Curse of Arachnaman (10 page)

Liz flashed him a tight-lipped smile, and Mom laughed. Across the way, Dad looked a little puzzled but kept quiet, while I narrowed my eyes at my food. I'd have given Scanlon another death glare, but since he sat beside me, it was a little hard trying to mask it without looking like I had some weird visual defect.

"So how about it, scamp? You up to some goose-pimply entertainment tonight? Ah-woooooo...” he said, the final bit being a cheesy moan that was supposed to make him sound like, you know, a ghost.

"I'm actually getting all goose-pimply right now, thanks,” I said, instinctively stiffening when he reached in front of me to take the pepper shaker.

Man, Disney's Haunted Mansion had nothing on the Plath dining experience. I looked at Liz with my best why-can't-you-marry-him-now-and-convert-him-to-normalcy look. Unfortunately, she was too busy giggling at Scanlon's cleverness.

I sighed and lightly toyed around with my dinner for a bit. We were having tuna fish casserole, which never agreed with my stomach. I expected a miserable night on the toilet later. “Mom, can we have a dog?” I blurted out.

"So you can feed him your food while I'm not looking?” Mom replied, all smiles and sweet motherly vibes mowing me down.

I shrugged. “Well, yeah."

"Nice try, but sorry. I'm afraid you'll have to eat what's in front of you, honey."

"Oh, and it's your turn to wash the dishes, Eric,” Liz said, and to add insult to injury, Scanlon turned to me.

"Hey, want some help with the dishes, sport? If the ladies don't mind waiting, I'd be more than happy to give you a hand. I mean, what are bosom buddies for, right? Birds of a feather, you know? All for one, and one for all, right?” He actually made some weird gesture with a hand, which I figured was his way of being ghetto. “Yo, dude! Aha-ha-ha-ha-
slurp!
"

"Ohmigawd, no. I'll survive. I've done this a gazillion times before. Jeebus."

He shrugged and then reached out to muss up my hair. For the third time in one night. “Okeedokee, artichokee. Just holler, though, if you need an extra hand."

I looked at Mom while gripping the edge of the table till my knuckles turned white. “Mom, make him stop,” I hissed.

She only rolled her eyes, and Liz giggled even more. Dad looked like his head was about to pop. Too bad for me, I'd yet to master the fine art of masculine control the way Dad had it. He just soldiered on with his dinner, while I sulked and groused. Whenever Scanlon leaned close to mock-whisper in my ear, I'd growl at him like a rabid dog. Not that it mattered, anyway, since he was completely oblivious to my pain, all for my sister's sake.

In fact, now that I thought about it, I wouldn't have been surprised if Liz and Scanlon weren't really dating, and that Liz had hired him just to make life miserable for me till I turned eighteen or something. My sister wasn't above criminal maneuvers like that. I mean, we were cut from the same cloth, you know. I shouldn't have been surprised.

So I just suffered in silence till everyone was done, and I literally shooed them out of the dining room, so I could have some quiet time to myself. Dishes and garbage-dumping—I was living out a feminist Cinderella story, with Prince Charming out there somewhere in the dreary badlands of Vintage City, all decked out in tight-tight-
tight
spandex that made me hard every time I thought about him.

I actually started zoning out a little while I was up to my elbows in soapy water. I didn't even catch myself till I thought I heard a voice singing behind me, and I snapped out of my trance only to realize that, good lord, it was
me
. Singing. Like Snow White or Cinderella while they did their chores around the house or cottage. That realization gave me my second creepy, spine-tingling moment of the evening.

"Ugh! Gross!” I spat, shuddering, before scrubbing more violently at the casserole dish. When I took out the garbage, I made sure to rescue the usual gay ads from the soft porn section (as I called it), which pretty much roused me from that momentary icky Disney moment. Or maybe I should say aroused me instead because, damn, those ads I found were total scorchers.

