves, you drummed your fingers on your clipboard and wondered briefly if bringing up your personal concerns was worth it. "I-I was wondering if I could speak with you outside for a minute. It's kind of important." Was it important?

Bill looked between you and Audra, the latter sending him death glares behind layers of gore coating her entire face. He ran a hand through his perfectly parted hair and let out a deep sigh. You knew what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth.

"I'm sorta in the middle of something. Can I get back to you in a minute?" You nodded, feeling suddenly dejected. "Yeah of course, no worries. You know where to find me." You gestured to the props department corner with your thumb. Bill nodded and unintentionally waved you off with the flick of his wrist.