The Black Spider - 1. Chapter 1: Anniversary

Since it’d been set at exactly 10:15 and 15 seconds the night before, the alarm clock on the bedside table had been waiting eagerly to perform the most exciting of the two tasks it carried out. It’d been counting down the hours, minutes and seconds. And as 6:29 and 59 seconds became 6:30 exactly, the alarm clock filled the bedroom it occupied with its electronic shout of joy.

A hand reached over to the alarm clock and fingers slapped the long, rectangular button on its top marked “snooze”. The alarm clock fell silent again, content in carrying out its task, and wondering if it might get the chance to do it again five minutes later. Its wonder was put to disappointing conclusion as the owner of the hand and fingers slid the sliding switch for the alarm and radio to the “off” position.

The owner of the hand and fingers sat up in the bed and lazily moved into a sitting position on the edge of the bed closest to the bedside table.

“Peter? You up?” a woman’s voice called from the opposite end of the closed door to the room.

“Yeah, Aunt May. I’m up,” the owner of the hand and fingers, Peter, answered groggily.

“And out of bed?”

Peter sighed.

“Yes, Aunt May. I’m about to walk to the closet and get my clothes,” he replied in mock sweetness.

“Boy, it’s too early in the morning. Don’t be gettin' cute,” Aunt May warned good-naturedly.

Peter chuckled.

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“Hurry up so you can eat before you go.” Aunt May sent further direction through the door.

“I will.”

Aunt May went on to her next task as Peter stood up and stretched the last of the sleepiness out of his body. While that felt good, the knowledge of what day it was did not. It was the one year anniversary of his uncle, Ben’s, death.

On that night, Ben, who’d been one of Los Angeles’s finest, had gone out to handle a domestic violence call. It’d been in one of the more upscale neighborhoods, the type where crime rarely happened. So all the neighbors had for drama was to spy, or narc, on each other. It was a “concerned neighbor” who’d made the call in the first place. When Ben arrived on scene, the concerned neighbor and her husband were outside to greet him and give him the info on who he was about to meet.

A husband and wife lived in the house. They had two kids and were nice people who’d been going through some stresses lately, but never enough to fight. On that particular evening, however, there’d been yelling. There’d even been the sound of things breaking.

“Our concern is for the children, you know? They’re in the house right now,” the female neighbor had said.

Ben had thanked them, told them to return to their home, and went on up to the front door of the domestic disturbance house.

The neighbors had been defiant. They had not returned to their home as instructed. Instead they’d lingered to see if anybody came to answer the front door. They continued to linger when the man of the house opened the door and allowed Ben to step inside. Lingering stopped when gun shots went off seven minutes later and the two began to argue over whether or not one – or both – of them should go up to the house. Their arguing ceased a minute later when they heard the children start screaming. That’d sent them both running up to, and into, the house.

Whatever happened in the house, nobody could explain. But it’d left the man of the house, the woman of the house, and Ben dead. The children had been in their rooms, too absorbed in the activities they were doing until the gunshots went off. That’s what’d brought them out to a grim discovery.

The husband; identified as Jerrod Herring, the wife; identified as LeNeisha Herring, and Ben had all been killed by gunshot wound. The only gun in the house had been Ben’s, the only hand prints found on the gun were his, and it was bullets from his gun that’d killed all three of them. However, none of the bodies had a self-inflicted gunshot wound. It was as if Ben’s gun had taken on a life of its own and shot the three of them.

Ben’s death had been very hard on Peter and his Aunt May. Ben was the only father Peter had known, since his real one had been taken – along with his mother – in a horrible car accident when he was two. As for May, she had lost her soul mate of whom she’d married right out of high school. Both her and Peter had wanted to fall apart completely. Instead, they’d been each other’s anchor and rock throughout the ordeal, and had managed to make it through.

The case was classified as a homicide. A homicide that was still no closer to being solved one year later. That meant no answers for Peter and May, and no answers for the two children whose parents’ death had left them orphaned. There’d been no next of kin to take in Jerrod and LeNeisha’s nine-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter. May had opened her home to them until they could be placed with a family. Eight months – and no family – later, May went the extra mile and applied for their adoption. The attempt was rewarded with success.

