Variant Strain

The drive from the hospital had been awkward and quiet.

They passed their house and Peter saw the yellow Police tape across the front door. There was some more of the tape indelicately wound through the garden and winced as he realized they'd even has the rose bushes he'd thrown up on specifically taped off.

He looked away hurriedly, not eager to remember any more details, but unable to keep the memory of it away.

The voice in his head, distant and thready now, but its drawl still distinct whispered back, Where you threw most of me back up so y'all could stay pretty.

Peter shuddered.

Aunt May noticed and reached a hand over to cover his. "It'll be okay, Peter." She said with a brittle tone. He dared not contradict her, because she looked tightly wound and even the smallest thing would have her crying again. It hadn't been as bad when they'd been at the hospital. Or the local Walmart buying him new clothes. He was still in surgical scrubs that Aunt May had browbeat out of the hospital staff, but it beat having to go home in a hospital gown and no underwear.

Well, he still had no underwear at the moment, he mused... but the scrubs were surprisingly comfortable despite that.

And... yes.. that's right. He closed his eyes. Soothe yourself with inane babble. It beat the alternative.

He took one last glance as they passed and noticed an unfamiliar car in their driveway and a man who'd been walking towards it.

He lost sight of the man as they went around the street corner, bringing their back yard, which was still visible from the street, into view. He had a strange, vivid memory of climbing up the tree to his own window in the dark rise up out of nowhere.

He wondered where that had come from. He'd never climbed that tree. It's low branches were a good ten feet off the ground.

The window was still open, but what caught his eye was the strange rust colored stain that seemed to run down from the window. Given the brown siding, it probably shouldn't even really have been that visible, but his eyesight had been so much sharper since... things.

He wasn't even wearing his glasses anymore. Not that he was sure what had happened to them last night.

The stain was probably just a leak from the gutters, he mused, but then realized that if it had come from the gutters, it should've started from the roof. Odd.

"We'll be at Anna's any minute now." Aunt May said unnecessarily, with a note of false cheer. "I'm glad she was willing to put us up. Otherwise we might've had to stay at a motel, or something."

Peter snapped his attention away from his study of the back of the house and did his best to smile at his aunt. "Great." He said glumly.

"We'll be able to... we'll be able to go home soon enough and..." May sighed as she turned onto the Anna Watson's driveway, just a few houses away from theirs. "There's just so much to do, Peter."

"I know, Aunt May." Peter said quietly.

"You'll be in the den," May went on. "Anna has an old desktop computer in there she says you can use as much as you like." She waggled a finger at him, mock sternly, "Just no viruses and no porn. We're guests, so I need you to be on your best behavior."

He smiled weakly at her little joke, "Aw, Aunt May, you know I only ever look for porn when--" The quip trailed off. Ben had been the one to encourage Peter to search for 'interesting' pictures online and laughed whenever she caught them. He shook his head hurriedly and finished weakly, "-- I'm pretty sure I know better than to do that when I'm the only guy there."

May eyed him for a moment, knowing what he'd been about to say and both of them looked at one another, awkwardly avoiding the unexpected conversational landmine.

It was just hard not to think of him. Or remember him. He'd always been there.

And now he wasn't.

That was that.

Stronger than tears, boy. Hold it in.

He steadied himself as his aunt brought the car to a stop in the driveway. She looked unsteady as she stared blankly out the windshield to... nothing. Technically the garage door, but she wasn't seeing that. Peter could only guess at what she was seeing. A future without Ben Parker, probably. Her expression told him plainly that she didn't like the sight of it.

Anna Watson bustled out of the house, wearing a soft, understanding smile and sweats that did nothing to hide her figure. She'd apparently had time to change ouf of her clothes from earlier and take a shower. Her hair was wet... Peter's gaze locked on a single droplet of water trailing a meandering line down the side of her neck from somewhere behind her ear. There was the faint lilac scent of what he realized was her shampoo tickling at his nose from twenty feet away.

He closed his eyes hurriedly and looked away. What had happened to him?

