Venomous

by Christopher Krovatin

  The roof clears off shortly afterward (surprise, surprise). There are comments, whistles, a couple of encouraging statements telling me to stay cool and wishing me a good night. Omar curses Randall out; Casey moans apologies through his hideous drunk, but soon they all leave. From my corner, I hear Randall talk to Alan, the gathering’s host, who tells him to let me stay up here as long as I need, we’re all tarot here.

  It’s harder this time. It won’t speak or move or communicate with me, just sits there feeling pleased with itself and drumming its fingers. It isn’t asleep or drained, it’s just bored for now.

  After a while, Randall comes over and joins me. His walks implies that he’s been drinking down the tension. With a slump, he’s next to me, back propped against the roof’s lip, and we stare out at the New York skyline in the growing morning light.

  “God, that’s pretty,” he sighs, lighting a couple of smokes and handing me one.

  I nod, and then look over at him, a lump rising in my throat again. “Thank you, Randall. Thank you so much for looking after me tonight.”

  He shrugs and takes a drag. “Fuck you, Locke.”

  The words land in my ears like a cold, heavy rock. He’s never said something that blatantly heartless to me before. Tonight was worse than I thought. “I’m sorry, Randall.”

  “‘I’m sorry, Randall,’” he imitates in a plaintive little voice. “‘Didn’t mean it. It was the venom. You wouldn’t understand.’”

  My sympathy begins to do combat with rage. “Hey, man, that’s a little unfair, isn’t it? Come on.”

  “FUCK YOU, man!” he yells, leaning forward with the effort of the words. “Look at you, man! You’re sitting on a rooftop, caked in blood. I’m sick of having to pick up after you every time you get pissed off.”

  You preppy little shit.

  “It’s not like I’m TRYING to do this, Randall!”

  “Are you sure of that?” he snaps. “Is there really ANY effort on your part not to go ballistic? Does the venom take over or do you LET IT FREE? Part of me wonders if you just enjoy this, Locke. Getting to be the dark hero and all—and don’t bullshit me, man, I can see that. Huh, I wonder who the guy with the spread arms and the bleeding heart’s supposed to represent. I wonder. Then again, you don’t tell me anything, because my puny mind couldn’t possibly grasp your unhappiness.”

  The venom begins to take over. “What, you just decided to be a dick tonight? You’ve been acting pissy all evening, and now this. Grow up.”

  “Oh, look who’s telling me to grow up.” He chortles. “Y’know, it’s not fucking fair, man. Renée falls for you. And Casey finds someone who understands the black. And all these people have gotten into this little tarot card club because I’ve brought ’em in and I’ve orchestrated it all…and Randall Elliot gets FUCKED. I’m just the Fool, y’know? You’re the Strength, and Casey’s the Emperor, and I’m the fucking jester who plays guitar and smiles. No one’s ever going to fall in love with me or worship me or even FIGHT me. No one’s ever going to think, ‘Wow, Randall, he was really something. I remember that kid.’ I’m your training wheels, Locke. I’m your fucking driver’s test, your gateway drug. Why? Because I’m not fucked-up? Because I try to be a nice, normal guy?”

  Cry me a river. Consider this role reversal, asshole.

  “It’s not like that, and you know it.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re my best friend, of course you say that,” he murmurs. Something inspires him then, and he laughs. “But if I did what you do, it wouldn’t mean shit. You’re so charming in your rage, so broken and fragile and poetic about it all, and people see it as a part of who you are. But me, they see nothing special. You’re special in your dark little world, but me? Nah. I don’t have some deep, unexplainable thing inside me. I don’t beat people into blood pudding at parties. So I guess I don’t really matter, do I? Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m not bent and twisted to the point where violence is second nature to me. I’m sorry that, overall, I’m well-fucking-adjusted. It’s just in my nature, huh…. I guess when the end of the day comes, I’m there alone. You’re with Renée and the venom, and I’m alone.”

  “Casey thinks you’re—”

  “HA. Casey? Everything that happened tonight, even that stupid little atrocity of yours, was his doing. Every time we hang out, he finds some way to ruin it. There’s always a fight to be had or inappropriate comments to be made for him. Man, he’s worse than you. At least you’re trying, or claiming you’re trying. Fuck both of you. Man, maybe you two should’ve gotten together in the first place. You’re made for each other.”

