Venomous

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHEN I COME into school Monday, I’m glowing almost as much as I was Sunday. Randall notices immediately and starts trying to get all the “scrumptious details” out of me. Most of the questions just get a big smile and a chuckle as a response.

“Did you guys hook up? Is that it? Oh my God, you didn’t sleep together, did you?”

I smile and chuckle. “No.”

“Well, what then? You’re about as bright-eyed as Martha Stewart on speed, Stockenbarrel.”

Smiling, chuckling. “I saw her naked.”

Randall’s eyes become like those of Sissy Spacek in the prom scene in Carrie. “What? You what?”

“I saw her naked for the first time.”

“You guys had sex? You’ve only know each other for, like, what, a couple weeks! You’re the man! How did I miss what a pimp you were?”

“We didn’t have sex. I just saw her naked, y’know?” Wow, that actually sounds a lot more stupid than it seemed at the time.

“But what’s the context? Did she put on some sort of show for you? Was food involved? A pasta show, was that it?”

“I don’t even know what that is, and you’re a terrible person. It was only for a moment, anyway. We just had a really nice time. She’s incredible, you know?”

He nods with a look of honest agreement. “Yeah, she is. You lucky bastard.” The rest of the walk to class is silent and heartfelt. We’re happy, Andrew’s nowhere in sight, everything’s nice. Until I open my big mouth.

“Renée takes a lot of pills, doesn’t she?” I ask, trying not to sound too worried.

Randall nods and glances at the floor. “Yeah. A whole bunch. It’s always one cocktail or the next, so the results are…inconsistent. It’s hard to describe.”

Yowch. “Why doesn’t she tell me about these things? What’re they for?”

He shrugs. “Some are for basic things. Her ADD isn’t too bad, but it’s bad enough that the meds are a necessity. Most of the rest are for depression, anxiety disorders, the occasional psychotic episode, things surrounding her parents…Basically, they keep her from going bugfuck.”

The venom gnaws at the back of my head. It’s there every minute of every day now, endlessly laughing, growling, biding its time. There seems to be no hurry for it to break free and wreak havoc now; it’s content to wait in the background, to brood. The Renée issue isn’t helping.

“You ever seen her go ‘bugfuck’?”

Randall nods and looks away from me. “I have. You don’t want to deal with that, man. The meds might weird you out a bit, but Renée’s much better off with them. Trust me on that point at least.”

“I want to help her, Randall. I feel so helpless about all of this. The medications, and…her parents…I dunno.”

“Just look after her. Take good care of her.” His smile splits open. “Or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Just wait, hisses the venom, it’s coming. You think things are getting better, you’re in for a surprise. You’re a part of something now, a cog in the works, which means so am I. This shitstorm isn’t going to get any smaller, and I know just how to deal with it. Just you wait. It’s gonna be huge.

When I get home from school, I hear voices in the living room, at least one unfamiliar. I carefully lay down my backpack, hang up my coat, and eavesdrop.

“It’s not that he’s mean or threatening, Laura, he just gets really emotional when he gets angry.” My mom.

“Does he get violent?”

This would be about me then.

“Yes. Sometimes way too violent. I get scared for him, but also scared for his friends…and sometimes, I mean…he’d never hit his brother.”

“Are you sure of that?”

Bitch, screams the venom, bitch, you don’t know a single goddamn thing about me, so keep your fucking mouth shut. I’ll hit who I want to.

The silence that follows hangs in the air, like a suicide jumper about to splatter.

“No. No, I’m not. I wish I was, but when he’s around his brother and he begins to get agitated, I’m scared that he’s…I can’t even say it. That he’s going to take it out on the nearest person available. These outbursts-”

Angries.

“-they’re scary because they aren’t just him being upset. It’s someone else. When I look at him, I see this sweet, caring boy who loves his family and his friends, and then, suddenly, there’s this other person in my house where my son once stood. This screaming, seething person who scares the crap out of me and everyone else around him, and honestly is not welcome here.” She realizes what she just said and sighs, ashamed.

