“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.’”
WAKE 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.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE’S ONE PERSON I can think of who I could borrow a tuxedo from (one that fits me, anyway) in time for the party. One problem: He’s my father.
Randall drives me, borrowing his mom’s car. He’s one of the few people I know who can actually drive (it’s New York, we have the subway). He’d acted like a suburban kid the day he turned sixteen, talking nonstop about needing his license. He drove to school the day he got it (all twelve blocks) just to show off how cool he was, blasting classic rock out of the windows at full volume (or, to quote Randall as he passed us that day, “BAHN! BaNAHN! BAHN-NAHN du nunnah-NUNNAH, getcher mota runnin’…!”). It was hilarious in kind of a dorky way, which, I suppose, is Randall’s MO.
On the ride up, he takes my silence for an invitation. Which it totally is. “So how is Rick? Haven’t seen him in a dog’s age.”
I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “Did you ever meet my dad? I don’t remember that.”
“It was at that birthday of yours, like, two years ago. Your dad showed up, remember? He gave you that journal, the really nice one with that weird sort of pea-soup-green cover that I could tell you hated. He was awkward and thought he was the shit. Like the really cool kid who’s graced the chess club party with his presence.”
“Huh, I guess you were there. He’s good, I guess. I dunno. He’s not on my mind much. Hey, why do you keep calling him Rick? Why not just call him, like, ‘your dad?’”
He stares ahead for a bit as if he’s trying to see his answer on the shoulder of the West Side Highway. “No offense, dude, but he doesn’t seem much like a dad. And you never really want to talk to or about him. So to me, he’s just this guy named Rick who happened to…sire you. A father is the man who raises you, not the one who supplies you with genetic material.”
For a second the world settles to a halt, and Randall and I are the most important friends in existence.
“And from what I’ve seen, Rick’s not much of a man, and you’ve been raised by”—he dons a retarded grin—“me.”
“Oh, wow, that’s one hell of a concept.”
“I’ll explain it when you’re older, son.”
We get to my father’s house, one of those big multistory suburban deals with a lawn bigger than my whole apartment if you include both the front and back. It looks like the Addams Family house designed by Donny and Marie. As Randall parks in the driveway next to two incredibly nice cars (an SUV and an Acura…his and hers, or hers and his, or whatever, I don’t fucking care), he looks over at me and says, “Hey, do you want me to come in with you? I could take out the wife while you get the tuxedo, tie up your pops, cut up some magazines, and make a note for the police—”
“I’ll be fine, thanks.”
“Gotcha.”
The five-second walk between the car and the massive front door takes approximately twelve forevers. I feel myself begin to sweat nervously, and cocoon my coat around me, which only makes me sweat more. This will be fine, I say in my head. You called ahead. They know you’re coming. Just get in, get the tux, and get out. No problem.
Yeah. Just go in there, smile, and let that son of a bitch believe that he’s a good fucking father. Let him know that he can still provide you with something, although it may not be, I dunno, compassion, or kindness, or the time of fucking day. No big deal. Here’s a suit, kid.
“Shut up,
shut up, now’s not the time, please, for five fucking minutes, shut up.”
I finally look up to face the door, reaching my hand out steadily for the big gold-plated knocker screwed to the front of it.
Before I even touch it, the door opens, and any remaining stoicism in me becomes sweat. There stands a girl with long blonde hair, dressed in a school-girl uniform, presumably Bethany, my—gyah—half-sister. She looks to be about five, clinging to the strap of her backpack like I’m about to steal it. My instinct is to bend down and smile innocently, but something in her eyes creeps me out way too much, so I just say, “Hi, I’m Locke.”
Her eyes light up, and she rushes down the hallway, squealing, “MOM!” With nothing else to do, I reluctantly follow her inside.
Millie, my dad’s silver medal, is sitting at a small table surrounded by huge front windows, glowing in the afternoon sun. Once she catches sight of me, all other sound is drowned out by a deafening “HIIII!”
“Hey.”
“God, good to see you!” she says, rushing over and pulling me into a huge hug. I’m not sure how to respond to this whole thing. Something in the back of my head suggests I knock her out, get Randall to go ahead with the kidnapping plan, and maybe snatch a few twenties from her pocket. Venom talking. So I just pat her back lightly with my hand. A nice, neutral gesture. She smells nice, I guess.
Okay…OKAY. Fuck. The dinosaurs could’ve ruled the Earth and died during this hug. Let go of me.
Let go of me, you plastic-ass little—
She pulls back, and the venom eyes blunt objects throughout the room. After doing the arm’s-length “good look at you” routine, she pulls me toward the kitchen table. I was afraid of this. If this were Dad, there’d be a handshake, maybe he’d even offer me a drink if it had been a good day. There’d be guy stuff—sports and school and the future—and we’d leave feeling a little better about ourselves. But no, no drink, no football, just this woman pretending I’m family.
“Wow! I haven’t seen you in ages! What are you, a senior now?”
“Junior.”
“Wow, a junior, gosh! And so handsome in that coat, too. So many people can’t pull off the long coat, but you, you do it well!”
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