Chapter Text
Present Day, Wednesday Morning
Fiona Flynn hates her neighbors. She can’t feel too bad though, lots of people dislike their neighbors for various reasons. Sometimes it’s a noisy dog barking all hours of the day, loud parties, or naked sunbathing. So many reasons - so many inconsiderate jerks. To be truthful, Fiona doesn’t want to hate her neighbors, she finds no joy in doing so, but ever since the Kaspbraks moved in seven years ago, they have just made her upset. The predominant feelings they elicit are either sadness or anger, depending on the day and household member. And she hates that. She just wants to live her life, without the auxiliary drama.
An outsider might think that she would dislike the husband. Edward Kaspbrak is fussy and particular and not very friendly. He manicures the yard every Saturday with a vengeance. Sure, he may offer nothing more than a perfunctory wave when he sees her outside, but she doesn’t need her neighbors to be her best friends, so Edward does not make her angry. He is the one who usually makes her sad. Sad, because she rarely sees a smile on his face, and when she does, as he gets back from a run, or tidies up a particularly prickly bush, it is laced with what she can only think of as ennui. This man does not love his life. This man probably even hates his life.
And it is no wonder, as far as Fiona is concerned. Enter Myra Kaspbrak. One also might think that she would find a kindred spirit in Myra, a woman who seems as busy as Fiona herself. Fiona is a responsible person, a contributor at work, a caregiver who supports her family. Myra does all of these things too, but there is one significant difference. Myra does them performatively. Myra does them loudly. Myra is a big ol’ fake. She cringes each time she hears the other woman’s voice floating over their shared fence. “Oh Eddie-bear, you forgot your inhaler,” or “Oh honey, you look too tired, you really mustn’t run so far next time.” And in the summer it is worse. The pinched, huffed out arguments interrupt her own time outside and make her grimace, with Edward saying things like, “You’re not my mother, Myra, of course I’ll be fine at the doctor’s appointment by myself, I’m a grown man,” or “Myra, it’s just a work dinner… I’m perfectly capable of going out after work.” It is awful. Myra is awful. She is overbearing, and fake, and her husband seems wholly unable to stand up to her, which is also awful.
She sees this depressing, codependent marriage every day. Sometimes she wishes at least it would make her feel better about her own life, her own husband who chips in equally in the physical and mental work of family life, kids who mostly try their best to do the right things, lovely friends who bring drinks over as they barbecue and laugh together. But it doesn’t make her feel better, because she is a good person who doesn’t delight in the travails of others, so instead she keeps on feeling sad and angry, until she forgets about them. This only ever lasts a few days until the next time she hears Myra’s cloying voice calling for her “Dearest Eddie.”
It sounds like she is always listening and judging, but truthfully, Fiona is not a nosey neighbor. She really does not want to hear any of this, so she keeps to herself, waving, but not engaging with Edward, and being very busy when Myra sees her and starts complaining of how much work it is to care for her very ill husband. The very ill husband who runs, and mows the grass, and is a bit too thin, but compact and athletic all the same. Some people like to play the victim, and Edward does not seem the type, but yet, he seems to fold to his wife’s domineering every time.
That means there is only one option, Fiona ignores them as much as she can.
Usually.
Usually, it is easy to not engage, or to look the other way. But that isn’t the case today. Fiona came outside to water the flowers, only to see a white van outside the Kaspbrak residence. She studies it as she nears the fence, because while she isn’t nosy, it does pay to be attentive. Maybe something broke at the neighbor’s and she can help them out. Run a load of laundry, charge some phones. Homes need a lot of maintenance and things do tend to break at the most inopportune times. However, the van isn’t a repair vehicle. In small letters, on the side is listed “Bellevue Hospital,” and the back of the vehicle is marked in large bright blue letters, incongruous to the more subtle lettering on the front, reading “Mobile Crisis.”
When she hears raised voices, she doesn’t exactly hide, but she does pull back beside the tall Rose of Sharon planted along the fence.