This again. More therapy, more long talks, like I’m a disorder, like you can be cured. I’m not impotence or alcoholism, I’m rage in its worst form. They’ll never take me alive.

“Well, that’s unacceptable.”

“Laura, what else is there to do? He hated Jim Reiner so much… Any time I bring therapy up, he gets this look on his face, like I’m stabbing him in the back…”

It’s a shrink. Must be. No one else is as good at making people spill their guts out. Fucking parasites.

“I’ll talk to him, Charlotte, but this is up to him.”

That’s all I need to hear. I walk out from the front hallway and march over to the fridge, doing everything in my power to keep the venom at bay. The energy of it, the power, is already coursing through my bloodstream. I can barely keep my hand steady as I reach for something to drink. I hear Mom’s voice say, “Hey, honey, how was your day?”

I turn around and face her, making sure my voice is good and hard. I am ready to be a bastard. “Fine. Who’s she?”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about this…”

My vision starts blurring with anger. It’s half me, half venom at this point. “Well, you didn’t. So who’s she?”

The woman sitting with my mother looks like Ann Coulter. She’s blond, not that annoying bleached blond but that warm, natural blond, her hair reaching down past her shoulders. She’s wearing a blue turtleneck sweater and wire-rimmed glasses, and she has the biggest breasts I have ever seen in my entire life. The muscles in her back must be insane to carry those things around. Given different circumstances, they’d almost be comical, but now they only serve to make her grotesquely irritating. She’s holding a mug of coffee and staring at me with utter neutrality. Yeah, that’s right, bitch, keep looking at me like I’m a specimen. I’m real fucking scared. You have NO IDEA who you’re dealing with.

“Locke, this is Laura Yeski. She’s an old friend of mine from college.”

I sneer. “Ahhh. Psych major?”

“Locke,” my mom says in a voice that lets me know I’m going too far, “Laura’s a psychologist. I wanted you to talk to her.”

I shrug and glance at my boots. “Why not? Let’s rap.”

My mom stands up and walks over to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Look, honey, I have to go pick Lon up from school. All I ask is that you talk to her until I get back, and see how you feel. Afterward we’ll talk about it, okay?”

I calculate the time in my head. It’ll take my mom about a half hour, forty-five minutes to pick up my brother. I can go that long without putting my boot through this woman’s skull.

A few minutes later, after my mom’s thrown her coat on and said her too-cheery good-byes, I sit down across the table from Laura-sorry, Dr. Yeski-and slowly sip my soda. She hasn’t stopped staring at me, and it’s making me a little uncomfortable and a lot pissed, because I can tell that behind her eyes it’s all zeroes on the checks my mom will have to write her.

“So, you seem not to like me very much, Locke,” she says, bringing her coffee to her lips.

“Nope,” I say.

“What’s that about? You don’t know me, after all.”

“Well, doctor,” I say, emphasizing her purpose, “the last psychologist I dealt with was one of the bigger assholes I’ve ever met. I’m not sure you’ll be any different.”

“So you’re calling me an asshole?”

“Maybe not calling you one…I’m expecting you to be an asshole.”

“And all you know is that I’m a psychologist.”

“That’s all I need.”

“Well, first off,” she says, looking up into my eyes, “Jim Reiner was a psychiatrist, while I’m a psychologist. They’re different things.”

“How so?”

“One is crazy, the other isn’t.”

“Which one’s the crazy one?”

“I guess you’ll decide that for yourself.”

Touché. I can’t help but laugh a little, a tiny snort of amusement at the comment.

“Second, your mother invited me to talk to you because you yourself seem a little uncomfortable with these problems you’re having. These…what does she call them?”

“Angries.”

“Right. What do you call them? She said you had a name for them.”

“I call it the venom.”

“Interesting. Anyway, I just want to be someone who you can talk to. You’d come to my office once a week and we’d talk about whatever is on your mind. I’d scribble in a notebook about certain things I notice in your ideas or beliefs, and I’d try to help you work out some of your problems. Pretty painless, and wholly your prerogative.”

