She dropped into the kitchen to give a hello to Mark, who was helping her mother with the dishes, and then attempted to make her exit. And there she froze. Arthr was waiting for her in the doorway. His wide posture, arms and spider legs stretched across the door jamb, read that he was not planning on letting her pass without a fight.
A growl forced its way between Spinneretta’s lips, and she had to struggle to contain the anger boiling to the surface when she saw that cocky grin. “Get out of the way, Arthr.”
“I’m not movin’,” he said. “Not until I get your word that you’ll be there to watch me kick Pat’s teeth to dust. You owe me that, at least.”
“I don’t owe you shit. Now get out of my way.”
“You’ve been really unfair to me lately, you know,” he said, unfazed by her anger. “I keep trying to get back on good terms with you, and you keep pushing me away. It’s not fair, Spins.”
“If that’s what you think you’ve been doing, then you need some serious help.”
Arthr’s face darkened, as if stung by her words. His upper lip twitched. “Look, I’m reaching out to you. I know we’ve had some bad blood—”
The totality of her anger reached a dangerous level. “Get out of the way, Arthr,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I haven’t told Mom about your stupid fight, but if you don’t leave me alone I just might give her a head’s up about it.” Just go out the back door, stupid, her brain commanded her. But logic no longer had any place in this conversation.
“If you tell her,” Arthr said in a low voice, far above her whisper, “then I’ll tell Chelsea and Mandy what your middle name is.” Spinneretta halted her attempted blackmail, fumbling for recourse. Arthr, seeing her reaction, gave a cocky victory smile. “Now that that’s settled, why not just come watch the fight? I’m reaching out to you, sis.”
“And I’m saying go to hell. Now get out of my fucking way!”
“Kids, stop that this instant!” their mother yelled from the kitchen. “You’re impossible!”
Spinneretta glared again at Arthr, who showed no sign of moving from his position in the doorway despite May’s verbal intrusion.
“You know, I think I’ve figured out what your deal is,” he said, stretching his arms across the breadth of the door jamb in a contrived stretch. “You’re jealous of me.”
“Christ, you’re stupid.” She crossed her arms and closed her eyes, a desperate gesture to quell the coming surge of fury. Her blood was already beginning to grow hot, and the first hint of that strange, murderous adrenaline began to knock at the door of her mind.
“No, I’m not. I’m right, and you know it. Why else would you be so uptight about the fight? It’s ’cause you wish that you were popular. You wish people would show up to watch you do something for once. But you can’t do anything. You’re like the failed version of me. You’re an outcast at school, you have almost no friends, you spend all your time reading and doing other boring-ass shit because you know you can’t do anything else.”
The arrogance of his words was unfathomable. The fury in her veins began to thunder along her neck and through her skull. She took a pair of deep breaths and tried to beat back the urge to slam her fist into Arthr’s face and lay him flat. But her will was strong; she’d put up with worse from Arthr before, but never over so concentrated a period of time. Spinneretta clamped her jaw and walked two steps toward him. She shoved him, finally resorting to physical force. He stumbled backward out the door, but by the time he regained his footing she was already hastening her pace as she stormed toward the forest-lined road leading into town.
“Jealous!” he cried. “I’m going to be a goddamn legend for this, and there’s not a thing you can do to stop it! And you know what, I’m going to tell your friends what that E stands for anyways, so you get to just fucking deal with it!”
She tried to tune his words out. Her self-control sat on the verge of collapse, and she was afraid she’d give in to the strange adrenaline and smash Arthr’s head against the nearest tree. She pulled air into her lungs in an attempt to cool down, and then upped the pace of her stride, leaving her brother and his insufferable attitude behind her.
“Arthr Jackson Warren!” May shouted from over the sink. “What have I told you about fighting with your sister!?” No response came from the living room. She sighed and shook her head at Mark. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with them. Don’t know what goes on in their heads to make them act like that.”
“It must be hard,” Mark said, scrubbing one of the large platters in the soapy brine. “They seem like a handful.” He passed an eye toward the living room, where the two semi-spiders had just been. He’d need to find Spinneretta soon, and he hoped he’d be able to follow her tracks.
May snickered, placing a now-dry cup upside down on a towel. “It’s just the little two who are handfuls, really. Even Kara is more grown up than Arthr is, in some ways. She doesn’t pick fights like he does. Not with people, anyway.”
“Mmm.” Mark handed off the platter before starting on the next one.
“I wonder if all boys are like that toward their siblings.”
The statement seemed slightly too pointed to have been idle conjecture. “I’m afraid I would not know.”
May was quiet a moment. “You know, Ralph told me that you have an older sister.”
His hand ceased its mechanical wiping motion. For a few seconds he just stood there, staring into the wall. Sister.
“Hmm. I’ll take it you two don’t get along?”
The locomotion slowly returned to his hand, and his eyes shifted again to the job in the sink. “Something like that.” He tried to put it out of his mind.
“Maybe it’s genetic.” She set the first plate to the side to dry. “So did something happen, or is it just a personality conflict?”
“Forgive me, but I really don’t want to talk about it.” Damn you, Ralph. How do you even know about Ellie?