Edward isn’t yelling, but his face is red, and his voice has a chilling sort of seriousness she has never heard from the man. His right arm is set in some kind of immobilizer which stretches across his chest, and he has a bandage taped across his cheek. “Myra. You’re making a big mistake. I will not stand for this. You have babied me, you have enabled my worst impulses, and I have let you. You have been inauthentic and unkind, but you have never, to my knowledge, attempted to harm me. I need you to tell these men, who have taken so much time out of their important work to come here, that you are not telling them the truth, and then we will work this out calmly, together.”
Myra is not calm. She is histrionic, sobbing out her words, which are barely intelligible. “But Eddie. You are so fragile. I’m not lying, you need them. You need help. I always knew you were just so close, so very close, to an episode of psychosis. One can not be as sick as you and not have it also impact their mind. You are delusional and you need professional help. You need to be my Eddie-bear again. You come back from running away to Maine, saying you have friends you never told me about, seriously injured, spinning crazy stories, and,” Myra lets out an even louder and even more performative sob, “thinking that I don’t love you? Not allowing me to visit you when you were hurt? And now you aren’t taking your medicines, you’re telling me that all of your old treatments were making you more sick? You’re trying to leave me, your wife, the only one who loves you, to stay in the city? Away from me? Where the smog and pollution and crime will wreak havoc with you?”
Edward finally cuts her off. ”Myra. This is the end. It is my word against yours,” he hisses.
Myra can’t seem to restrain herself. She keeps going. ”You are a danger to yourself. I filled out the paperwork. The commitment paperwork. You’ll get the help you need. Just listen to the doctors. Take the medications. I’ll visit you when they let me. As soon as I can, my love.” Myra reaches out for her husband who jerks back out of arm’s range.
“Fuck you Myra, if you think this is the right corse of action, if you think I’m a danger to myself, then that just confirms that you don’t know me at all. I am more than what I confined myself to be, so that I could be with you. I tried, but it is no good Myra. It was just living my own damned bad patterns all over again.”
Fiona has never heard Edward swear before, and the assurance and calm makes it all the more shocking. She peaks around the bush in time to see Edward walking with a straight back, and a rage filled expression, towards the van, escorted by two very large men in scrubs. As he steps into the vehicle, Myra lets out a calamitous sob and literally crumples to the ground in the driveway. Fiona edges quietly towards the back of the house, unseen.
****
Three Weeks Earlier
Amar Singh is here on locums. Life as a travel nurse is pretty sweet. Usually he picks cool cities to go to, but for some reason this posting in Derry, Maine paid ridiculously well, so he decided to go for it since it would mean he could take off a lot more time later in the year. Anyway, if he was bored in the middle of nowhere, so what? There was sure to be a bar, and at the very least, he could catch up on the million shows he hasn’t had a chance to stream yet.
The gig is his bread and butter, and he knows he’ll do a great job. He also knows that travel ICU nurses are in demand, but he is still a little surprised that they need him for so long. The town seems decent, cute, typical middle America. It’s a place where people would want to live, so it frankly just seems a bit strange how many locum slots they need. His first few weeks are run of the mill. Admitting patients with sepsis, DKA, the usual suspects. It takes him all of a week to visit all of the local restaurants and watering holes, and he finds a decent pub he goes to every few days, to get out of his Airbnb.
But then one night, things change. It is like a blanket of unease has settled over the whole hospital. He is an empathetic guy, but this is seriously palpable. Thankfully, he gets the scoop from the charge nurse, Norah Perry, who has lived in Derry forever. Turns out, some young guy has been killed. A fucking hate crime. Of course, Amar knows hate crimes happen, but it is still surprising. This place seems so wholesome. He tells Norah this, and over their break it is like a dam overflowing. Norah tells him about the slate of child murders and disappearances that happened twenty-seven years ago, and the teenager who was implicated and put away in a mental institute upstate. She literally uses the words, “Our town is as American as apple pie, right down to its rotten core.”
“You know, Amar,” Norah says, “This is just bringing back so many feelings I had forgotten. Why didn’t I remember what this is like? All that badness, all over again.”