As Peter stood with the double doors of his bedroom closet open, looking at the clothes he’d ironed for himself the night before, the pain from earlier in the morning threatened to come back. All night long he’d been plagued by dreams of his lost uncle. In all of them, Ben was still alive and life had continued on as normal. Peter had known they were dreams even as they happened. He knew his uncle was gone. But a certain part of him took solace in seeing his uncle alive and well again.

It wasn’t until his mind pulled a whammy on him and whipped out a dream, within a dream that things changed. Peter had been dumbfounded when he’d woken up and saw that Ben was still alive. That dream had lasted for awhile and ended with something that’d been so commonplace that Peter hadn’t realized its flaw until he was waking up.

He’d followed Ben out the front door of the house and onto the front step. Ben had knelt down in front of him, bringing them face to face.

“Alright, I gotta go out here and catch the bad guys. What’re your orders until I get back?” Ben asked.

“Sir, to clean my room, help with the dishes, and watch out for Aunt May, sir!” Peter replied.

Ben smiled.

“That’s right, cadet. Keep this up, you’ll make officer yet.”

Peter answered by saluting his uncle. Ben laughed and wrapped Peter in a hug.

“I’ll be back later to check on your progress.” Ben stood and began to walk toward the end of the walkway, where his patrol car was parked at the curb in front of the house.

“Sir, yes sir. Be careful out there, Uncle,” Peter said.

“That’s a promise.”

Ben walked the rest of the way and got into his patrol car. Before he got ready to pull off, he looked over at Peter and waved. Peter waved back. As Ben pulled off, Peter noticed that his waving hand was a lot smaller than it should’ve been. Instead of waving with the hand of a sixteen year old, he was waving with what looked like the hand of a kid. That was when the dream closed and he woke up.

He hadn’t wanted to cry, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been ten back when he used to walk his Uncle Ben out to start his shift. It’d become a thing between them until Ben was put on the graveyard shift just before Peter turned eleven.

For almost an hour the tears and emotion had forced their way out of him. It’d been hard to keep quiet. During the entire event, part of Peter was disgusted that his mind would play such a sick joke on him. The other part was heartbroken at having to leave what had turned out to be a fantasy for the ugly truth.

'Maybe I shouldn’t go to school today,' Peter thought to himself.

Aunt May had given him and his foster siblings the day off. The plan was to visit the graves of their loved ones and just spend the day together. The only reason Peter had detoured partly from the plan was because he had a class field trip that was going to the new Los Angeles Oscorp building. If he missed it, it meant a ton of make up work from not just one class, but two other classes who’s lesson plans revolved around the field trip.

'Better stick to the plan.' Peter decided, reaching for his shirt.

Five minutes later, he was dressed and onto the next step in the morning ritual of getting ready. That took him to the bathroom for teeth brushing, face washing, etc. Once that was taken care of, Peter left the bathroom in pursuit of step three; breakfast.

As he headed down the hall toward the front of the house, where the front room kitchen, and dining room were located, he passed by one of the open bedroom doors. Something shot out and tagged him in the shoulder. Looking, Peter saw a blue rubber ball, that was slightly smaller than a baseball, hit the ground. Reaching down and grabbing the ball as it started to roll down the hallway, he looked through the open door and into the bedroom at the culprit. Still dressed in his pajamas, and wearing a cheeky grin, was his recently turned ten year old foster brother, Trejon – Tre – Stuart-Parker.

“Oh!” Tre feigned surprise. “Sorry, Peter. Didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, don’t even worry about it.” Peter shrugged. “You just gave me one more to add to my collection.”

