Work Text:
When Bill doesn’t come home, Audra isn’t too worried. They fought, it’s a pretty stressful project, and Bill likes some space after a conflict. It’s not even a big deal that he’s flying out to some town in Maine. He’ll come back, they’ll talk it out, and they’ll do better next time.
There isn’t a next time. Bill dies in Derry. She knows something has happened when her texts stop being delivered. Hollywood is a tough business. Audra has to be tougher. She acts her heart out, works on the script, fights for the touches Bill was set on, and ignores the buzz about what a shitty wife she is and how little she’s mourned him.
Once his final project is finished, she can fall apart and she does. She isolates herself, knows she’ll lash out if she doesn’t, knows they don’t deserve that. She doesn’t leave the house for months, doesn’t wash his clothes, doesn’t so much as move his toothbrush. She needs to be there when he comes back. If he doesn’t, she needs this little snapshot of Bill. She gets calls from her agency, about their condolences, about other famous people who have reached out, including some odd ones, not just people she’s sure she’s never met, but people who seem to have known Bill in a way she didn’t. It makes her mad, the comedian calling him Big Bill as if his death is one last chance for a joke, even if it’s only for her. She doesn’t respond.
She gets a picture in the mail, a faded picture, a note scribbled on the back “Bill’s Birthday. Richie is a shitty bartender.” Bill is so young, can’t be older than late teens, and the comedian she’s been raging against has his arm slung around his shoulders. It’s possible it’s not the same person, but very unlikely. There’s four other people in the photo besides the two of them and whoever was behind the camera. All of them are teenagers, all of them boys, all of them almost familiar. Bill’s never talked about them. Sometimes she feels like her husband sprung into being at twenty, the first two decades blank.
She hadn’t realized how wrong it felt when she talked about how she fought with her sister, how they were best friends and Bill smiled as if he knew the feeling, but never spoke up.
She refuses to reach out to Tozier. The person who sent her the letter, Patty Uris, had sent a letter, not filled with meaningless condolences, but her own heartbreaking experience. Her husband, the one behind the camera, the one who wrote on the back of the photograph committed suicide. She can’t chase away the thought of Bill doing the same.
There’s a whole world for widows she didn’t know existed. There’s etiquette for what finger you wear your ring on, groups of widows, young and old. She isn’t ready for all of that, so she writes back to Patty. She doesn’t share details of how Bill disappeared, if something gets leaked she’d rather it be how much she loved Bill. They write for a few months before Patty shares her phone number. Audra would have shared her number, but it wouldn’t have been a smart move. They talk on the phone for just a few minutes the first time, longer the second, and even longer the third. For the most part, they don’t talk about their husbands. It’s usually the day to day things, mostly boring things, that fill up their time. Audra has plenty of time.
Patty tells her about the other boys in the picture, or at least as much as she knows. Audra is more than taken aback when Patty calls them “The Loser’s club”. It turns out to have been their name for themselves. The Richie who is a shitty bartender is the same Richie who tells shitty jokes. There’s a famous architect, a small town librarian, and someone who apparently works in insurance. There’s also Beverly Marsh, who isn’t in the picture, but counts herself among the Losers. If she didn’t know better, she might start believing in the illuminati. Four of the famous and rich, who all went missing at around the same time. Two people who either went missing or died.
Something happened in Derry. Her husband vanished in Derry. She makes plans with Patty, awkwardly offers to pay for her ticket to Bangor Maine. Patty doesn’t take her up on the offer, but they meet at the airport and head for the town that killed their husbands. Audra is sure Bill is dead. Patty has been here before and they don’t find anything new. They don’t know where to look. Beverly Marsh has continued to call and text Patty. It’s a stroke of luck she calls when they are in front of the collapsed house on the corner. Bev (as she prefers to be called) goes a little bit peaky at the sight and Audra files the observation away for later. They head back home having gained nothing.
Bill’s childhood friends include her and Patty when they can, and the stories they tell are both hilarious and heartbreaking. Richie the comedian apparently has a boyfriend, the dour looking boy from the photo, and if you’d asked her prior to seeing him as an adult, she would have denied there being a stereotypical look associated with insurance. She can no longer deny it. A comedian known for his crass humour dating a man who looked like his favourite activity was watching paint dry. It was a fascinating combination, even more so when Eddie got heated. Audra wasn’t surprised he could lecture and chastise, more the amount of times he called Richie a dipshit or jackass. To be fair to Eddie, he was absolutely both of those things, although far more charming than his standup routines suggested.
Eddie was apparently Bill’s oldest friend, Richie and Stanley a close second and third. It somehow makes sense, the three of them and her husband. He might have riled them up, or calmed them down, or maybe both. Both talk about Big Bill Denbrough fondly, maybe even with reverence. It does a lot to soothe her anger at Richie.
Richie knew Bill well. He predicts the quirks he had as an adult with unsettling accuracy. He also withdraws the instant Audra starts feeling overwhelmed. Reading the crowd is an important part of being a live entertainer, but it’s unreal to see in person. It’s said there are two types of people in entertainment, people pleasers and narcissists. She can tell which one he is.
