Spencer woke up. It was bright; very bright. Too bright, in fact. He squinted through the glow, trying to make out shapes.
“We found him out with his friends again. They had some beers that we traced back to a nearby store.”
“I’m really sorry about this officer. We’ve tried so hard with him, but nothing seems to work-”
“It’s alright, sir. They’re not looking to press charges, but given he’s in your foster care, this will necessitate a review from social services if it happens again.”
“Oh, I have no doubt it will.”
Who was that? Spencer frowned. They sounded familiar…
---
Spencer woke up. He felt...strange. Like his body was two sizes too small...
“Why did you do it?”
This voice was also familiar, but when he tried to home in on the source, all he could see were blurry shapes; like a reflection distorted on the surface of rippling water.
“Because it was his fault.”
“That’s not an excuse!”
Anger flowed through Spencer. They’d deserved it. He didn’t know who or why, but they probably had. Angry words shouted at him from across a field. They’d told him nobody wanted him.
“So I should just sit there and take it?”
“No! You tell someone!”
“I did! Nobody listened!!”
“That was because you’d already hit him!!”
“SO!?”
---
Spencer woke up. There was metal against his back. Someone was talking to him. They looked...young, but not more young than him. They were about the same height as him after all…
“Why’d you want to do this?”
“Because they have it coming. Because it’ll teach them not to mess with us; mess with YOU.”
His fingers were sweaty. There was a USB stick in his hand, and a server in front of him.
“Come on man! Do it before someone comes!”
Spencer pushed the stick into the slot. Somewhere nearby, a murmur began, but quickly rose to an angry shouting, mixed with laughter and cursing. Around him, the school erupted into chaos as the worm on the thumb-drive did its dirty work. He grinned.
“Yeah, that’ll show ‘em.”
---
Spencer woke up. He was sitting in a chair. A man sat across from him at a desk. For some reason, he felt nervous but also very angry. His fingernails bit into his palms as he watched the balding man riffle through some papers in a folder, his face all frowns. Behind his glasses, his eyes were dark with disgust.
“This is the third time you’ve acted out during a school event. You’ve been suspended four times this year already for smaller incidents as well. And now word comes to me that some other students are coming forward about organized attacks on their Cloud profiles directed by you and your friends.”
“And?” The word slipped off Spencer’s tongue in a familiar fashion, but with a younger cast to it. He felt briefly confused. Why did he feel lighter than normal?
“Back in my day, we had a word for people like you, Mister Mills.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes; troll. I won’t pretend to understand why you do the things you do, but I recognize the petty, sour, vicious attitude behind it. And there is no place for it in this school.” The man ground out the words through gritted teeth, his gaze a focused laser that it took all of Spencer’s will not to bend under. When it was off him, he felt relieved, even as his anger surged back. “I’m putting in a recommendation that you be transferred to a different school, one more equipped to handle your...recidivism. Hopefully they can straighten you out, because it’s clear that’s not what’s going to happen if you stay here.”
“Fuck you. It’s not my fault your pussy little pals can’t take a joke.”
The reaction was instant. The man slammed his hands on the table and bellowed with fury.
“A BOX OF DIRTY TAMPONS AND A DEAD CAT SENT TO A NONBINARY TEACHER IS NOT A JOKE, MISTER MILLS!”
Spencer recoiled, but he smiled as he did.
“Really? I thought it was hilarious. Besides, the freak had it coming. That’ll teach her to talk-”
---
Spencer woke up. He was sitting in a car...the backseat of a police cruiser. The flashing lights of the strobes flickered off the windows from outside while dark shapes moved on the other side of the grille.
“Fuckers.” he muttered to himself. He made a mental note to pay a visit to that bastard Jin back at the shop. He was certain it was him that had fitted his bike with the bad rotors.
“Well, lookie here! Sleeping beauty is awake!”
“Rise and shine asshole.”
“Fuck you, gook.”
“Did he just call me a ‘gook’?”
“Why, I think he did, Ishi!”
“Funny, I thought he looked more creative than that. Where’d you get that one? Some nursing home for elderly racists?”
Laughter echoed through the small space, ringing through Spencer’s head. Furious, he slammed himself against the grille-
---
Spencer woke up. He was in a chair. His hands were cuffed to a table, on the other side of which sat a woman.
“Spencer Mills…” she said, casually tapping away at a pad in her hand, “You know why you’re here, right?”
“Because the nig-”
“You’re here,” she said, cutting off his slur before it could escape, “because you and your little street gang tried to rob a bank. As it turns out, that wasn’t such a good idea. Two of your friends are facing murder charges. You’re listed as an accomplice.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“No, you didn’t. But you committed battery, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted grand theft auto in your efforts to escape. Those are just some of the charges by the way. The actual list is much longer.”
