A promise made twenty-eight years ago calls seven adults to reunite in Derry, Maine, where as teenagers they battled an evil creature that preyed on the city’s children. Unsure that their Losers Club had vanquished the creature all those years ago, the seven had vowed to return to Derry if IT should ever reappear. Now, children are being murdered again and their repressed memories of that summer return as they prepare to do battle with the monster lurking in Derry’s sewers once more.
Авторы: King Stephen Edwin
and then fell away. She only crouched in the corner like a rabbit, one hand over her mouth, her eyes large and wet and frightened. Tom looked at her for a moment and then he got out and walked around the back of the car. He opened her door. His breath was smoke in the black, windy November air and the smell of the lake was very clear.
You want to get out, Bev? I saw you reaching for the doorhandle, so I guess you must want to get out. Okay. That’s all right. I asked you to do something and you said you would. Then you didn’t. So you want to get out? Come on. Get out. What the fuck, right? Get out. You want to get out?
No, she whispered.
What? I can’t hear you.
No, I don’t want to get out, she said a little louder.
What — those cigarettes giving you emphysema? If you can’t talk, I’ll get you a fucking megaphone. This is your last chance, Beverly. You speak up so I can hear you: do you want to get out of this car or do you want to come back with me?
Want to come back with you, she said, and clasped her hands on her skirt like a little girl. She wouldn’t look at him. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
All right, he said. Fine. But first you say this for me, Bev. You say, ‘I forgot about smoking in front of you, Tom.’
Now she looked at him, her eyes wounded, pleading, inarticulate. You can make me do this, her eyes said, but please don’t. Don’t, I love you, can’t it be over?
No — it could not. Because that was not the bottom of her wanting, and both of them knew it.
Say it.
I forgot about smoking in front of you, Tom.
Good. Now say ‘I’m sorry.’
I’m sorry, she repeated dully.
The cigarette lay smoking on the pavement like a cut piece of fuse. People leaving the theater glanced over at them, the man standing by the open passenger door of a late-model, fade-into-the –woodwork Vega, the woman sitting inside, her hands clasped primly in her lap, her head down, the domelight outlining the soft fall of her hair in gold.
He crushed the cigarette out. He smeared it against the blacktop.
Now say: I’ll never do it again without your permission.’
I’ll never . . .
Her voice began to hitch.
. . . never . . . n-n-n —
Say it, Bev.
. . . never d-do it again. Without your p-permission.
So he had slammed the door and gone back around to the driver’s seat. He got behind the wheel and drove them back to his downtown apartment. Neither of them said a word. Hah the relationship had been set in the parking lot; the second half was set forty minutes later, in Tom’s bed.
She didn’t want to make love, she said. He saw a different truth in her eyes and the strutty cock of her legs, however, and when he got her blouse off her nipples had been rock hard. She moaned when he brushed them, and cried out softly when he suckled first one and then the other, kneading them restlessly as he did so. She grabbed his hand and thrust it between her legs.
I thought you didn’t want to, he said, and she had turned her face away . . . but she did not let go of his hand, and the rocking motion of her hips actually speeded up.
He pushed her back on the bed . . . and now he was gentle, not ripping her underwear but removing it with a careful consideration that was almost prissy.
Sliding into her was like sliding into some exquisite oil.
He moved with her, using her but letting her use him as well, and s he came the first time almost at once, crying out and digging her nails