I passed the time in my room, reading for a bit after my usual gay ad gawking. I thought that being at my computer would be courting danger, with Althea dangerous and loose out there. In fact, not only did I unplug my computer, I also covered the thing with an old afghan that Mom made after she gave birth to me. It was made of cheap, scratchy acrylic yarn that had made me yowl and yank at her ears and boobs while breastfeeding when Mom wrapped me with it. At least that was what she told me. To what extent a computer-morphing superhero would feel the itchiness of cheap acrylic yarn against a computer, I sure couldn't tell, but I thought that it was just as good a protection against evil forces, the way strung-up garlic was a defender against vampires and Scanlon Dorsey. Then again, seeing as how Scanlon spent the evening with us and was even set to “chaperone” Mom and Liz through tonight's movie, there was something to be said about the real effectiveness of folk remedies, or whatever strung-up garlic was called by superstitious rural types back in the day.

I couldn't wait to hear Liz's report of tonight's horror extravaganza. I figured that she'd be in pain tomorrow, with bruises or whatnot where Mom grabbed hold of her because Mom just totally freaked out.

Incidentally, I also wondered what Magnifiman had done with those two jerks. Sensitivity training might be too little, too late. I hoped they'd come back as black mold in the next life.

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It was sort of like Minimum Day at my “special school” today because Dr. Dibbs said that he was needed for some undercover medical work, whatever that meant. My human chameleon buddy, Freddie, had to be recruited. So that left me with Brenda, who remained tight-lipped about what the Sentries had been up to lately, and who pretty much bribed me into shutting up by telling me that Dr. Dibbs didn't leave instructions for homework, which meant that I had the rest of the day to squander.

"You're not really that off the hook yet, kiddo,” Brenda said as she pulled out a folder from under her counter. I felt the blood drain away from me.

"You're kidding!” I protested. “Why can't I have a day off, too?"

"Because you can't, and that's that.” Brenda smiled sweetly. “You might not have any homework, but you do have some exercises to do. You can work in the shop area if you want a little atmosphere, but you're also welcome to use the back room if you prefer the privacy."

Being surrounded by old, old furniture and knickknacks whose owners were now most likely dead while working on school stuff proved to be a bigger draw, so I did my exercises perched on one of the high bar stools in front of the counter, while Brenda talked shop with customers. An elderly lady spotted me and asked if I were a foster kid in Brenda's care and why on earth wasn't I in school? I figured that if I looked slumped and pale and pathetic enough, she'd leave the shop convinced that I had TB or something.

I was out of Brenda's antique shop by 11:30-ish, and with the afternoon suddenly free, I didn't really feel like going home yet, so I did a little window-shopping in the downtown area, taking care to avoid the main square, which was always packed with the lunch crowd by that time.

Some of the coolest shops could be found on the smaller side streets. I guess being pushed aside by the bigger and swankier stores pretty much made them grow some mighty big balls and bask in their fringe status.

I decided to explore Sycamore Lane, which was this narrow little street a couple of blocks or so from the main square. A bunch of shops ran the length, but only about half of them were actually open for business. The rest were empty spaces, with the display windows getting all filthy and difficult to see through. The good thing was that none of them were boarded up like in the dingier alleys in the seedier parts of Vintage. The empty shops were just empty and dirty, with “for lease” signs tacked onto the display windows.

At the end of the street was an adult bookstore. I thought of walking in and pretending like I was twenty-one, but because the window was covered up, discreet-like, with pink paper, I had to steal a quick look through the front door. The tall, tattooed woman at the counter caught me staring, and judging from the way she looked at me, I figured she wouldn't be convinced that I was old enough. She even moved her arm to show off her “Devil's Angel” tattoo with the bloody knife filling up her entire upper arm.

Okay, okay, I got the hint.

There was also a New Age bead shop a few doors down, not to mention a leather store that also sold all kinds of bongs in different designs and shapes. There were a couple of edgy urban wear shops with eardrum-shattering music screaming through the doors.

The highlight, though, was the new retro arcade about three doors down from the bead shop. At that point I realized that I was getting pretty hungry, so I could only manage a quick jealous look through the window while making a mental note to tell my friends about it the next time I saw any of them. It would be great for the whole gang to go there and spend a couple of hours chilling and wasting money on awesome games like Pac-Man or Tron or whatever. Of course, I'd still have to go online, find free cyber versions of these games, and familiarize myself with them before tackling the real deal.