“And what’s that mean for me?” His anger was still strong, but tempered by fear. He’d only wanted to get something back. People had walked all over him every day of his life-
“Well, honestly if this were fifty years ago, you’d be looking at a relatively short sentence. Thankfully, the judges are a little fairer now, so you being white won’t color the jury, pardon the pun. Twenty years minimum, I’d say.”
The words punched the air from his lungs. Spencer stared, images of barred cell doors filling his head. In fact it was almost like he could see them; slamming closed one after another after another after another-
...wait a minute.
This...this wasn’t how it’d happened...
---
Spencer woke up.
“Gimme your lunch, twink.”
“Fuck you. I’m not a tw-”
Pain.
---
Spencer woke up.
“What did you name him?
“...”
“Miss? Is everything-”
“I can’t do this.”
“Miss!? Where are you-”
---
Spencer woke up.
“You know what your problem is? You think everyone’s out to get you.” The voice was female, and triggered a sense of faint disgust and distant pleasure. Images of money and sex pervaded his consciousness; wet leather and stale beer.
“And? Not like they aren’t…”
“Only because you keep pushing.”
“You mean like you did in the middle there?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Fuck off, slut.” He frowned as the words came out. They felt...wrong...but at the same time, they were also right.
What was happening?
---
Spencer woke up. He was standing, dressed in a disheveled uniform and sitting behind a counter. Jobs were hard to find these days. Jobs for ex-cons were virtually non-existent. Thus, as much as it disgusted him, Spencer felt a small measure of gratefulness that he’d managed to land this part-time role as a counter-watcher. So long as he was careful with his words and didn’t screw up, he’d at least have enough money at the end of the week to drink himself into a stupor on a regular basis. It wasn’t much, but there were people out there who had it worse, and he took solace in that fact. It made his current situation just a bit more bearable. Of course, if that bitch over in the shelves would stop staring at him it would be even better. She’d been at it for ten whole minutes now. As if summoned by his thoughts, she began to approach. Fucking great…
“Can I help you?” he asked, doing his best not to snap.
“Yes, I’m just...looking for the bandages?”
“Aisle three, top shelf.” he said mechanically, looking straight ahead. She was still standing there. Why was she still-
“I’m sorry, it’s just...you look very familiar.”
---
Spencer woke up.
“And that’s how your father and I broke up.”
The woman was sitting across from him. She looked...familiar. The high forehead and brown eyes were like his alright. But if she was really his mother, why had she come to him now? Why not when he was twelve? Or six? Why had she abandoned him to begin with? Her story about his father being forced to leave because of his background didn’t sit right. What, was he some Yakuza boss? He snorted at the idea. He didn’t have a drop of chink blood in his veins.
“So you’re here now to...what?”
“To bring us back together. Your father’s been looking for you ever since I told him you were out there.”
“And it took you all this time to find me?”
“Yes. Your father-”
“What about him? Where is he? Did he send you?”
“Yes. He’s in Boston. He wants to meet you-”
“Why?”
“Because he has a plan.”
Spencer opened his mouth to laugh, but stopped as something shifted in the corner of his eye. He realized he was sitting in a booth at a diner, but something was wrong. The cushions felt...soft beneath him; too soft. And there was a smell-
---
“Hello, Spencer.”
Spencer opened his eyes. He was in a leather chair. There was a man sitting across from him. He wore a gray business suit and white cornrows that oddly suited his wrinkled complexion. He had the beginnings of a double-chin, but obviously that was more a case of age setting in than it was unfitness. Going by the firmness of his handshake, which Spencer didn’t remember taking, but must’ve done in order to make the comparison, he had been a strong man in his day.
“Hi, uh...dad? Is it alright if I call you dad?”
“That’s fine by me, champ.” the old man said, his face a mask of patriarchal joviality. It was so convincing that Spencer himself almost bought it. In fact, he was pretty sure he had...but if that were true, why did he feel so...angry?
“So I met mom...she said some pretty crazy stuff.”
“Pshh.” snorted the old man, waving pleasantly. “I’ll bet she did. Your mother can be very...unusual, son. In fact that’s why I loved her once. But times changed. All the same, if I’d known she had you, I’d never have left.”
“Uh-huh.” Spencer said. He meant it with genuine sincerity...but at the same time, he wanted to reach across the desk and grab the old bastard by his tie, then smash his face into the desk until with a bloody wreck. And yet, even as the image of him bleeding and pleading for mercy flashed through his mind, he also felt the urge to hug him and break down sobbing. It made the young man smile nervously in a way he hadn’t the first time…
...wait, first time?