This wasn’t the first time – or the last Peter knew for a fact – that Tre had thrown something at him to get his attention. In their year of getting to know each other, Peter had gotten used to Tre’s spontaneous acts. It’s why he was somewhat cautious whenever Tre walked up behind him or walked passed behind him. There was a chance Tre might be in the mood to incite a chase by smacking Peter in the back of the head. It was also why Peter always checked the shower whenever he went into the bathroom. Tre could be in there waiting for a chance to jump out and attempt to scare him.

There were more random things to watch out for, but the one Peter had to watch out for least of all was the one that’d just happened.

“Peter, no! That’s my last one!” Tre rushed over to Peter and attempted to grab the ball from him.

“Should’ve thought about that before you threw it then, huh?” Peter held the ball up and out of Tre’s reach.

“Please don’t take it. I won’t throw it at you again, I swear.”

“Umm…” Peter pretended to consider.

Then, he shook his head.

“Nope. Still ain’t hearin’ you,” he said.

“Peter, quit playin’! Look…”

Tre got down on his knees and put his hands together like he was about to pray.

“Please. I’m on my knees begging you. Please, please, please don’t take it,” he pleaded.

The cheeky grin from earlier had hit the highway. Its replacement was a look that appeared on the face of all kids when serious about what they’re begging for.

“All right.” Peter rolled his eyes. “And I’m only doing it this one time. You throw something at me again and there won’t be no conversation. I’ll just keep it.”

Peter waited for Tre to stand back up before he tossed the ball to him. Peter half expected Tre to catch the ball and throw it right back at him again. Instead, Tre thew it onto his bed – which was already made – where it landed and rested near the bottom.

“Wait…are you actually going to school?” Tre asked in disbelief.

Peter chuckled inwardly at the fact that it’d taken him that long to notice the clothing.

“No.” Peter shook his head. “I just felt like getting dressed up at the crack of dawn for no reason.”

Tre had to fight to stifle his laugh. It would ruin what he had to say next.

“Dang.” He shook his head. “Going to school on a day you don’t even have to go on. You really are a big fat nerd!”

“Okay.” Peter slid off his backpack and dropped in on the floor. “That little comment just earned you a body slam.”

Tre didn’t even get a chance to speak. All he got the chance to utter was a surprised squeak as Peter took him, hoisted him up off of the ground, into the air, and planted him across the center of his bed. Peter had long since learned that he could safely perform the body slam maneuver on his little foster brother. The power of impact could be controlled since Tre was still pretty light. With little brother’s body slammed, Peter pressed just enough of his weight down to pin Tre against the bed.

“Nuuuu! I can not let you win!” Tre proclaimed in his impression of a Japanese anime character.

“You have no choice, boy! My power is supreme!” Peter countered. “One!”

“Nuuu!” Tre struggled to get free.

“Two!”

“I said nuuuuu!” Tre struggled harder.

Peter fought back his laughter in time to count: “Three! He’s out!”

“I have…failed you…master.” Tre gave up the struggle.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner and still reigning champion: Peter “The Slammer” Parker!”

Lifting his weight off of Tre, Peter prepared to stand and imitate a cheering audience.

“Ah-ha!” Tre lashed out with his legs once Peter moved into the correct position, and locked them around his neck.

Peter hadn’t been completely surprised by the move. It was Tre’s second favorite just behind a sleeper hold. He unleashed it whenever he got the chance.

“Now what’re you gonna do, champion?” Tre locked his legs almost completely around Peter’s neck.

He knew not to go all the way. He’d learned that on the day he’d almost suffocated Peter. Tre thought Peter was just playing around when he’d said that he couldn’t breathe. When Peter’s fingers dug themselves into the sides of his rib cage so hard that it’d hurt, Tre had finally let up. Peter had coughed and choked as he worked to catch his breath. That was when Tre realized that Peter hadn’t been playing when he’d said that he couldn’t breathe.

“Treason! The champion accuses the challenger of treason!” Peter objected from his awkward position.

“How does the champion like how the challenger’s balls smell? Huh?” Tre grinned in triumph. “Your treason is right between my…”

“Excuse me!” An unexpected voice interrupted the match.

The sound of it caused Tre to immediately unlock his legs from Peter’s neck and scoot back across his bed. There at his bedroom door was Aunt May. She did not look pleased.