Anna greeted the Parkers and helped them out of the car. There was no luggage, just a pair of Walmart bags, one filled with his clothes and another with his aunt's. Enough changes for a few days and some towels and some basic toiletries.

She'd told him that the cops hadn't even let her grab their toothbrushes.

Peter noted that there was a shadow in one of the upstairs windows. It was there and gone before he could get more than a brief impression of it. Feminine, red hair. A hoodie. Probably Ms. Watson's neice, the mysterious MJ.

They were just about to enter through the front door when the car Peter hadn't recognized from their driveway pulled up and a man stepped out. He had a full head of sandy brown hair that had been parted to one side and beginning a slow retreat from his forehead. Peter guessed he was in his forties. He had a blunt, honest face with sharp cheekbones and a leading chin. He wore a dark blue suit and tie, clean and well-pressed. Presentable, but not expensive.

May frowned slightly before her eyes widened with surprise. "George?"

"Hello, May." The man replied gravely, but not without some warmth. He nodded a greeting to Anna as well, but he strode up the driveway at an even lope and took May's hand in his.

She seemed briefly surprised, but then let his hand go and hugged the man fiercely. "It is good to see you."

He nodded. "I just wish it had been under better circumstances. My condolences. Ben was a good man."

May nodded, "Thank you, George."

Pete glanced over to Anna, asking a wordless question with an incline of his head. She shrugged.

May turned and put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You remember my nephew, Peter."

The man turned his attention to Peter and shook his hand gravely. "You're the spitting image of your father, I swear."

Peter smiled an apologetic smile and shook his head, "I'm sorry... I don't kno--"

"No, it's my fault. It's been years since you saw me last." The man said with his own small apologetic smile. "I'm Detective George Stacy. Your father and I graduated the Police Academy together."

A light clicked on in Peter's head. Vague memories of the man... younger... thicker head of hair. Rolled up shirtsleeves and sharing beers with his father in the living room. Peter would have been in the room with them, playing quietly while a football game played on TV. He remembered a little blonde-haired girl his age stealing his legos, then getting sent to stand in the corner because you weren't supposed to hit girls. No matter how hard they hit you first.

"Detective Stacy..." Pete's smile warmed. He did remember the man now. The last time he'd seen him was maybe a year or more before his parent's deaths.

"Ah, you do remember." George nodded approvingly, then turned entirely to face May. "We need to talk... there's some news about Ben's case."

Anna treated George to a friendly... perhaps overly friendly smile and said, "Why don't you all come in, then? You can talk in the living room and I can get everyone something to drink."

May nodded to Anna and nodded. "Thank you, that would be wonderful."

Detective Stacy introduced himself to Anna and she used both hands to hold his as they shook hands. Peter could tell George was making a point to display his wedding ring prominently.

The Parkers settled onto Anna's overstuffed couch and George took the easy chair. Anna ducked into her kitchen and busied herself making them... something. Peter could smell water being put on the boil. Coffee probably, he guessed.

George regarded May, then Peter and said, "Last night, about an hour after Ben Parker was shot, two teen-aged junkies were shot resisting arrest after attempting to hold up a liquor store. They and their vehicle matched the neighbor's descriptions of the men fleeing your home."

May, who had been holding her breath suddenly let it out in an explosive and relieved rush. "So it's over?" She asked in a trembling voice and George looked away at the expression in her eyes.

Peter shook his head. "I actually saw them. They weren't junkies, Mr. Sta-- I mean, Detective Stacey. "

"Call me George." He replied, looking directly at Peter. "I just got a call an hour ago. Ballistics matched the bullets they found in your house with the guns the two dead suspects had." He gave them both a level look. "I've been informed that the case is closed."

Aunt May looked puzzled. "That's good, right? You found the men responsible?"

"It doesn't make sense, Aunt May. These guys were... they weren't kids." Peter said, his voice was low. He felt cold. There was something... oddly familiar about all that.

"That's actually why I was down here," George replied. "You were the eyewitness, Peter. I need you to tell me what happened."

"But you just said you'd been told the case was closed?" May asked.