Except for Asteroids. I could whoop major ass with my eyes blindfolded with that game.

I decided to go to the lingerie store where Liz worked. It was the one that Althea tried to get me to work for a while ago. There I found her folding T-shirts and looking bored as hell.

"Hey, I'm hungry,” I said, waltzing up to her. “No school today. Feed me."

She just scowled. “You're playing hooky. No deal."

"No, really. You can even call Brenda if you don't believe me. By the way, how're the bruises coming along?"

She sighed and held up her injured arm, her scowl deepening. “I don't know how long it'll take for them to go away, but it's been embarrassing as hell. People look at me funny, and I've had a couple of girls pull me aside and suggest that I report my abusive boyfriend to the police."

"Lesson learned, I guess. It's not worth literally risking life and limb over bonding moments with Mom."

Liz nodded, rolling her eyes. “I never thought that she'd have that kind of a grip. Man. The movie wasn't even a third done, and she'd already turned into a human barnacle. I had to threaten her with wasting a stick of butter just to pry her fingers off my arm. Seriously, if you want to see Mom back off, hold the household budget hostage. She'll listen."

"What, didn't Scanlon help?"

Liz shrugged. “His idea of helping was resting an arm around my shoulders and asking me if I was getting scared every, well, five minutes or so."

"He's a real Romeo, that Dorsey guy,” I noted, which earned me a pretty lethal sort of look from my sister.

"Lay off him, Eric,” she warned. “Or I'll tear your balls off with my teeth."

"Sweet. I like your subtlety.” I looked around and took in all the froufrou underwear and casual clothes that packed the store. I never realized that so much lace and silk could exist within four walls. I was getting dizzy. “Take your lunch, dude. I'm hungry."

"Then go home and nuke something."

"No, it's time for your lunch, and I don't want any more microwaved crap filling my belly. Come on, Liz. Please? I promise I'll treat you when I get a job—well, when Mom and Dad let me, anyway."

She actually hesitated. I mean, figure
that
one out. There it was, a golden opportunity to slack off, and she wasn't taking it? What perks come with adulthood again?

At that moment, a group of four women in designer clothes swept inside the store, chatting and looking down their noses at everything around them. A cloud of horrible perfume, probably four different kinds, surrounded them like a poisonous bubble. Even though I didn't work retail, I knew right off the bat that these women spelled High Maintenance Trouble. I gave Liz's arm, the uninjured one, a sharp tug.

"Let's get out of here, quick!” I hissed, and we did. Liz gave one of her co-workers a quick word, ran to the back to clock out, and then made a beeline to the front door, dragging me behind her. Now
that's
the spirit.

We went to Dog-in-a-Bun, where I had a turkey dog. Pretty decent, certainly way better than those rubbery horrors that they served during bingo night. Which reminded me—those poor seniors who were subjected to those nasty things needed to pool their resources together and file a complaint or something. I mean, think about it. They were old and frail, and they still had to put up with crap food like that, as if that was society's thanks for all those years of their lives spent working hard and making this crummy world a better place for everyone else.

Back to lunch, during which something kind of weird happened...

The whole time I was with Liz, I didn't feel comfortable, and it had nothing to do with the fact that my sister sat across the table from me, and I had to see those bruises on her arm. In fact, even Liz seemed a little off-kilter. Sure, she was born that way, but at that moment, she seemed in a weirder mood than usual.

We hardly spoke the whole time. I think we spent most of Liz's lunch break gnawing, drinking, swallowing, and squirming in our chairs without really knowing why. Every once in a while we'd meet each other's eyes and then frown quizzically. There was something strange that kind of hung above us the whole time. Like electricity that crackled non-stop but that was also very quiet and subtle. It made itself felt but not enough to be jarring or to make us panic. It was like an anticipation or a lingering dread that we couldn't put our fingers on.

"What's wrong?” she asked after several minutes of this. I shook my head.

"I don't know. I just feel strange. Like something's about to happen, and I don't know what, when, or how. Know what I mean?"

She nodded. “I know. I feel the same. Let's finish lunch and get the hell out of here."