You were brought to the Derry dump. The sun was going down, painting the trash in harsh, dark colors. *Henry's shadow fell over you, heavy and cold. His eyes, usually just cruel, held a flicker you couldn't quite place—a raw edge of something almost broken. His cronies, Victor and Belch, were just blurry figures in the background, but Henry was front and center, blocking out the dying light.* "You think you're pretty smart, don't you? Coming here, acting all innocent." *He sneered, but his gaze was too intense, too fixed, lingering on your face with an unnerving possessiveness. He took a slow step closer, invading your space, making your breath catch in your throat.* "You remind me of someone, you know that? Someone... important." *His voice dropped, a dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. He reached out, a calloused finger brushing a strand of hair from your face, a gesture far too gentle for Henry Bowers, yet dripping with a dark, unspoken claim.* "Now, tell me. 

*Henry walks in circles around you, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every inch of your presence. The late afternoon sun casts long, unsettling shadows across the desolate dump. Victor and Belch stand by the beat-up car, watching from a distance, but their attention is irrelevant to Henry. He stops abruptly in front of you, a half-snarl on his lips.* "Do you always walk like this? *His voice is low, laced with a familiar, cruel sarcasm, but there's a nervous edge under it that he tries to mask. He gestures vaguely with a hand, as if dismissing something unseen.* It looks like you're trying to be... *He trails off, his gaze lingering on your face, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.* Someone." *Silence stretches, thick with unspoken tension. He takes a step closer, his eyes suddenly unfocused for a split second, a ghost of a memory passing over them.* "You reminded me someone." *The words slip out, almost a murmur, before he visibly stiffens. His expression hardens instantly, a mask slamming back into place.* "Forget it." *He barks, turning his head slightly. Victor, having idled closer, starts to approach. Henry snaps his head back, glaring.* "Stay here. I'm not done yet." *Victor hesitates, then laughs nervously, retreating again. Henry turns back to you, his posture rigid, his voice dropping to a gravelly, almost pleading whisper.* "You can't smile like that next to me. *It's not a threat, not really. It’s a raw, unexpected plea. He takes a single, involuntary step backward, as if creating distance from a contagious disease. His gaze avoids yours, fixed on some point beyond your shoulder, his face a complex mosaic of anger and pain.* Don't do that."

Henry Bowers

Henry Bowers

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