  And I bite my cheek, because Randall’s my best friend in the world, and telling him this is going to destroy him, and maybe even ruin every good thing that’s happened to me recently, but the venom is pissed, the venom is bitter, and the venom doesn’t care.

  “That’s cute,” I say stonily, “seeing as you’re the one he’s in love with.”

  Randall shoots me an evil glare until he realizes I’m not joking.

  YOU DON’Twant to do this!” I yelled while leaping away from another lunge by the monster as it tried to attack me. “This isn’t who you are! Fight it! I know you can!”

  It raised its head and let loose such a deafening roar that I felt a spark of fear spread through my body. Whatever was standing before me now was cold and ruthless, a creature born from an exponential growth in the song of the city, the energy of darkness. It was huge, angry, and unspeakably heartless: Its insectoid eyes rolled grotesquely in its head as its mouth-tentacles twisted wormlike at me. This thing had all the ethics and morals of a scorpion.

  “We just spoke! You’re not Blacklight! I’ll change who I am, rid myself of this poisonous power that lies inside me! There’s no need for us to fight! We—”

  One clawed hand swung errantly outward and slammed me hard in the jaw. A flash of white, silence, air. I flew backward a couple of yards and skidded worryingly close to the rooftop’s edge. This thing was strong. Stronger than before. Better stick to the air.

  As I rose to my feet and hovered calmly, my eyes narrowed. “Very well. You leave me no choice.”

  The creature made a noise, like laughter, and lowered itself back on its haunches.

  And then we were airborne, colliding, my cloak swooped out around me like great black wings, its huge body squirming and squishing in response. I reared back my hands, prayed this would work, and then thrust them both into the great black mass of mouth-tendrils that was splayed wide before me and rent it in opposite directions.

  Deep within the mass of black gunk, his face lay, pale, stony, eyes filmed over with darkness.

  “FIGHT IT!” I bellowed. “MAKE IT STOP! YOU NEED TO MAKE IT STOP!”

  “Too late,” he spoke in someone else’s voice. Someone familiar. “Come too far. We must complete the mission.”

  “WHAT MISSION? WHO ARE YOU?”

  He coughed out a word—it sounded like “cover,” but I wasn’t sure—and then the fluid darkness’s power was too strong. Suddenly it was closing over his face, and the harder I tried to pull back, the tighter it grew. Slithering black tentacles pulled me inward, pulled me deep within the monster itself, while I struggled desperately to free my hands. The beast, unmoved, kept pulling.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  YOU WHAT?”

  I’m with Renée in her room, and she’s staring at me like I just made a joke about her parents. Which, I know, is an uncool thing to say, but the lines that separated the venom and I are getting blurrier by the day. We are separate but equal at this point, and while it used to be helpful, it’s started to get a little intimidating.

  I keep my head bowed, trying to keep my focus. “You should’ve heard him, Renée. He’s so bitter and hateful, and at the same time, he’s so alone.”

  “This is a joke. Locke, tell me this is a joke.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Please, please, Locke, this is not funny.”

  “It’s not meant to be
.”

  Her hand floats slowly up to her mouth. “You really did. You told him. Oh my God.” Her face goes from dead and stunned to creased and bunched. She shoves me, and I have to remember that I’m angry at the situation, not at her. “Why, Locke? Why in the world would you ever do that?”

  “Renée, wait, listen, you still don’t understand—”

  “No, Locke, you don’t understand!” She jabs me in the chest with the other hand. “We’ve been keeping this a secret from Randall for years. This thing predates me. Jesus, Locke. How could you? After everything that happened last night, he was probably left in an emotional state, but you can’t…JESUS, I can’t believe you did that.”

  The venom speaks up, pissed. “Well, maybe you guys should start, I don’t know, being honest with your friend? It’s not my fault that you’ve lied to him for as long as you’ve known him, and it’s not my fault that Casey acts like a shithead nine times out of ten. Last night was a wake-up call for me. Besides, you mentioned Casey’s crush so casually in passing, I didn’t think it was such a huge fuckin’ deal.”

