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The next day at noon.
Derry, Maine.
Soren had barely stepped out of the van and opened his mouth to thank them and pay for the ride when—
Vroom!
The engine roared and the van peeled out so fast the rear doors were still swinging open.
"Seriously?"
Soren clicked his tongue as he watched the van disappear down the road. He shook his head.
Jerry and Sally were genuinely terrified of him.
The moment he told them his destination, the two of them had taken turns driving without rest, pushing the van as hard as it could go just to get away from him. They had driven straight through to Maine.
Soren turned and took in the town.
Big trees lined both sides of the street, casting cool shadows where kids lay on the grass to escape the heat. Storefront windows displayed all kinds of strange little trinkets. People walked by in small groups, smiling and greeting each other. Children on bicycles chased one another up and down the sidewalks.
In the few minutes Soren stood there observing, several groups of young women even walked over, blushing as they asked for his number.
After casually giving them Patty's number instead, Soren started thinking about his next move.
Derry looked peaceful. Harmonious, even.
So where the hell was he supposed to find the clown?
Bayonetta had said that once he arrived, someone would reach out and feed him the information he needed. So far, the only people who had approached him were those girls asking for his number.
"Whatever. First things first—find a place to stay and get something to eat."
He rubbed his stomach. He didn't get hungry often anymore, but good food was still one of life's real pleasures.
He stretched the stiffness out of his shoulders and started walking down the street.
Soren knew Pennywise was hiding somewhere in the sewers. Without any solid leads, he wasn't about to go charging in blind.
By the time evening rolled around, Soren had checked into a nearby hotel and found a Chinese restaurant called Eastern Jade.
"Might as well take the chance to taste something from home."
The restaurant's decor gave him a warm, familiar feeling. Red lanterns hung from the ceiling. Carved wooden screens separated the tables. Soren took a seat in a quiet corner and ordered a few signature dishes.
While he waited, he could hear the lively conversation and laughter coming from the next table over. It sounded like old friends who hadn't seen each other in years finally getting together again. They swapped stories about their childhood, occasionally falling into comfortable silence before bursting into shared laughter.
The food arrived hot and fragrant. Soren dug in with enthusiasm.
When the server brought the check, they also set down a small bowl of fortune cookies.
Fortune cookies. The kind you only really got at American Chinese restaurants—thin, golden, crispy little things shaped like ingots. Break them open and there was always a slip of paper inside with some vague prediction, quote, or lucky numbers.
Soren cracked one open. The message was some generic philosophical nonsense.
At that exact moment, the table next to him went completely silent.
Soren set his teacup down, eyebrows lifting slightly.
He had just felt it—a faint, almost undetectable wave of malice suddenly appear at the neighboring table.
"Pennywise?"
Seconds later, a terrified scream shattered the restaurant's calm.
"Fuck! Fuck!"
Soren tilted his head, peering through the decorative cutouts in the wooden screen.
A Black man had grabbed a chair and was smashing it repeatedly into the table. The glass lazy Susan in the center was already shattered, fortune cookies scattered across the wreckage. He only stopped when the servers came running.
Bill stood inside the private room, staring at the mess, heart hammering in his chest.
Twenty-seven years ago, he and his friends had formed the Losers' Club and stood together to defeat Pennywise. Afterward, they had made a blood oath by the creek:
If the monster wasn't really dead, they would come back when it returned and finish it for good.
That oath was coming true tonight.
When children started disappearing in Derry again, the old friends—who had long since gone their separate ways—had gathered here at this restaurant.
Everything had changed in the years since they last saw each other.
The chubby kid who used to get picked on had grown into a handsome architect.
The nonstop talker had become a popular radio host.
And Beverly—the red-haired girl who had always secretly liked him—had lost her awkward teenage phase and become even more striking.
The only thing that surprised and disappointed Bill was learning she was already married.
Up until now, the reunion dinner had been going pretty well. After the meal, the server brought out a bowl of fortune cookies. Everyone thought it was a nice touch—maybe a good omen for their return to Derry and the fight ahead.
Then they broke open their cookies and put the little slips of paper together.
The message made their blood run cold.
[Stanley couldn't handle it.]
"What the hell is this?" Bill asked, worry creeping into his voice.
Stanley hadn't shown up today. The most level-headed kid in the group—the Jewish boy who always thought things through—had skipped the reunion.
They were reaching for their phones to call him when the broken fortune cookies on the table began to move.
They writhed like living things. Some sprouted tiny human faces. Others turned into bloodshot eyeballs that rolled across the table.
Mike reacted first.
He snatched up a chair and started smashing the writhing things with brutal, panicked swings.
The noise quickly brought the servers running. The group paid in awkward silence while the staff stared at them like they were insane, then hurried out of the restaurant.
Bill took a deep breath of the cool night air, trying to steady his nerves.
They were standing outside, faces grim, trying to figure out what to do next when a calm, casual voice spoke up right behind them.
"Hi."
Every single one of them froze. The hair on the back of their necks stood up.
For a split second they were twenty-seven years younger again—terrified kids being hunted by something that could wear any face.
"I get the feeling you're looking for the clown."