Bill was famous, she was famous. They don’t get privacy. The world seems to grieve with her in all the wrong ways. It seems superficial, almost a competition to see who is the most heartbroken and she has no chance of winning. She lost her husband, an imperfect person, someone she saw do foolish things, or eat too many things with ketchup. They lost an idea. They lost an author. They lost something that was never real in the first place. Her grief is finite because as much as she loves him, Bill was finite. Their idea of him is infinite and so is their grief. She’s almost looking forward to the day when it all reverses. They are gushing over his writing, his books, his ideas, and everything he created. One day, they’ll call him overrated, bland, a tryhard, or untalented. It will ebb and flow like it always does.
She’s never had exclusive access to Bill. There weren’t any secrets he kept from everyone else that she was the only one to know. Patty belonged with Stan, she was the only one who saw him swear in traffic, or hear “Here you go little plant.” whenever it was his turn to water. Bill was closer to absence. She didn’t put on airs, didn’t smile when she didn’t feel like it, and wasn’t anyone but herself. Bill wasn’t in charge of her. He didn’t worry about how he worded everything when he was with her. He didn’t stop talking when he was exhausted and started to stutter the way he would around others. Maybe that could be her secret Bill, the one who stuttered but only late at night, the Bill who after a long night, smiled whenever she lisped. It wasn’t as much of Bill as everyone else had but it was all she had left.
They didn’t work when he was telling her what to do. She had enough people doing that. He listened. He was steady and calm but never offered suggestions.
She doesn’t stop working. She hasn’t left their house in months, but she’s still working. She’s writing a screenplay that is more than a bit outside her comfort zone. She’s always used acting as an emotional outlet, so screaming furiously about what a bastard he was, how he left her behind, how she thought she meant more than that to him, is almost cathartic. She knows the guilt will come later.
The two of them took the longest out of all of the combinations. Bill wasn’t about to leave without Georgie. It took a year. A whole year before they came back.
Audra hasn’t said anything since the door opened. She looks terrified.
Audra doesn’t have to wait until they fall asleep to call Patty for backup. Stanley does so himself. They also reach out to the others. Bill looks at her, eyes sad and older than she’s ever seen him look, but when he looks at the little boy asleep beside him, he looks at ease in a way he hasn’t the entire time she’s known him. She won’t resent this boy, no matter if his return meant losing Bill. Bill was himself for probably the first time in years. He was whole in a way she could never manage.
She can tell they aren’t accustomed to fighting. Patty’s emotions are larger than she is able to handle, larger than Stan can comprehend. He left her behind.
She cries as quietly as she can manage, fists balled up in his shirt, holding him closer than is comfortable. Audra can’t do that. If she compromises her control, there’s no guarantee she will ever regain it.
Richie snorts. “Bill can be a real asshole sometimes.”
“It’s even worse when he’s being all noble about it. Like, yeah, saving kids is good and all, but maybe think for a second before running in. You have nothing but righteous anger, a massive amount of unwarranted guilt, and a pocket knife.”
“Don’t forget the stutter and knobbly knees.”
“We practically worshiped Bill. He’s a great guy, but he definitely isn’t perfect. He punched Richie in the face when we were thirteen.”
“I deserv-”
“No, you didn’t! You told him Georgie was dead and he shouldn’t get the rest of us killed. You might have been an asshole, but you weren’t wrong.”
“It’s hard being mad at Bill. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be.”
“We can take Georgie for the night. He’ll have fun, a little time away from Bill’s hovering, and you two can start figuring things out.”
She takes them up on the offer.
They were in the middle of a tiff when Bill left for Derry and it hasn’t fully resolved. He also apparently kissed Beverly Marsh in Derry which certainly doesn’t help things. It’s galling to acknowledge she was a replacement for someone Bill had forgotten he was missing. It feels even worse when she realizes she doesn’t want to storm off to a hotel, or kick Bill out. She wants to figure out who Beverly Marsh is and whether Audra measures up.
“Bill, buddy, you fucked up.”
“I know.”
“Do you? How did you fuck up?”
“I kissed Bev.”
“I-” Eddie puts his head in his hands. Even Eddie isn’t sure if he’s shaking from laughter or tears. “That’s one of the ways you fucked up, yes. What else?”
“I’m not saying you should have left him behind. I’m not saying that. What I am saying is Audra has every right to be pissed.”
“Go to therapy.”
“And say what, exactly?”
“How about “My wife looks suspiciously like my childhood sweetheart. My wife and I were in the middle of a fight and I kissed my childhood sweetheart.” That might be a good start. Maybe throw in a little “My parents neglected me for a significant portion of my childhood” or even “I don’t know who I am outside of what I can offer other people.” You deserve a chance to heal.”
“I need to be there for Georgie.”
“And you will be. We will be. You aren’t on your own. You’ve got backup.”
“Besides, he knows us. You having a breakdown isn’t gonna help.”