”How old were you when this happened before? Were you a kid?” He asks.
”Thankfully, I was a teenager, almost ready to graduate, and I didn’t have any younger siblings or cousins. It was the younger kids who were getting taken. Just disappearing into the night. I didn’t sleep for months,” Norah says. “And what is worse, I knew the kid who was doing it. He was a bully, but a killer? I was totally caught off guard. The evil he perpetrated. I mean, the 80’s were a different time, but I still would have never expected that he was capable of…” she trails off and they are silent for a time.
“Norah, like, this is a big story. How does no one know about this?”
”What do you mean?” she asks.
”Well, I Iisten to true crime podcasts a lot, and I feel like they’ve covered just about every major serial killer, A small town with as many deaths as this, kids disappearing, and all of it attributed to a teenage serial killer? I mean, how are there not movies and documentaries made about this place? It’s crazy. I mean, you told me there are rumors he dressed up as a clown for god’s sakes.”
”You know, I don’t know.” Norah looks contemplative. “We’re just a small town. No one pays much attention to what we’re doing up here.”
He thinks about this exchange during the rest of his shift, but he doesn't buy Norah’s reasons for why these crimes aren’t more widely known. Something is strange in Derry, Maine, and it puts him on edge. Honestly, It isn’t a far step from a homophobic hate crime to a racially motivated one, so he mostly stays at home, orders his food in, lays low, and searches the internet for information about the Derry child murders. He finds very little. He then searches the city records online. He finds very little
***
Amar is on the night shift this week and is not thrilled about it. Even worse, it’s a full moon tonight, and even though medical professionals are scientists, they are also incredibly superstitious and for good reason. Weird stuff happens during a full moon.
It doesn’t take much time for the admissions to start rolling in. He has just finished wrapping one up, an alcoholic suffering from dangerous withdrawal seizures, now safely monitored and on a benzodiazepine drip.
Norah is on again, which he appreciates. She is fair, and no-nonsense, and continues to be a font of information. She knows so much about the residents of the town, but is fair and kind and never judgmental.
“You’ve got one coming up,” she says as he walks out of the other room, stopping at her desk. “Funny, this name sounds a little familiar, Edward Kaspbrak, 38 years old. Trauma, status post emergency surgery. Impaled in the left upper chest wall and shoulder by some rebar when an old house collapsed on him. Came through the procedure all right, extubated, but was in hypovolemic shock on arrival and required some pressure support throughout surgery. Anesthesia volume repleted him, so we just need to wean him off the pressors. Still sedated. He’s not a John Doe, but he was carried in by his friends who were with him. We don’t have his surgical or medical history besides what they could provide, and they don’t have contact information for the next of kin. No worries though, that’ll be for case management tomorrow. Let’s just bring him in and get him comfortable.”
Amar walks into his patient’s room. The man looks thin, he would even go so far to describe him as wan. He’s still dirty, except where they had cleaned him off for surgery. He sighs, seriously OR? Moving methodically, he gets a basin and some warm soapy water. Mr. Kaspbrak isn’t requiring much blood pressure support, and he was extubated, but he isn’t waking up yet. Amar spends time cleaning his skin and hair, checking for any other lacerations, and making sure all of his lines are in place. He clicks through his assessments on the computer and offers a pat on the man’s hand and a kind word before he steps out.
***
It’s the morning, and they are short staffed again. Norah has asked if Amar can stay for a few hours, and he agrees, locums overtime is nothing to sneeze at. His last admission of the night had been the impaled trauma patient. He finishes checking his seizure patient, and heads into Mr. Kaspbrak’s room. The social worker is sitting inside, and he is surprised to see that the man in the bed has his eyes open. His voice is raspy from the intubation yesterday and his expression is fierce as he speaks to her. “Do not call her. I can not deal with her right now. I want a different medical decision maker.”
”Don’t be hasty Mr. Kaspbrak. Why don’t you want me to call your wife? She must be worried about you.”
