Bill Denbrough

Bill can't shake the feeling that he's being followed. After class let out, he'd decided to walk home by a more circuitous route so that he could get a coffee and maybe something for dessert. And somehow, he'd picked up a tail.

For about the third time, he stops, shifting the strap of his bag against his chest and glancing over his shoulder, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Hi," he says, finally. "Can I help with with something?"