I sip my soda to show her I’m considering this thing carefully. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I go back to my office and get back to work.”

“That’s it? I say no, and you leave?”

“Yup,” she says. “Locke, I’m not here to be your friend or your confidante. I came here because your mother’s a dear friend of mine, and from what she told me, this ‘venom’ thing of yours is becoming a problem for you and your family.”

It’s about to become a problem for you in a couple of seconds, you hideous slag.

“You think I need curing, that it?”

“I didn’t say that-”

“But you implied it,” I snap, rising to my feet. My face flushes white-hot. My hands tighten on the table. The dark parts of my brain twitch. “There’s nothing to fix here, okay, doc? I’m my own fucking boss, and I don’t give a shit how you know my mother. I’ve had enough of this psychobabble bullshit.”

“Fair enough, but think about this,” she says unwaveringly. “You may be content with the person you are, but you’re scaring the living hell out of your mother, who seems to care a great deal for you. And while you may not like me, or therapy in general, it might be worth a try if it’ll stop you from hurting the people you love.”

“The people I love can tell me what they fucking think.”

She snorts. “Can they? Then why’d your mother call me?”

The words blow out the rage like a candle, and I feel the burning darkness replaced with the emotional muck. She’s right, as frustrating as that is. If my mother had been able to tell me she was scared, if I wasn’t such a horrible mess, I wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. Slowly, ashamedly, I sit back into my chair and lower my head, defeated. “Point taken.”

She smiles finally, a cool little smile that could be a smirk if it wanted to. “So let’s talk. Venom, huh?”

“Yeah. The venom.”

“Like the comic-book villain or the band?”

I didn’t know there was a band named Venom. I hate that. How dare she get the upper hand on me? “Neither. Is that supposed to impress me in some hip kind of way?”

“No. I don’t think impressing you is really in the cards. Just a question.”

“That’s clever. You’re clever.”

“If we’re going to do this, you have to be willing. I can’t fight you on this, but compromise is always an option. Let’s make a deal.”

I feel like Faust, but I nod, and we talk.

A couple of nights later, Lon and I are having dinner together alone. It’s Mexican takeout, which means we eat it on the couch in front of The Simpsons. It’s the closest thing to male bonding that we have. I don’t do catch, but I’m fine with nachos and Apu.

Lon glances at me midway through his burrito and says softly, “So, was that lady with the huge boobs your new shrink?”

I have no idea how Lon knows any of this. I didn’t hide the fact that I’d gone to see Dr. Reiner, but I never really discussed it with Lon, and I didn’t think my mom had either. The idea always scared me a little bit: Big brothers are supposed to be protectors, people to look up to. They should be able to beat up bullies for you and make sure you know what terms like “popping her cherry” mean later in your life. The fact that I’m so screwed up, screwed up enough to need therapy anyway, is not okay. I wish Lon didn’t have to even consider this shit. Having him ask me about it is almost painful.

I sip my chocolate milk and nod. “Yeah. Her boobs are gargantuan, aren’t they?”

He stares at the screen in deep thought, and then nods fiercely. “Do you like her?”

“Y’know, I don’t know yet,” I say. “Too soon to say. She’s analyzing me, and that’s weird and all, but she’s a lot nicer than the last one. This is about my life, my mind…not concepts or whatever.”

“Like…about the venom?”

The word settles into my blood like a block of ice. “What?”

“The venom…right?” he says with a waver. “The venom is the bad thing. Like, your angries.”

Either my brother is clairvoyant or someone has loose lips. How the fuck does he know? I’ve never told him its name, and I’ve told everyone, everyone, to keep it a secret for this one reason. Seeing a therapist is one level of weakness, but this is too much. “Yeah.” I sigh, keeping my eyes on Bart. “That’s what she’s interested in. We’re gonna see if we can work on it together.”