"I know. And my chief told me... Told me... specifically to close the case." He leaned back in his seat and made a helpless gesture. "He's not saying anything, but it's obvious he's under some sort of pressure for the case to be closed. They're rushing this and that makes me suspicious." He reached out and laid a hand on May's. "I want to make sure we've got the right bastards and not some convenient scapegoats someone else dug up."

May closed her eyes. Then she reopened them, she favored George with a sharp glance, her expression had gone hard. "Why do you think this isn't as simple as it looks?"

"Because someone's in a hurry to make this all go away." George said with a shrug. "Because the setup stinks. Because I just got word from CSI that even though they're closing the case... they're not releasing the crime scene til some specialists arrive to do clean up. Someone is going to a lot of trouble to make sure no one looks too closely at this whole thing." He said gently to May, "And I'm sorry if it seems like I'm jerking you around, but you know I would never do that to you. I don't want this to end up like what happened to Richie and Mary all over again."

"My parents?" Peter asked looking up at George.

George glanced over to May and Peter could read the question in that glance.

May replied quietly. Her voice pained and raw. Peter's heart went out to her. The situation was bad enough,but Detective Stacey seemed intent on reopening old wounds, "We told Peter that his parents died in an industrial accident at his mother's workplace."

George nodded. "Except the investigation into what actually happened at Gentek that day got shut down fast. NYPD was told to stay out of the way of their internal security and they would handle everything."

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly. Gentek again. It nagged at him... those memories that weren't quite his whispered images of clean white labs. Crisp linen sheets. Cages... blood... everywhere. Peter closed his eyes to suppress a shudder. May put an arm around him.

George sighed, "I'm sorry, May. I really, really don't want to--"

"I understand what you're doing." May said, her tone softer now, but the brittle edge to her was back. It was simply too much at once. She nodded to Peter, "You should go ahead and tell him what happened."

Peter looked from his aunt, then to Detective Stacey. The man leaned back into the easy chair once more and he seemed to shift, somehow. His full attention was now on Peter. If he'd had any doubts at all whether the man was a police officer or not, that look dispelled them. He took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts, not sure what to tell. Not sure if he should even mention any of those strange other details...

That he'd eaten a man.

And enjoyed it.

That perhaps he wasn't quite human.

He shuddered again and chewed on his lower lip, trying his best to look as though he were gathering his thoughts rather than trying to come up with a plausible inoffensive lie.

"What do you want to know?" Peter finally asked.

"Take me through what happened." George said.

"I was up waiting with Uncle Ben for Aunt May," Peter began. "We were just getting out of the kitchen with a snack... then someone kicked in the front door. A man in a hoodie. Once he was in the living room, then the other two guys came in, they had the guns."

George frowned, "Three guys?"

"Yes."

"Go on."

"They were wearing some kind of military get up. In black. Like SWAT team guys on TV?"

George nodded.

"Only without anything written on it. They were calling each other Smith and Jones." His own voice rose up in his head, except you never actually heard Smith call Jones by name, did you? You heard his name during their mission briefing... a mission briefing you were never at. So why are you remembering things that didn't happen to you?

"You're sure?" George asked.

"Yes. Definitely calling each other that." He gestured vaguely. "They had gasmasks on. I never got a look at their faces. They told me and Uncle Ben to cooperate. The... the first one was sniffing around. Like he was some sort of blood hound or something. Like they were looking for something."

The runner. The voice drawled, as a memory rose up to his conscious mind. You had Ed Wheland's scent all over you. Now why was that?

Peter gulped nervously. "That... that guy came close to me and Uncle Ben didn't like that. Then Smith... he was nervous. He told Uncle Ben not to move. He gestured with his rifle." Peter raised his hands and mimicked the motion, "Like this."

"You're alright, Peter." George said soothingly. "Can you tell the rest?"

Peter nodded and gestured, "I... I guess his finger just caught on the trigger. His rifle went off. Uncle Ben just..." He stopped, glancing over to his Aunt, her lips were compressed into a thin line, but tears were gathering at her eyes. "He just fell down."