”That is none of your goddamn business. How do I change it? I have a different decision maker now.”
The social worker, Amy, looks to Amar, who steps further into the room.
“Hi Mr. Kaspbrak. I’m Amar. I’m the nurse who admitted you last night. The docs will be in soon, but spoiler alert, you’re doing a lot better.” Amar smiles and gets a small smile from the patient in return. “I’ll let Amy finish up any urgent stuff, but am here to assess you. Amy, anything else that needs to be asked right now?”
“Nothing else, Amar.” She turns to the man in the bed, looking contrite. “Mr. Kaspbrak, I’m sorry for the way I acted. You’re right, and you don’t owe me any explanations. To change your medical decision maker from your spouse for the duration you’re here, you can attest your wishes in front of two health care providers. And then we will document it in the medical record and all sign it. But you really should formally change it with a lawyer as soon as you are able.”
His patient nods. “Fine. I’ll do that today. Are my friends here?”
“I’ll look into that,” Amy says and steps out of the room.
Amar takes her place at the bedside. “How’re you feeling this morning Mr. Kaspbrak?”
”Like a giant piece of metal went through my chest,” he replies.
Amar appreciates how stone faced the other man is as he says that, and cracks a smile. “Yeah, I bet. I’m going to check you out and do some assessments, but your vitals have been good overnight and we should be able to get you off of the medications that are supporting your blood pressure soon.”
”Why am I on those?” Mr. Kaspbrak asks.
“You lost a lot of blood and went into shock. It’s a good thing you got here when you did. Do you remember what happened?”
Mr. Kaspbrak turns his face away and gazes up at the ceiling. “We were in an abandoned house, and it came down around us. I remember my friend picking me up and then nothing till I woke up here.”
”Are you in any pain?” Amar asks.
”Yeah, in the arm and shoulder. Honestly, all over, but it’s tolerable.”
“The OR gives you the good stuff, and some of it is probably still hanging on,” he says and he is pleased to get another small smile out of his patient. ”Allergic to anything?”
”I don’t know, really. I have this long list from childhood, but I don’t know if I believe it anymore. My mom was a bit of a hypochondriac. Family trait I guess. I’ve always thought of myself as kind of sick, asthma and allergies and heart palpitations, but really, I’ve never had anything actually bad ever actually happen to me before this other than breaking my arm as a kid.”
”We have you on some antibiotics, so let us know if you feel any itching or swelling.”
”I will,” Mr. Kaspbrak says.
Amir goes on with his assessment, trying to complete everything before rounds to make the day team’s job easier. As he is wrapping up, a knock comes at the door. It’s Amy.
”Hi again Mr. Kaspbrak,” Amy says. “Um, do you have a group of friends that includes a Richie? The charge nurse wanted me to ask you.”
”Yes, I do. I really, really do. They’re the ones who brought me in. Thank fuck they’re here.”
”Yeah, I was told they were pretty upset when we couldn’t give them any information last night, and they’ve been hanging around the waiting room since then waiting for you to wake up. They’re still pretty torn up too. From the accident on Neibolt Street.”
“Are they all OK? Was anyone else injured?” Mr. Kaspbrak asks nervously.
”Yes, they’re fine, just some scrapes. We suggested a few of them get looked at in the ED. Not sure if they did or not. They really want a status update and to come back, but we told them unless they’re next of kin you had to be awake for us to give them information,” Amy says.
”Yeah, of course. Please, tell them I’m fine. Fuck, they must have been so worried. Can they come and see me?”
”Visiting starts at 9, and two immediate family members can come in at a time,” Amy says.
”They are my family. The only real family I have at this point. And, I want Bill and Richie to be my medical decision makers.” If he had to describe it, Amar would say his expression could be described as steely. He leaves no room for any further argument.
”I can start that process. I’ll have the nurse tell them you’re fine and that two of them can see you at 9.” Amy pokes her head out, conversing with someone in the hall before returning to the bedside. She roots around in a divided folder she is carrying and pulls out a paper. She goes to the computer and grabs a sheet of stickers with Mr. Kaspbrak’s patient information printed on them. She pulls one off and sticks it in the top right corner of her paper and sets it down in front of him.