“What did I just hear come out of your mouth?” She also didn’t sound pleased.

“Uh…” Tre felt all the fun drain out of him and fear move in to take its place. “Nothin’.”

“Oh really? Well, I don’t want to hear nothin’ like that come out your mouth again, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tre nodded.

May’s attention turned to Peter.

“And where are you supposed to be?” she inquired.

“On my way there right now,” Peter said, starting out of the room for his backpack.

“You only got ten minutes left, so get you an instant oatmeal out the cabinet, make it in the microwave, and eat.”

“Yes ma’am.”

May resumed her trip down the hallway as Peter stepped out of Tre’s room and picked up his backpack. She listened as Peter said,

“Later second place.”

“Whatever, you big fat nerd,” Tre retorted.

“At least I’m in first place.”

She smiled to herself as Peter’s steps sounded down the opposite end of the hallway. It always did her heart good to hear the two boys bantering, playing, and talking as if they’d always been a part of each other’s lives. And five minutes later, as she walked toward the kitchen, it did her heart better when she heard Peter talking to his youngest foster sibling, Zeyna.

She hadn’t wanted Peter to get in trouble earlier, so she’d waited until he was eating to come and show him the pictures she’d drawn. The first was for her mother and father. Through Zeyna and Peter’s conversation, May learned that Zeyna had drawn the old house her, Tre, and their parents had lived in. Daddy was out on the front porch, smoking his cigar. Mama was out front of the house tending to her rosebushes. And Tre was pushing her on the swing that was hooked up to the tree on the opposite side of the yard. A big sun sat in the sky, along with clouds and a few birds in flight.

“This is what we used to do on Sunday after church sometimes,” Zeyna explained.

“It looks like everybody’s having a good time. Did Tre used to push you really high?” Peter asked.

“One time. We were trying to see if we could make the swing do a loop, but daddy told us not to do it because we could get hurt.”

“He was right. I got in trouble at school for trying to do that one time.”

“Did you have to go to the principal?”

“No. I just couldn’t get on the swings for a week. But this is really good, Zeyna. I think they would like this picture very much.”

“Me too. And the second picture I drew is for Uncle Ben.”

Zeyna had drawn the same house as the first drawing, but this time there was a police car out front. A man dressed up in a police uniform led another man down the walkway from the house to the car. Four people stood on the front porch and two more stood by the patrol car. There was another big sun in the sky, birds, clouds, and a rainbow.

“This isn’t a drawing from real life. This is what it would be like if Uncle Ben caught the bad guy instead.”

Zeyna identified the people standing on the front porch as her, Tre, and their parents. The two people standing by the patrol car were Aunt May and Peter.

“Uncle Ben would’ve loved this. He would’ve said you did a awesome job.” Peter complimented her.

“Really? You think so?” Zeyna asked.

“I know so.”

Zeyna’s reply was cut off as the doorbell at the front door rang. May resumed her routine and stepped into the kitchen just as Peter was about to announce he would get the door.

“Go ahead and leave that. I’ll take care of it,” May said to Peter as he got ready to take his bowl over to the sink.

“It’s no problem, Aunt May, I can—”

“Boy, leave that bowl right there and get on out of here.”

Peter did as instructed and grabbed his backpack.

“Call me when you guys are on the way back to the school,” May instructed.

“Okay. See y’all later. And Zeyna, show Aunt May your pictures.”

“Okay, Peter. Bye.”

Taking his leave as Zeyna began to show May her pictures, Peter went to the front door and didn’t even bother to look out of the peephole to see who it was before he opened it. He already knew who was there.

“Hey, you ready?” the person Peter was expecting to be on the other side said.

The person’s name was Glen Stacy. He and Peter had known each other since they were little. They’d gone to the same elementary, junior high, and now high school together. Over that span of time the two had forged a strong friendship with each other. Once they hit high school, however, that friendship had grown into something more.

“Yeah. Let’s roll out,” Peter answered, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him.