"What happened next?"

"The pistol guy... that's Jones. He told the guy in the hoodie to pick up Uncle Ben... and Smith was supposed to grab me. He acted like he knew how police would respond. It was like they'd done this kind of thing before. Then..." Peter said, then stopped once more, not sure how to continue.

"Then?"

"Don't press him, George." May said, drawing her arm on Peter's shoulders tigher. "It's alright. You don't have to--"

The whispery little voice drawled, Can't let 'em know I'm a monster. It'd be the chair for sure.

When did the voice start referring to Peter as 'I' instead of 'you'? Or had it always done that?

Want to talk to yourself some more and let the cop get more and more suspicious, idiot? His own voice shot back. The Southern drawl was still there, but it was his voice, clear and strong. It was his own thoughts echoing back at him. He needed to lie. Simple. Simple lies are best. Nothing anyone can check. More memories... Cletus Kassidy could like like a champion... always could.

Peter looked at Detective Stacy. He looked him straight in the eye, doing his best to project frustration, weariness, confusion... all the things he was already feeling, but underlying it all was a sincerity he wasn't entirely sure he felt.

"I'm sorry, Detective." He shrugged helplessly, glancing over to his Aunt once more. "I just... I kind of lost it when they did that. I don't know what happened. It just turned into a blur. I remember running at them and just trying to hit them." He hedged, "I'm pretty sure I got Smith in the arm while that happened. All I could think about was getting the guy in the hoodie to drop Uncle Ben. The next thing I remember I was throwing up into Aunt May's rose bushes and she was coming up the driveway. I guess they must've panicked or something when she pulled up."

George Stacy eyed him sympathetically for a long moment and Peter wasn't entirely certain if there had been a momentary gleam of suspicion in the man's eyes, but the policeman nodded. He pulled his wallet from an inside coat pocket and slid a business card out to May. "If you think of anything else... or you need to talk or something. Give me a call, alright?"

May nodded stiffly, accepting the card.

Peter continued to sit quietly as the man got to his feet and left.

Anna finally came back in bearing a tray with two mugs of coffee and one that smelled to Peter's enhanced sense of smell to be hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows.

"He left already?" Anna asked innocently.

May allowed a brief smile to break through as she regarded her friend. Peter realized that preparing the coffee shouldn't have taken as long as it had. Anna was no longer in her sweats, but was wearing an overly casual blouse with a scoop-neck and some rather spectacularly tight jeans.

"You know, he's a very happily married man, you shameless hussy." May said with a twinge of amusement.

"What? I was just being friendly," Anna said with an impish smile and a teasing gleam in her eye.

Peter was about to snap at how... inappropriate her behavior was when he recognized it for what it was... her own way of trying to keep Aunt May distracted. Cheering her up. It seemed to work a little . He also couldn't help but admit to himself that those were some very nice pants.

He fought down an embarrassed flush as he realized he was eyeing a woman over twice his age once again. He cleared his throat and asked, "Where am I staying?"

Anna smiled and beckoned him over to an open archway. "The den is right through here... no door, I'm afriad, and I know how much teenagers like their privacy." She shrugged apologetically, "Sorry."

May shook her head, "Nonsense, Anna. We appreciate you putting us up like this."

Anna made a dismissive noise and waved her hand, "Think nothing of it. Now, there's a small half-bath with a shower on the ground floor. We've got the upstairs bath, so hopefully there won't be too much of a logjam in the morning. MJ wasn't feeling well, so I'll introduce you to her a little later today if she feels like coming down, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am." Peter ducked his head.

"Ma'am... hah!" Anna laughed, It was a pleasant laugh, Pete admitted to himself. "Just call me Anna, or Aunt Anna if you really want to. Calling me ma'am just makes me feel old."

"Yes, ma-- I mean Yes, Aunt Anna."

She smiled brightly, "Good boy. Now, May? You're with me. Let's get you settled in, alright?"

May nodded quietly and followed the younger woman up the stairs.

Peter sat down heavily on the sofa bed and closed his eyes.

He needed to think.