It doesn't quite ease the tension that's settled in her shoulders and spine, doesn't quite make it easier to breathe, like there's something gripping her lungs that hasn't wholly loosened its hold yet. It's still something, though, and Beverly is still relieved for it, glancing briefly back over her shoulder at the building like she expects it to retaliate somehow but otherwise not hesitating to open the backdoor of the cab and get inside. Her skin is still crawling, and she's not sure how to fix that, but at least she's not there anymore. She's known for what feels like ages now that there was something wrong inside the walls of the Home, just as there'd been something deeply wrong in Derry, and she's all the more convinced of it after tonight. What that means, where she goes from here, Beverly doesn't know, but at least being out for the night, with someone whom she's deemed to be safe, is a start.

"I just... couldn't stay there," she says once they're both in the cab, the words feeling caught in her throat the same way the same way the taste of blood does. She's not sure how to explain why that's the case, but she's beginning to think that maybe she should, at least to some extent. The believable parts, if nothing else. She doesn't remember all of it now in the first place.

She's also not sure how to go back there, but that's a bridge she'll cross when she gets to it. Besides, she can't just abandon Eddie. He's the best friend she's got.