He nods, and we both return to TV land. I’m stuffing enchilada in my mouth, thinking this topic is thankfully over, when I notice Lon giving me little glances out of the corner of his eye. Finally I’m quick enough to make contact before he can turn away as though he has no idea what I’m looking at.

“What’s up?”

He’s quiet for a little bit, and then mumbles, “What’s it like, when you get…”

“The venom?”

“Yeah.”

He’s my brother. He has a right to ask, and I have a duty to be honest with him. “It’s like I’m…really powerful, at first. I feel driven, invincible, but afterward…Well, you’ve seen me, right?” I smile a bit, making him feel like he’s “on the inside” with my psychosis. “The shivering, sweating, not being able to talk for a long time, man…It’s real bad. And it never gets me anywhere, all it does is upset people and make me seem like a total nutcase.”

“Really?”

“What-yes, really. Why, what’s ‘really’ mean?”

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

There’s no phrase like it, and I feel like a fink for not being able to say no. “Sure, what’s up?”

He looks at his shoes and mutters, “The other day I was looking for that Spider-Man comic, so I went into your room and you weren’t around, but I looked for it anyway and I saw your school notebook, and in some of the margins you wrote about the venom and drew some cartoons of it, and it was really cool so I thought…”

Somehow I manage to understand Lon’s high-speed rant, and I have to take a deep breath to keep down the first pangs of the venom jabbing into the back of my skull. “Okay, well, first off, don’t snoop around my room without me there, okay? Next, there’s nothing cool about this. Like I said, it gets me nowhere. I just end up being an asshole.”

The swearing doesn’t delight him this time; he’s still really invested in the topic at hand. “But what about the bookstore?” he asks, eyes wide. “You got somewhere then. I wouldn’t have any of the books for my project if you hadn’t had an angry. That woman was being mean, and you showed her who was boss.”

The venom worms through my nerves, sending pure, black rage through me in the form of annoying little pulses. I clench and release my fists as I try to talk. “Right, right, but come on, she was just doing her job, and I didn’t need to…I mean, remember how you felt afterward? It was embarrassing. You were right, we probably can’t go back to that bookstore anymore-”

“I know I said that,” he fires out, growing enthused, “but I figured, you were right, she was being stupid, and I did end up getting my books, so who cares? You got really strong and really right all of a sudden, and you’re not always like that. The venom gives you the power to do special things and be really strong. It’s cool.”

I shut my eyes tight, take a deep breath, mentally count to ten, but it’s all bullshit-I’m flipping out. My blood, red-hot, corrosive, throbs in my brain. “Lon, okay, this is a situation where it must seem cool, acting like this, but it’s not. This isn’t a comic book, it’s life, okay? You can’t behave however you want. People get hurt.”

“But whatever, if these people are going to treat you like this, you shouldn’t have to-”

“LON!” I belt, unable to keep my mouth shut. There’s the flex, the rush, and the venom spills out, overflowing. “Christ, I get it, ’kay? It looks cool and I seem strong, but you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, so just drop it. You’re wrong, I’m fucked-up, and that’s all you need to know. Got it?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

I put my eyes on the TV and let the venom seethe through me a bit more, then slowly pull back, leaving me with the cold, tired aftereffects. I measure my breath and wipe the beads of new sweat off my forehead before glancing over and seeing-

My brother. My brother, Lon, who’s brilliant and funny and tries so hard all the time to understand his brother. He sits there, burrowed into one corner of the couch, mouth twisted downward, eyes bulging wetly out of his sheet-white face. He’s doing everything in his power to keep from crying, digging his fingernails so hard into his knees that it must hurt. And the venom, sinking back into its hole, looks at him and gives a sharp cackle.

Well done.

Jesus.

“Lon, wait,” I rasp, all my rage and empowerment replaced with mortified embarrassment. When I say his name, he can’t keep holding it and explodes into quiet, scared sobs, mumbling that he’s sorry over and over again. And now I’m crying, as there doesn’t seem to be anything else to do. I grab him like a rag doll and clutch him to my chest, as if he’s going to vanish. I can feel his face, with that blubbering little-kid mouth.

