[He's pacing when Will gets there. He doesn't normally pace, it's not his thing; he's usually happy just to sit quietly and wait once he's sure the cavalry's on its way. But he can't, he can't get comfortable when his head's a mess of straight-up paranoia, advice on what he should be doing, what he shouldn't be doing, and everything just a jumbled mess.

But when Will gets there he stops, at least for the moment.]

Doesn't mean I can't still prefer him to you.

[It's an empty jibe, something automatic without any real intention behind it. Yes, it's the truth, but Will's here now, and Richie knows that he's supposed to help, even if he doesn't like him much.]

I told you, she's here. That fucking bitch who killed me. She's calling herself something else, Koi-hockey or something, but it's fucking her, she practically admitted to it. ...She said she'd see me in the dining room.

I need a gun. Or a stake, or...even a fucking cross or something. ...Those work, right?

[The fuck does he know? He was dead when everybody was actually fighting back. Either way, here, Will, have a Richie acting very much like a kid scared by a boogeyman in the closet; he's either waiting for you to explain the whole thing away or give him something helpful. He'd be happy with either at this point.]