  “Yeah, but I also told you NEVER TO MENTION IT. GODDAMMIT.” Renée starts pacing, shaking her head. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

  “Screw you.” My face goes flushed, my head’s buzzing, but there’s no shame or depression, just pure righteous indignation. “Randall’s one of our best friends, and apparently he’s pretty upset with all of us. Why not tell him that one of the few people he respects, worships the ground that he walks on?”

  “Okay, fine, let’s say you’re right, and Randall deserves to know about this. Fine. I’ll agree with you there. But take a second to remember that there’s someone else on this earth who is as short-tempered, melodramatic, and fucking enraged at the world as you are. Think about Casey, Locke, and think about what’ll happen to the black when he finds out that his cover’s blown. Telling Randall about Casey was the only way you could respond, huh? Well, think about what Casey’s about to go through.”

  It suddenly all makes sense. If Randall revealed that he’d been in love with me for a while, I don’t know how the venom would take it, and Casey and he have been friends for years upon years. Casey’s black might just explode if he finds out that his cover’s blown. This is a lose-lose situation. There’s nothing about this that can turn out well.

  Renée sighs. “This can’t turn out well.”

  “I was just thinking that.”

  “Glad we’re on the same page. What’re we going to do now, Locke?”

  The phone rings. Renée stares at me with a horror-movie look, as if we’d just unplugged the damn thing, but it’s still ringing anyway. Slowly she walks to the phone and glances at her caller ID. She sighs again and looks at me. “It’s Randall.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’m putting him on speakerphone.”

  “What? Why would you do that?”

  She doesn’t even look at me, her face oozing contempt. “You’ve helped start this mess, and you’re going to help clean it up.” She presses a button on the phone’s cradle, and then we hear the buzz of the other end. “Hey, hon, what’s going—”

  “Let’s skip that shit, okay?”

  His voice makes me flinch. He sounds emotionless, cold, dead to the world. There’s nothing in his voice that suggests he’s talking to people he even remotely cares about.

  “Honey, look, Locke told me—”

  “Shut up, Renée,” he barks. “How long has he felt like this?”

  HE JUST TOLD HER TO SHUT UP.

  I’m in enough trouble already.

  YOU’RE GOING TO TAKE THAT?

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s a lie.” His disembodied voice crackles. “How long have you been lying to me?”

  The venom drives into my nerves, like a dentist’s drill. “Randall,” I say, “it’s Locke. Listen, man, there’s no reason to act—”

  “Don’t try to pull that shit with me, Stockenbarrel,” he snickers bitterly. “I’m no idiot, I see right fucking through you. You didn’t tell me about this because you thought I had a right to know. You told me this because you knew it would hurt me. Well, it worked. I’m hurt. Fuck off and die, you selfish bastard.”

  “Watch your fucking mouth, Randall.”

  “Or what? Pray tell, what’ll you do, pal? What more can you do to me at this point, Locke? Poison me, beat me up, kill me. I fucking dare you.” He clears his throat. “Now, Renée. How long?”

  “Calm down. Let’s talk about this, okay?”

  “Last chance.”

  “Randall, it’s not that simple.”

  “Cool,” he snaps. “I’ll just ask him, then.”

  Click.

  Renée dives for the phone, screaming “No!” and slapping Randall’s number onto the buttons so fast and hard that I’m sure she’s going to break it. She holds the receiver to her ear with both hands. “It’s busy. Locke, he’s calling Casey.”

  My head is shrinking while the buzzing chaos inside it swells and pushes. The venom reaches back and tightens the screws in the nape of my neck. Everything is chaos, like flipping emotional channels, rocketing through my head one after another. I squeeze my eyes shut, clench my fists till they shake, and nothing changes. The venom is barely a voice anymore—it’s like a tone, a low-pitched whine behind my face, splitting my brain in two.

  “Hey!” She’s in front of my face, staring at me with tired eyes. “You with me?”

  I manage a nod.

  “This isn’t unfixable,” she says in the same sharp, clear monotone, “but it’s pretty fucking bad. And I need you for this, okay? You have a lot of fixing to do today, and I need you here, now, not in your head.”

  “I got it, okay?”

  She puts a hand on the side of my face, and her palm quiets the roar a bit, a familiar sensation calling me back to reality. “Calm down,” she whispers. Her voice is like a gust of cool air. “Think clearly. The venom isn’t going to help here, it’s only going to cause more trouble. Stay with me, kid.”