“It’s not good to bottle things up, sweetie. And it’s even worse to burn bridges that don’t need to be burned. I don’t know who was in the wrong, but sometimes it’s best to just be the bigger person and apologize—”
“You think I’ve not thought of that already?” Mark said in a low tone. When May fell silent beside him, he found that he’d startled her with his severe tone. A moment of quiet tension followed. He forced the rare animosity from his voice, burying the memory. “Forgive me,” he said. “I just really don’t . . . ”
She smiled, taking the plate from his hands and beginning to dry it with her hand towel. “I’m the one who should be sorry,” she said, voice falling. “It’s in my blood to try to fix people’s problems. Motherhood, you know. But it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t pry. You’re not my responsibility, after all.”
“It’s nothing to be sorry about. I appreciate your concern, but it is not something I talk about. I hope you understand.” The rumble coming from the front yard announced that Ralph had returned from work early. What luck. He wiped his hands on a towel and made for the front door. “Excuse me.”
“Of course,” May said, her bubbly tone resurfacing. “But trust me, it isn’t good to just bottle things up. Especially thorny things. The tighter you bottle them, the deeper those thorns will jab you. Sometimes it helps to open up a little.”
Mark paused at the front door, his fingers wrapped about the handle. “I’ll think about it.” The thorns digging just a little deeper, he eased the door open and stepped out into the balmy afternoon. The sun peeked through the glistening pines along the road, and he had to shield his eyes to make out where Ralph was emerging from his Ford truck.
The truck door slammed shut, and as soon as Ralph turned to head inside he jumped in fright. Briefcase clenched in one hand, he gave Mark a long, cautious look. He seemed like he was about to break into a run in the opposite direction. “What do you want?”
Mark stopped and put his hands in his pockets, trying to appear as harmless as he could. �
��Come for a walk with me.”
A dead stare from behind his glasses. “You’re kidding me,” he said, his voice heavy with fear.
“Come on. I shall not harm you.” Mark nodded his head to the woods off to the right and began walking toward the pines. For a long moment, his were the only footsteps competing with the lazy birdsong overhead. When the sound of Ralph’s footsteps began to follow, Mark took a deep breath to clear his mind.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, threading between the pines and the brush that grew defiantly from the shaded mulch. Like a ball and chain, Ralph’s reluctant trudging slowed Mark’s steps, until at last he stopped beside an old ivy-choked stump and turned to face the man. Ralph’s face was pale, and Mark noticed the car keys clenched in his quivering fist.
“So, what?” Ralph asked. “What’s this about? You gonna kill me?”
Mark let out an irritated sigh. “What could I possibly have to gain by killing you? I only wish to talk.”
Ralph showed him his teeth. “In the middle of the goddamn woods?”
“Keep your voice down,” Mark breathed. The wind stirred the needles all around, and a jay chirped somewhere beyond. No other sound dared to intrude upon their palaver. “They’re listening.”
Ralph’s face twisted in disgust. “They?”
“Listen carefully, Ralph. I’ve learned a lot about this town since I got here. And it’s time you know the truth.”
Mark then told him about Annika’s investigation. About the man who had kidnapped Kara and his mysterious past. About the men photographed surveilling the Warren home. About the West Valley Medical Group, and their ownership of the hospitals and clinics around the county. The only things he omitted were related to the Golmont Corporation, NIDUS, and all the theories he had on their ambitions and the things they’d created.
And as Mark finished what he was willing to share, Ralph’s eyes continued to bulge. “The fuck are you talking about?” he muttered, the sound strangled by fear and disbelief.
“Listen to me,” Mark said in a calming tone. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve long been in the midst of a grand deception. That you blindly accepted what you were told has enabled this masquerade to continue for far too long. Let us, for a moment, forget all of the conspiracies. If your DNA were truly that of a spider, you’d have been swarmed by scientists and media. Instead, all your referrals and recommendations have led only to doctors paid off or planted by the West Valley Medical Group. Three children with perfectly functioning spider legs should not have escaped the attention of science for as long as they have. If even I understand that, then surely you must as well. Now, allow me to ask you one question. Why did you stop pursuing the answers in 2001?”
The question seemed to shake Ralph to the core. “What?”
A slow sigh. “I saw your medical records. Nine genetic tests from 1996 to 2001. Not a single one since. Why did you give up on discovering the truth?”
For a moment, Ralph looked like he was going to scream at him. But instead, the tendons of his hands began to relax, and he started thumbing his keys. “I . . . I guess I was just . . . tired.”
Mark breathed a sigh. At least he seems less hostile now. “I could not blame you for doubting such claims, Ralph. But do your own research. Look into West Valley. Who owns them. And who else they own. You’ll soon see that the scope of their involvement in your life cannot be easily dismissed.”
Ralph shook his head, his previous fear overcome by helpless doubt. “You’re . . . You’re really serious about this?”
“I am. And I’ve got something for you to do.” He drew a card from his pocket and held it out.
With a numb glance behind, Ralph accepted the card and examined it at arm’s length. “What’s this?”
“That’s an appointment. At a real genetic clinic.”