He took out his keys and locked the top lock, before starting to walk with Glen toward his car. The car, a 2002 silver and black Z-28 Camaro, had been a birthday present to Glen from his father when he’d turned sixteen. His father had used his connections to not only locate a good, running version of the car, but also parts. Glen and his father had taken the old parts out, put the new parts in, found and put on good tires and rims, stripped the paint on the car, and repainted it together.

The entire time Glen was under the impression that the car was going to the yearly police auction that helped raise money for some of the homeless shelters in town. It’d blown him away when he’d found out the car was his. But it’d come with exceptions. Straight A’s when it came to school grades, and no driving it like someone who didn’t know better.

Glen unlocked the doors using the remote control that was built into the car’s ignition key. Peter slid off his backpack and got in on the passenger side. He sat his backpack down on the floor between his legs and shut the door. He looked out the front window of the car at the neighborhood, then out the passenger window at his own place as Glen got in on the driver’s side, shut the door, stuck the key into the ignition, and started the car.

“And we’re clear.” Peter announced.

Both he and Glen came together and kissed each other good morning.

“Ooh! Blueberry!” Glen smacked his lips.

“Yeah.” Peter laughed. “Ate up all the strawberry.”

Glen put the car in drive and began the journey to the next stop.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ll be glad when the day comes when we don’t have to be all secretive about bein’ together,” Peter said.

“Pssh. Probably won’t happen in our lifetime,” Glen replied, shaking his head.

Both the boys were fully aware of the connotations their relationship brought. They knew the whole “It gets better” routine was complete bullshit. As long as people held on to their hate and prejudice, it would never get better. And while neither boy was ashamed or afraid of their sexuality and love for one another, neither had the remotest desire to make what was already a teeter-totter high school experience fall straight into the negative.

It would be just as bad in their families. A lot of black folks did not believe in homosexual, especially the old-schoolers. Peter knew his Aunt May would not have it if she ever found out. It was a sin for a man to lay with another man. It was an act that could send his soul to hell forever. It would have to go in the name of Jesus Christ. And he would have to learn to resist the Devil when he came calling.

Glen knew his father, captain of the police force, wouldn’t even think about Jesus Christ. He’d be a lot more basic. He’d tell Glen that he didn’t understand. Glen was a boy, not a girl. How could he even want another boy in that way? Did he think he was a girl now? Was he one of those transgenders? Glen would explain and try to get his father to understand. But he knew it would eventually lead to his father putting his foot down and squaring Glen with the look that meant he was giving his final word: “My son ain’t no sissy,” he would say it and mean it.

“No.” Peter agreed with Glen’s comment. “But it would be nice if it did.”

“Yeah. It would.” Glen nodded. “But on a sidenote, I’ma miss you tonight.”

“Me too. It’s gonna be weird not going to your house today,” Peter agreed.

Glen’s was usually where him, their friend, Mary-Jane, and their other friend, Elizabeth, wound up after school. The four of them would study and/or do their homework together. The girls both had the same honors classes. Peter and Glen were in the same R.W.L – Real World Learning – classes. The girls were only allowed to stay for a couple of hours. Peter was allowed to stay longer. And since homework and studying was usually taken care of in those couple of hours, the boys were left to their own devices.

“Well, you know we got a couple a minutes before we get to M.J.’s. I could hook you up.” Peter offered.

The approaching stop sign gave Glen the moment he needed to look over at Peter with a fake glare.

“So what you tryna say? I’m a minute man?” Glen retorted.

“What I’m sayin’ is that I’m so good it’ll only take me a minute….maaaan!” Peter sent back.

Glen cracked up laughing.

“Why you so nasty?” he said after collecting himself.

“’Cuz you love it.” Peter grinned.

Glen chuckled.

“Well as much as I wanna see you put your money where your mouth is, I better not. I’ll probably mess around, get distracted, and crash us into a pole.”

“Heh. That would be fun tryna explain that to your dad.” Peter smiled and shook his head.