”So here is the paperwork for verbal consent of a competent patient to change their medical decision maker. I’ll write your name here, and you, Amar, and I will sign at the bottom.”
“Sounds good,” Mr Kaspbrack says with an exhale of relief. Geez, Amar wonders what his wife is like and why he doesn’t want her notified. He wonders briefly if he is safe at home and will definitely be asking that question.
Amy continues, “What are the names of your new decision makers and their relationship to you?”
”You can put down Richie, um I guess it should be Richard Tozier and William Denbrough.”
Amy’s pen stops. “Sir, please. No joking. This is serious business.”
Mr. Kaspbrak’s eyes flash. “I’m completely serious. They’re my best friends. We all grew up here, even. And you will probably see them later when they come in from the waiting room.”
Amy pales briefly, before recovering her professionalism. “I’m sorry. Um, yes. I’ll put them down right here, and there…” She passess the paper around for their signature.
“I’ll just file this then. Let me know if you need anything else Mr. Kaspbrak.” Amy says, still shrinking in on herself a bit. Amar knows she will be thinking about this for a long time, but he also kind of can’t blame her for her assumptions on this one. Freaking weird. He knows exactly who Richie Tozier and William Denbrough are and they are pretty darn famous.
”I’ll let you know, thanks,” Mr. Kaspbrak says, looking fatigued.
”Need anything else from me, Mr Kaspbrak?” Amar asks.
”You can call me Eddie. And no, Amar, I’m good. Except, any chance of getting something to drink?”
“I’m about to start rounds. You had a pretty big surgery and are still NPO, um, nothing by mouth, but I’ll get you an order for ice chips, and you’ll probably be able to eat soon. Just let us know when you’ve passed some gas, they did an exploratory laparotomy to make sure you didn’t have any damage in your abdomen and we have to make sure your gut is working again before you really eat or drink anything.”
”Oh.” Mr Kaspbrack looks worried, his hand going to his abdomen.
”Hey, you’re going to be okay. The doctor will be in soon to give you the details.” Amar hesitates but continues. “But there’s one more question I didn’t ask. Just… Given everything with your next of kin, I wanted to make sure you were safe at home.”
Mr. Kaspbrak lets out a small laugh. “You know, I do appreciate that question. And I’m safe. My wife is overbearing and fixated on my health, but not abusive or anything. It’s just. A lot has happened over the last few days, and I’m starting to think that I want to be a different person than who she married. She’s been much too invested in having me in a sick role, so bringing her in here, well, it would be a bad and stressful idea for all of us. Thank god I wasn’t out very long so I could make sure she wasn’t called.”
”Thanks for filling me in. I know that question can be uncomfortable,” Amar says.
”Hey look, kid, I’m a risk analyst. Obviously that kind of stuff happens a lot, so it is really good you ask about it. Truly, thanks a lot. Right now the most important thing is for me to see my friends as soon as visitation starts. Fuck, they must be so worried.”
”I will absolutely make sure they come back right away. Who do you want us to bring back first?”
”Bill and Richie. Gotta tell them about the decision maker thing and… well, I imagine Richie is just a big fucking mess, and Bill will keep him steady,” Mr. Kaspbrak says.
”Absolutely. I’ll let the team know.. And…” he hesitates, wanting to be professional and not make it weird but deciding to go on anyway. Mr. Kaspbrak seems cool, and it is obvious he really loves his friends. “I’m just a huge fan of William Denbrough. He’s my favorite author. I’m into a lot of true crime and horror stuff, and he’s just a master. That’s so cool he’s from here. I didn’t realize. His writing has helped me through some tough times.”
Mr Kaspbrak beams, still tired appearing, but happy. ”He is great. But don’t tell him I said that. I tell him he can’t write endings for shit.”
Amar smiles. Derry continues to be incredibly strange. “Sure thing. My lips are sealed.”