Something was wrong.
“Anyways, I’m sure she’s mentioned my ‘plans’?” the old man said, smirking in a way that made the facade of respectability slide slightly, revealing the slick mind beneath. “It’s a little complicated, but suffice to say when it’s through, this little operation I’ve been running will have enough money to start making some changes around here...big ones too.” He sneered slightly, lip curling up in savage glee, “A return to the old days...the GOOD old days.” His atavistic expression quickly softened before it could stand at odds with his previous look though, and before Spencer knew it, the smile of a proud father was once again pasted across the man’s face.
“And there’s a spot for you in the details, champ.”
“Uh-huh.” Spencer said, a real smile creeping across his face as the uncertainties of his situation were pushed aside by the saccharine promises. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“Well…-” the man began, when abruptly red lines appeared across his face, forming a grid. There was a moment of confusion in his eyes. Something peeled off his forehead and landed on the desk between them. Spencer looked down at it. Part of him knew he should be screaming with disgust and revulsion, but all he could think was: “Huh...weird.”
---
Spencer stared up at the judge in the center of the courtroom. The tie around his neck itched horribly. He didn’t remember putting it on. He recalled working for three years to get to this moment; following every instruction his father had given him...and today it would all pay off. He remembered walking into the courtroom. He was also pretty sure that he had done so years ago. Strange, that. He shook it off.
The judge spoke to him, but the words made no sense. It was like hearing a speech given underwater. Syllables joined together. Had he drunk anything yesterday? Acid stung his throat. The wood of the witness stand felt wet beneath his grip as he followed the hand motions of the judge. The jury looked at him with blurry faces that were somehow disapproving. He said words, but they meant nothing. His father stared at him from the crowd, but his face, which started out with that same proud smile he’d worn when they’d first met, began to twist as Spencer recited the nonsense words.
Something was wrong.
How had he gotten here?
Words continued to spill from his mouth. He tried to stop them, but his tongue wouldn’t obey. He tasted vomit, but it was going the other way. In desperation, he tried to clap a hand to his mouth, as a rip opened across his father’s face. Laughter spilled out of the hellish gash. It grew and multiplied, taking root in the witnesses, in the jury, in the watchers behind and around. The courtroom seemed larger than it should’ve been. He didn’t remember there being this many people...if they were people…
Something was wrong.
---
Spencer woke up, but something was wrong.
“Mom, where’s dad?”
Silence.
“Where’s. Dad.”
More silence.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS HE!?!”
“Spencer...I’m sorry. But I needed the money and he said...it was the only way.”
“Only way? ONLY WAY!?!”
Bile rose up in place of acid. Putrescence and bloodshed filled Spencer’s vision. In the distance he heard the sounds of a subway station platform. A woman shouting at him to come back. He spun and pushed out.
A scream of rails.
A scream of betrayal.
She deserved it.
He deserved it.
They’d all get what was coming to them, one day. And then they’d know not to fuck with Spencer Mills ever again.
A howl of horror.
Horror.
H̴o̵r̶r̸o̷r̴.
H̸̺̟̓̂̕o̴̗͋̑r̷̨̝̝̈́̿̑͝r̷͓̲̯̙̈̉̆ỏ̸̡͔̺͓̉r̵͇͐̋ͅ
Something was wrong.
His thoughts were leaking out of his ears. A voice writhed in his mind. It gnawed at his memories; at his physicality; it spoke gibberish, but out of the gibberish there formed sentences that hurt like knives. He screamed at it to stop, but it said no. No, you did those things. You are those things. You will do it again.
And you will like it.
Because that is who you are.
It is who you have always been.
And the worst part was that in the midst of the insanity, among the rot and vileness and the millions of maddening angles and the sour, atonal chorus of buzzing like an army of flies feasting on the corpse of a dead cosmos, was that…
...was that…
...was that the voice was also...his.
---
Spencer woke up.
The box was sitting on the floor, where he’d dropped it after opening it. The...thing was still inside, nestled on velvet pillows. It seemed to change shape when he tried to look at it; a glassy smear on the windowpane of his eye. In his head, the throbbing buzz spoke to him. It was still speaking. It never stopped. This time though, it was saying something different.
“What...what do you want?”
o-beDi-EncE
“W-what? What should I do?”
sss-ssprrREad-ddDfIneDFEEeeDedD
Spencer stood up. He wasn’t totally sure why. No, wait...yes he was.
He was going to teach them all a lesson.
A lesson they’d never forget.