  The phone goes off again, and both Renée and I jump. She breathes deep, leans over, and hits the speakerphone button. “Hello.”

  There is only white noise, the endless buzz of background noise at the other end of the phone.

  And then the voice comes out. Like a bunny caught in a trap, bleeding to death. Like a child after his first day in hell.

  “Renée…”

  “Casey,” she says softly. “Casey, honey, you there?”

  “Oh God, Renée…,” he moans, hoarser and louder.

  “Shhh, it’s okay,” she whispers, “it’s okay, I know. Where are you?”

  “RenÉEEEEEE!”

  This is like the experiment scene in A Clockwork Orange, like I’ve been strapped down and forced to watch pain. His voice is painful, emotionally damning to listen to. This is torture. Any serenity Renée had given me was running out fast. Casey’s every word set my heart on fire.

  She bites her lip and puts a hand over her eyes, hissing, “Fuck.”

  “Renée, oh God, he said…he just told me someone told him!” Casey moans again, his voice increasing steadily in pitch and volume. “He knows, and he called me a liar, and he hates me, I know he hates me now, and I’m so fucking scaAAAARED!” Screaming gives way to heavy, racking sobs. I can picture him in a ball in the corner, his eyes wide, staring at the wall in a new shade as the black creeps through him. I can tell what stage he’s in right now, seeing as I’m in it so much myself. And I’m terrified. Jesus doesn’t live here anymore. We’re all gonna die.

  “Casey,” she coos, “relax. Deep breaths. Pull yourself together. Randall doesn’t hate you, he could never hate you. Just don’t get too out of control—”

  There’s a thud, deep and resonating, on Casey’s side of the connection. My own behavior in the past springs to mind—he’s punching walls. “OUT OF CONTROL? RENÉE, ARE YOU FUCKING LISTENING TO ME? He said, fuck, he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise, he knows and h
e hates me, he said so. He told me…” Casey chokes a bit, spits. “He told me that it explained my behavior over the past couple of years, it all made sense now. Oh GOD, RENÉEE…”

  “Case. Shhh. It’s going to be fine, and we’ll work together on this. But you need to calm down. You can’t deal with any of this if you’re acting like a maniac, all right, babe? Forget the black. Talk to me, dude.”

  “Do you know who told him? Who was it? Who told him?” His voice goes quick and feral. “Was it one of the tarot kids? Do you know when? Jesus fucking Christ, Renée, I need to find out who told him.”

  The question hangs in the room like a mist, heavy and ugly, clammy to the touch. Renée stares into my eyes with a look of utter fucking hatred, waiting for me to be the brave one, to step up and tell Casey it was me, and I just can’t do it. My head is a blur of crushing noise, but it seems to be keeping my mouth shut.

  Renée finally picks up the slack. “Casey, look, does it matter? Would it make a difference if you knew who told him?”

  A pause. “Oh. It was Locke, wasn’t it?”

  “Case, c’mon—”

  “Why else would you be so defensive?” he snarls, and then softens. “Was it Locke? For the love of God, Renée, don’t tell me it was Locke.”

  Under my breath, I hiss, “Fuck.”

  Shoulda been quieter, though. ’Cause the phone goes silent. There’s still the background noise, letting us know that he’s on the other end, but everything else, even his breathing, stops immediately. Renée turns to me, wide-eyed and pursed-mouthed, while I feel the blood drain out of my face.

  Casey’s voice, careful and measured: “Am I on speakerphone?”

  Renée puts her face in her hands.

  Now or never, buddy. “Casey, please, you have to listen to me.”

  “Oh. My. God,” he whispers, voice dripping with hatred. “Oh my God, you’re a dead man, Locke Vinetti. I’m going to beat the fucking sinews out of you, you angsty little shit. How dare you. I’m gonna…” Then there’s a smash on his end, like breaking plates, and his voice becomes a furious howl. “YOU TOO, YOU BETRAYING FUCKING CUNT. DO YOU TWO HEAR ME? I’M COMING FOR BOTH OF YOU. HERE COMES THE PAIN, YOU MISERABLE FUCKS. HERE COMES THE BLACK. YOU’RE BOTH DEAD WHERE YOU FUCKING STAND.” He starts cackling like a madman, his voice louder and louder until it’s a static electronic whine, until there’s another crash and the call cuts out.