“Shiiit, wouldn’t be no explanation. I’d tell the cops just to take me on to jail.”

Peter laughed.

“Yeah, you’d probably be safer there.”

“Know I’d be safer there.” Glen nodded. “Until he found a way to get hisself thrown into the same cell as me, just so he could whoop my ass.”

“You think he’d be crazy enough to do that?”

“Know it. It would be on the five, six, and eleven o’clock news with the headline: ‘Police captain gets thrown into jail just to beat son’s ass’.”

That was enough to crack both the boys up.

“He might be a pain in the ass. But at least you got him.” Peter was the first to get himself under control.

“Yeah.” Glen nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

From the moment he’d met him at the door, Glen had been trying to give Peter at least a little reprieve from the day he had to endure. But despite his efforts, the thing came back around like a boomerang.

With his left hand steady and in control of the steering wheel, Glen reached over with his right and rested it across the back of Peter’s neck, using his fingers to rub the sides of his neck gently. Peter closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy Glen’s touch.

“You know I know what today is,” Glen said, moving his hand over to hold Peter’s right shoulder.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded, trying to keep what joy he’d squandered from being overtaken by the always lurking pain.

“If ya’ll need anything, if you need anything, call me, alright? You know I’m here, man. You know I’m always here.”

“Thanks.” Peter didn’t bother to check as he leaned over and gave Glen a kiss on the cheek. Unless someone was crossing the street, he already knew they wouldn’t be able to see. “I appreciate it. We appreciate it.”

“Hey, it’s what any good man would do for one that he loves.” Glen gave Peter’s shoulder a loving squeeze.

And Peter was grateful for it. Grateful for Glen being a part of his life in the way that he was.

Glen rode with his hand holding Peter’s shoulder for the rest of the trip to Mary-Jane’s house. As always, she was outside waiting for them. This morning she had her earbuds in and her music playing, so instead of walking to the car, she danced.

“What is she gettin’ her groove on to?” Glen wondered.

“Don’t know, but we’re about to find out,” Peter said as he opened the passenger door and got out.

“Good morning,” Mary-Jane greeted, taking her earbuds out of her ears.

“I guess so, miss dance party. What’re you listening to?” Peter asked.

“Marvin Gaye’s last album. If you wanna hear, let me get in front so I can hook up my phone to the stereo.”

“Okay.”

Peter reached back into the car to grab his backpack, before flipping the switch on the bottom right of the passenger seat. The top half of the seat collapsed forward allowing Peter to push the entire thing forward along its track so that he had room to get into the back seat. Mary-Jane waited until Peter was situated, before pushing the seat back, standing the top back up, and getting in to take a seat.

“Mind if I take over your stereo?” she asked Glen.

“Be my guest.” Glen invited. “Where’s Liz?”

She only lived a block down from Mary-Jane and usually walked over to her house to wait.

“She wasn’t feeling good this morning, so she’s staying home,” Mary-Jane answered as she took her phone out of her pocket and connected it to the car’s stereo system.

She adjusted the volume before restarting the song so it could play from the beginning. Glen was just starting to pull away as the sounds of the first song on the album filled the car.

“That’s who sang this song,” Glen said a minute and forty second into the track. “I heard this when I was a little kid and fell in love with it. But I could never remember who it was that sang it.”

“Same here.” Peter agreed.

“Well, I’m glad I can refresh your guys’ memory,” Mary-Jane said. “And even though it’s old, it still sounds good. I wish we had time to listen to the whole thing before we make it to school.”

“What got you listening to this?”

“Class assignment. We had to find a song or an album talking about social or political issues of the time. I started with What’s Going On, then listened to all the music he did after that. Did ya’ll know he did a soundtrack?”

“For what?” Glen asked.

“A movie called Trouble Man. It’s from back in the blaxploitation days. He did the whole soundtrack and the score.”

“Sounds like something we can watch for our Friday movie,” Peter said.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Mary-Jane agreed. “Now ya’ll be quiet and listen to the music.”

And that’s what the three of them did for the rest of the trip to school.

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