Jesus Christ, I’m a monster. I’m the problem.

Soon we hold each other and make these horrible sobbing noises in the back of our throats. I love him more than anything, but the venom can still find a way into his life. And I just fucking let it.

Finally, when we manage to calm ourselves down, I pull him from my chest and look into his face, all puffy and smeared with snot. Before I can try to clean him up, he’s talking a mile a minute.

“I’m sorry, Locke, I didn’t mean to butt in, and I know you have Randall and Renée and this new lady, but if you ever need to talk to someone, I can listen, y’know, I can help, or I can try, I just want you to be happy, and-”

“Lon.” He wheezes and goes silent. “Don’t apologize. And if you ever want to talk, that’s what I’m here for, okay?” He nods slowly, his mouth still open. “Thank you for talking to me, and thank you for trying to help me. I’m gonna get us some tissues, okay?”

He nods slowly, and I make my way to the kitchen.

As I’m finishing up the dishes, I hear Lon in the next room, talking energetically on the phone. It just seems comical that my brother’s chatting it up with his buddies until I hear the phrase “that comic you gave Locke” thrown into the mix. I wipe my hands off, grab the kitchen extension, and eavesdrop.

“Okay,” asks Lon, “how about the Silver Surfer?”

“Ugh. No way. Can’t stand him.” Yup, my brother’s getting phone-cozy with my girlfriend. Too cute.

“Me neither! It’s all too much cosmic stuff!”

“Exactly! And the deep-seated religious implications! Gag!”

I can hear it taking Lon a bit to work out the religious implications. “Totally.”

“Okay, my turn. Ghost Rider?”

“Awesome. Totally awesome. His powers are just too cool.”

“Ah, you’re a kid after my own heart. Johnny Blaze, though?”

“I dunno… Blaze is cool, but they do that big-bad-biker thing way too much.”

“Did you see the miniseries where they fought Venom in the sewers, though?”

“Yeah, Spirits of Venom! He was incredible!”

“Hell, yeah! I just loved seeing Venom and Ghost Rider duke it out!”

“I liked Demogoblin.”

“He was okay. Hey, your brother back yet?”

“Hey, I’m here. Who’s Ghost Rider?”

There’s a yelp, and then Lon hangs up like he’s scared the phone is going to bite him. Renée tsks me for it. “You scared him off! We were having a great conversation about comic books. It sounds like he really knows his stuff. I really want to meet him.”

“He’s a great kid,” I say. “I’m glad you did that. He kind of needs a little cheering up tonight. I had a venom moment with him.” I tell her about my earlier attack, my screaming at Lon, and she clucks through the phone.

“You have to talk to him about these things, hon. Maybe he didn’t know how serious an issue it is for you, but that’s because you never really spoke to him about it. Can’t blame the kid for being a little confused.”

“I just don’t want him to start thinking of me, of this, as a role model,” I say. “I know he’s impressionable. I mean, fuck, he’s ten, but I didn’t think he could ever think of the venom as a good thing.”

“Well, it’s not like you show him otherwise.”

I feel a single pulse rush through the back of my skull. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t seem like you make it clear that it’s a bad thing. Yeah, you embarrass the hell out of him and all, but you still act like a wrathful god while doing it.”

Ugh, not you, too. Lady, that Hierophant shit only goes so far here. Besides, in this family, we don’t-I furrow my brow, trying to hold in the soot-black storm cloud billowing up inside me. How can this happen? Since when can my mind have two venom attacks within forty minutes? “He’s my little brother, Renée. I have to be strong for him.”

“Oh, come on, fuck that. You just have to be there for him, Locke, you don’t have to be some unmovable pillar of male strength. Get over it and talk to him.”

“That’s NOT what I’m-” I close my eyes as hard as I can and slam a fist down on the kitchen counter. The vein in my forehead is about to pop. I’m seeing nothing but flashing sparks of red and black. Somehow Renée can hear it too.

