Chapter Thirty-Four: Lab Rat
The weather in New York was like an obscene phone call from nature. The air- moist, sultry, secretive, and far from fresh- felt as if it were being exhaled into Peter's face in long bursts. Sometimes it even sounded like heavy breathing. Even worse was the smell; moist garbage and litter baking in the searing sun for hours at a time. The entire city was starting to reek of it.
That's why Peter was relieved to arrive at Columbia University relatively early considering his usual tardiness. He swept into the cool, air-conditioned central building with his entire body drenched in thick layers of sweat.
So now because of this aforementioned bodily fluid in conjunction with the air-con, Mister Parker went from melting to freezing. Sweat. It was one of those disgusting miracles of human biology. Until you walked into a cold room. That's when it became a blight from the devil.
Peter dragged a sleeve across his brow to absorb the ridiculous amount of perspiration that had accumulated there in the last three seconds.
Web swinging on a normal day was a sweaty affair. On a hot day? Pft. Let's just say the Spidey suit needs an extra cycle at the laundromat tonight.
"Why are you so damn sweaty? It's nine o'clock in the morning!" the cafeteria lady snapped at him as he unloaded five dollars in loose change onto the counter to buy a lousy Granola bar for breakfast.
Peter hissed like a rabid starving animal, snatched the granola bar that was now rightfully his, and dissolved into a cloud of bats that fluttered erratically away down the hallway.
Okay maybe he didn't do that. Not even Morbius could do that, and he was a vampire. Maybe Peter actually kind of just timidly took the insult on the chin and moped off.
When Peter stalked into Dr. Connors' genetics lab, his eyes narrowed. The place was in disarray. Well, relatively speaking. Papers were haphazardly stacked in rough towers on the counters instead of neatly filed away. Specimen samples were just...sitting there on the table.
His spider-sense wasn't tingling, but he felt like something wasn't right.
The sound of tapping away on a computer keyboard drew Peter's eyes to the corner of the room, where Mrs. Connors was laser-focused on some work on her laptop.
"Mrs. C?" Peter called.
She slowly turned around, looking like an alerted meerkat. "Peter? What are you doing here?"
His brow wrinkled. "It's Monday. I start back up today."
Martha Connors' eyes snapped over to the calendar. After she locked in on today's date, she shut her eyes in defeat. "God. Sorry Peter, I completely forgot. I'm not ready to resume trials, I still have so much other stuff to finish up."
"Where's Curtis?"
"He's been feeling a little under the weather...that's why I'm taking care of everything here. Why don't you just...have the day off?" she suggested, sounding slightly anxious.
Peter set his bag onto the nearby table. "All the more reason for me to be here. Besides...I need the money. Student loans, you know?"
"It's alright, you're taking paid leave then."
"But Mrs. C, I'm casual," Peter argued. "I don't have paid leave."
"I-It's fine Peter. Curt and I will work it out okay? We're just behind on all our paperwork and stuff. We need some extra time to pin it all down."
Okay, Peter didn't need his spider-sense to tell that something was up. His common sense was sufficient this time.
However, before he could press any further, his phone erupted with his trademark yodelling ringtone. It was Annabelle. Peter reluctantly conceded. "Alright...just please, let me know if you need help."
Martha nodded wearily and turned back to her computer.
With an air of defeat permeating his very soul, Peter slunk out of the lab. He supposed even with his spider powers, he couldn't exactly save his boss' marriage. He shrugged and finally answered his phone.
"Hello?" Annabelle started.
"Hey you called me," Peter said, confused. "I'm supposed to say hello."
"Whatever, you were too slow. Why'd you pick up, I thought you had work?"
"Uh, I got the day off. I guess I should ask why you always call me when I'm working then get all weirded out when I actually pick up."
"Yeah you probably should," Annabelle remarked. As usual, Peter couldn't keep up with her racing train of thought. Before he could follow through, she blurted, "Hey, you wanna go to the sushi train with me?"
Peter furrowed his brow as he navigated the University building. "You don't like sushi."