Ralph said nothing, examining the business card closer. “Eugene? Are you out of your mind? That has to be four hundred miles away!”
“Precisely. That puts it two hundred miles beyond the theoretical reach of the West Valley Medical Group.”
A cold laugh. “Let me get this straight. You’re suggesting I just drop everything and go to Oregon?”
“That’s the best clinic in the state, Ralph. Their waiting list is usually months long. I had to call in an old favor to make it happen.”
Ralph’s sour disposition returned in a wet scoff. “Oh, best in the state, huh? I’m sure that’ll come cheap.”
“Then you’ll be overjoyed to know I paid for your testing preemptively.”
“You what?” The choking in his voice could have been anger, or it could have been genuine surprise.
“You have an appointment for June eighth, eight a.m. on the dot. I recommend you leave the day before, unless you are confident you can drive four hundred miles in a couple hours.”
Ralph’s eyes shone with weakness. “How much did this . . . ? W-why would you—”
“You need closure, Ralph. You need facts. If the rest of your medical test results have been as desultory as genetically spider, then for the sake of your family you need to have a real test. If you don’t want to go for the proof that you’ve been lied to for sixteen years, then go so you can get an unbiased analysis of your health.” Mark began to walk back toward the house, and as he passed the man he paused and spoke directly into his ear. “June eighth, eight a.m. Any questions, call the number on the card.”
For a moment, Ralph mouthed dry, silent words. “Why would you do this for me?” he said at last. “Why would you go so far to help me after how much of an ass I’ve been to you?” It struck a note somewhere between scrutiny and thankfulness, a note entirely unfamiliar.
“Your wife puts it best, Ralph. Family is family.” Thorns dug into the walls of his chest. “You should cherish every day you have with them, because you never realize how important something is until you’ve lost it.” With that, he walked off and left Ralph standing in the shade between the pines.
Ralph did not move. He just stood there, staring at the card.
As Mark again wended his way through the uneven growth of trees and bushes, he hoped he’d been convincing enough. Either way, Ralph’s course of action was now out of his hands. It was done. The cat was out of the bag and into the fire, as Annika was so fond of saying. Now that Ralph knew of the web of conspiracy surrounding his medical past, he would be forced to confront reality.
Meandering from the path, Mark allowed his steps to slow. The surrounding trees were painted with the deepening contrast and stark orange of the coming evening. He leaned against a stunted ash tree and closed his eyes. It was a rare moment of silence; it was now impossible to stop his thoughts from wandering. He cursed himself in his mind. Cherish every day you have with them, he heard his own voice echoing, because you don’t realize how important something is until you’ve lost it. He breathed out a shaky breath, trying to banish those thoughts once more. Goddammit Ralph, he thought, why did you tell her about Ellie?
He leaned his head against the bark of the ash, treasuring its shallow bite, and replayed that conversation in his head. May had obviously meant no ill-will; she’d just happened to prod him in the wrong spot. He shouldn’t have let himself slip like that—it wasn’t fair to her, and was unbecoming of the Chosen of Y’rokkrem. He made a mental note to do something nice for her later as an apology. But try as he might, he couldn’t stop her words from bouncing off the walls of his mind:
It isn’t good to just bottle things up. Especially thorny things. The tighter you bottle them, the deeper those thorns will jab you. Sometimes it helps to open up a little.
He tried not to think about it. Whether she was right or not had little merit, for this was not the time to let those thoughts bubble out. There remained important things to be set into motion, and to that end he would swallow those feelings again. He’d lived the last six years that way, hadn’t he?
He cleared his mind, thinking only of the cool evening air. The wind brushed
the tall grass, and the birds still sang their songs of freedom and plenty. He stood there for a short while until the peace and calm of the surrounding nature had permeated and all but wiped clean those traitorous memories. For the first time in a long while, he felt lonely. His thoughts turned to Spinneretta. He wondered where she’d run off to, and what she was doing. Lacking any other direction, perhaps it was time to pay a visit to Old Town, and see just what it was all about.
Arthr arrived at the Potter’s field at half past seven. The sky had begun to glow with an orange luminance that threw deep shadows from the tops of the trees. Beyond those trees ominous clouds gathered, hanging above the peaks in the distance. He found himself growing anxious; if it rained, that meant everyone who turned up to watch him fight would start to leave, and he wouldn’t be able to drag the fight out. Nothing inherently wrong with that, he reflected, but it would make the evening less legendary among his peers. Winning a game of chess by checkmate was one thing, but winning by extinction was a much more satisfying endgame. Murder the queen, execute the bishops and knights, crush the rooks, and only then, when the king saw the desecrated ruins of his kingdom, would his defeat be absolute.
The trek to the Potter’s field, as always, had been a pain in the ass. The field was on a flat hilltop in the outskirts of Grantwood, within Old Town. The haunting remnants of the once-booming heart of the community still stood in defiance of the Norwegian Killer’s murder spree. If any ghosts haunted the abandoned dwellings within Old Town’s hillocks, then the teens who frequented the area for underage drinking and promiscuity were their only company.
The Spider Children (The Warren Brood Book 1) Page 23