“Locke? Calm down, okay?”

“I’m calm,” I hiss through gritted teeth. Yeah, right, nice try.

“You’re not,” she says, her voice low and soothing. “I’m sorry, honey, I know he means a lot to you, and it’s not my place to tell you how to treat your brother. But you can’t flip out every time someone disagrees with you.” Without really thinking, I grab a banana from the bowl of fruit next to the fridge and squeeze it over the sink until the soft white goo splits the peel and gushes out between my fingers. Focus on her voice. Focus on her. “Locke? Feeling better?”

Slowly, with every word she says, the venom retreats, until I’m left feeling drained and unsatisfied, the venom equivalent of blue balls. It’s frustrating, but it’s a start. That, or full-on episode. I slug some chocolate milk and sigh. “I’m okay. Just needed a moment. Sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“Shhh. I get it, it’s all good,” she coos. “Do what you need to do, babe. I’ll help any way I can.”

“You’re fantastic.”

“Yeah, I know.” She giggles, and the gears in my heart start whirring again.

“So what’s up? Or were you just calling to talk comics with Lon?”

“Weimar party. A week from this Thursday. Randall said you don’t have school on Friday because of some faculty function. You’re gonna get your card, so be there.”

“Okay…You know, I’m not a big party person, Renée…”

“You will be at this one. Don’t worry-Randall, Casey, and I will take care of you.”

“Okay…my card?”

“Wear a suit-a coat and tails if you can find them. Trust me on this one, hon.”

“Wait, a tux?”

“I told you, it’s a Weimar party.”

“Where am I supposed to get a tux?”

“Well, that’s not my problem, is it? Make it a nice one. Look hot. Weimar works best when you look hot.”

“Weimar?”

“‘Life is a cabaret, old chum,’” she sings, “‘come to the cabaret.’”

W AKE UP.”

His eyes flickered like those of an acid head. Once the haze seemed to evaporate from his vision, he screamed like a little girl and curled into a ball.

“Please don’t hurt me! I haven’t done anything! They sent me back!”

“I mean you no harm,” I said softly. “I am in debt to you. You stopped that creature.”

Slowly his body unfolded, and he gawked at me like I was river-dancing. “You’re Blacklight,” he panted. “THE Blacklight.”

“That I am.” I helped him to his feet, and he glanced around the rooftop at the glittering skyline on all sides of us. His eyes stayed wide, nearly bulging out of his skull, his mouth hanging wetly open as he took in the view. I could imagine this was a shock for him, but honestly, I just wanted to get to the bottom of this damn mystery. “How do you know my name?”

“My God,” he murmured, “it used to look like this, didn’t it? New York. Manhattan. We’re in Manhattan, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course. Answer my question.”

“Jesus, there’s the Chrysler Building… Look at it, like a giant, steel Christmas tree. It’s just like I remem-”

I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face me. “I don’t have time for this,” I said, jabbing a blackened finger in his face. “Tell me who you are. Where you’re from. What the hell that creature that turned into you was.”

He stared into my eyes for a few seconds, dumbfounded, and then nodded slowly. “Who I am isn’t important,” he said with a sigh, “but when I’m from is.”

“I’m sorry-when?”

“I’m here from thirty years in the future, Locke. They sent me back to find you.”

The sound of my real name sent vipers through my blood. He really knew. This would not do. “Explain yourself. Immediately.”

“I came back in time to find you, to speak to you, to let you know about what horrible things will happen if you don’t do away with this little ‘gift’ of yours.”

“What are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, laughing humorlessly. “The swirling black tendrils, the dead, hateful eyes…It’s pretty simple.”

I knew the answer before he said it. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. And as he affirmed it, the bottom of my stomach gave way to an endless pit of horror.

“I’m the new Blacklight,” he said. “I’m what you become.”

“You’re…you’re ME?”

“Not quite.” His eyes glazed over as he took in the city again and mumbled, “That’s the problem.”