"Yeah. But I like picking stuff off the train thing. You can just tell me what you want and I can get it for you."
Peter hesitated, running his budget through his head. Seconds ticked by in silence until Annabelle added, "I can pay."
"Yeah. Okay," Peter chirped.
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Ragged, wheezing breaths laced the evening air. Phlegm in Curtis' throat layered it with a wet rasp. Martha sat at his bedside, careful to take his temperature every thirty minutes and monitor his vitals - 90% of his skin had peeled, revealing a fresh layer that was undoubtedly influenced by the Early Growth Response compound that Curtis had rashly trialled on himself. It was rough, scaly, and coarse.
His eyes had secreted pus earlier in the day. After the discharge stopped, Martha noted that her husband's eyes had changed colour from blue to yellow, and the iris was unmistakably reptilian.
Martha snapped out of her tired daze when she heard a pair of footsteps enter the room. Billy, with his tousled blonde hair, was standing in the doorway with a dinner tray in his hands. On it was a bowl of soup for his father, and a cup of coffee for his mother.
"Oh God...I was going to sort all that out," Martha sighed.
Fixing his eyes on the tray as he cautiously continued into the room, Billy shook his head. "It's okay, mom. You fell asleep for a bit so I wanted to help."
Martha always knew he was mature for a boy his age. Other ten year olds wouldn't have understood all of this...but Billy was a saint. He kept quiet and he helped keep an eye on Curtis' condition without any qualms. She knew that without Billy there, Martha would've broken apart at the seams.
As Billy laid the tray onto the bedside table, Martha grabbed the mug of coffee from it and strode for the door. "Stay with your dad for a bit okay? I'll fix up your dinner."
The kitchen wasn't as clean as it usually was. Martha was worried sick about her husband's genetic transition...she wasn't exactly concerned with dirty dishe at the moment.
Billy, although a massive help around the house, was still a child. Pantry doors were still open, the butter was left sitting on the counter, and the bag of bread hadn't been tied back up. Martha couldn't blame him. He did well enough to get supper ready for Curtis, let alone without any instruction.
As Martha finally tended to the forlorn kitchen, her mind began to wander. There were people that she could go to for help...people far more familiar with these strange circumstances. Reed Richards had a facility in New York and everyone knew that he was the man to see if you had problems with genetic alteration. He literally wrote the book on it.
The more she considered it, the more she became paranoid. Richards was an honest man. He would make it known that Curtis deviated from University protocol and brashly tested an experimental editing process on himself...Martha simply couldn't have that. They'd be fired.
Several hours passed, enough time for Martha to work her magic and get the kitchen into a somewhat adequate level of cleanliness. Curtis was always much better at cleaning than she was. He had this compulsion for order and organisation. She, however, could control finances like some kind of demented Wall Street banker. In short, he'd be bankrupt without her, and she'd be lost without him. She tried not to think about that right now.
With a plate adorned with a club sandwich, Martha urgently strode back into Curtis' room to deliver the goods to Billy.
The first thing she heard when she stepped inside was this loud squelching. It sounded to her like someone squeezing wet mince meat. Then came the scraping. Like stone against stone.
Billy was hunched over Curtis' bed. Save for some momentary twitches, he didn't move a muscle. Curtis' face was pressed against his neck.
The pair shifted just a touch, and the new-found line of sight made Martha drop the plate to the floor. Curtis had his teeth buried into Billy's throat. Blood was everywhere, flecked all across Curtis' face. He sucked, chewed, and slurped.
Martha leapt forward, seized her son's shoulders, and wrenched him backwards. With enough of her strength, she managed to pry Billy free. Strings of tendon snapped, causing the pair to tumble onto the ground.
She looked into the eyes of her son. They were cold, dead, and motionless. His throat had been ripped out and devoured.
Curtis, perched upon the bed like a gargoyle, stared unblinking with narrowed gold eyes at his wife. Her hands trembled, her eyes welled with tears. At this moment, Martha Connors knew that her husband was gone.