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Lark felt the portal from Hell flare to life beside him. The brightness in his periphery was blinding after sitting in darkness for so long. A lick of flames whipped out and singed a curl by his ear. He flinched away but his eyes remained focused on the water ahead of him. He’d already started drinking and the persistent rolling tide was mesmerizing. It was easier not to look away.
He heard and felt Nicky plop down next to him, some sand shifting around them as he hit the floor. “Well, Lark, what’s the occasion? What are we celebrating tonight?”
The occasion? Henry’s tired, pleading voice echoed in his mind, saying, “I drew Rogue.” Was that supposed to be it? The persistent anger, the violence, the indignation–apparently none of it Lark’s. Why couldn’t he find it, the difference between what he felt and what the Deck had given him? It all felt like Lark; it was disgusting and terrible and so wound up in every waking moment that sometimes he worried he would go crazy from it. Or maybe he already had.
Lark held up the open tequila bottle and shook it. “Wanted to have another kickback.” They’d done it once before, all of them sneaking away from their dads during a mission with a couple sixpacks of Daryl and Ron’s brew. The results were mixed. Terry hadn’t shut up until he started puking, and Sparrow was teary by the end. Grant–well, once Grant was safely passed out, the rest of them agreed that he wasn’t allowed to drink anymore. Lark had felt deliciously numb. He had been sleepy, tasting beer and nothing else. When he'd looked up at the Doodler in the sky, he hadn’t felt the need to scream.
That was what Lark needed tonight. Alcohol made it so that nothing felt like it belonged to him. Not his fingers, not his eyelids, not the tongue in his mouth. If the anger wasn’t his, he didn’t want any of it. Lark took another swig, and continued, “But it’s a school night. I don’t want their parents coming after me for getting their kids drunk on the beach at 3 a.m.–”
“And you don’t have to worry about that with Glenn and Jodie,” Nicky cut in. Lark finally glanced up. There was a dark expression on Nicky’s face, but he was smiling slightly. Before Lark could offer any weak words of comfort, Nicky started speaking again. “I’m honored that I made the cut for your exclusive little party. So you ran away again? You’re what, 16? Thought you would’ve outgrown this by now, Lark.” There was mocking lilt in his voice that made Lark wince and look away. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a second before silently holding out the tequila as a peace offering. He heard Nicky sigh, but he grabbed the bottle.
They drank in silence at first, passing the tequila back and forth to the rhythm of the tide breaking on the shore. The night crept by, and gradually conversation started back up between them, loosened up by the alcohol. They talked about video games, hand-to-hand combat techniques, and soccer plays. They argued about things that didn’t matter, and it was enough to make Lark forget about the conversation with Henry. Some time later, Nicky was lying on the sand, looking up at the rolling Eldritch sky. Lark was still watching the waves.
“Come on.” Nicky patted the sand next to him. “Doodler-gaze with me. Let’s see what constellations we can find on its ass.”
Lark shook his head. Even when he was drunk, he didn’t like looking at it. Now that he knew what the Doodler was, he was paranoid that if he looked for too long, the Doodler would look back. And the Doodler would know him. It would recognize Lark, the one who summoned him to this world.
He heard a snort from beside him, and Lark realized that he had voiced his thoughts aloud. Nicky was wriggling on the ground beside him like a worm. “You need to take a load off, Lark. You’re so fucking uptight, and one day you’ll explode. Then you won’t even be able to kill Doodler because you’ll be dead, and I’ll have to listen to you bitch about it every day in Hell.” Nicky tugged on Lark’s arm, trying to drag him down into the sand. Lark shook him off.
“You don’t get it,” Lark snapped. The anesthesia of the alcohol wasn’t enough to smother the prickles of irritation bubbling within him.
“Of course I don’t get it. You’ve never explained what you saw in the Church, and ever since that day you get pissy when people ask questions.” Nicky’s arm flopped back to his side, giving up on Lark. He started flicking sand around, where it got caught in the wind. Lark spluttered as a little blew into his mouth.
“Stop that,” Lark growled. He grabbed Nicky’s wrist. Nicky smiled up at him and used his other hand to throw sand into Lark’s face. Half-blind, Lark lunged at him. They grappled for a few minutes, until Lark finally had Nicky pinned facedown on the beach. He shoved Nicky’s head down and listened to him cough as he inhaled sand. After a few moments of struggling, Nicky’s body went limp in surrender. The night was quiet, and Lark felt the rise and fall of Nicky’s chest beneath him. Lark held on an extra couple seconds before he eased back, letting Nicky push himself to his knees. They were quiet as they brushed themselves off. Nicky was still grinning despite the grains of sand stuck to his mouth.
Lark shook his head a little. “I forgot how annoying you get when you drink.”
Nicky scoffed with such derision that, all of a sudden, Lark thought he was looking at thirteen year old Nicholas Foster. “Please, Lark, you invited me–don't act coy. You really think you have everything and everyone figured out, don’t you? Listen, you’re nowhere near having any answers. You might know the Doodler’s favorite food or whatever, but you’re just as lost on how to get rid of it as the rest of us. All sitting on that chair did was make you paranoid and scared, and I’ve seen what that does to people. If you don’t learn to live a little, it’ll kill you one day.”
Lark narrowed his eyes. Maybe it was the alcohol; maybe it was the fact that he wanted to wipe that supercilious expression off of Nicky’s face. Maybe he needed someone to hate him as much as he hated himself. Lark would make him understand. He opened his mouth and began to speak about the Doodler.
It saw violence, rage, and fear. It traveled from world to world, only learning the worst from humanity. Its only outlet became destruction. Nicky's brows furrowed while he spoke, but Lark pressed on, willing Nicky to understand. There was danger in having something that powerful exist in vulnerability. “We’ve already seen what it can do on its own.” Lark gestured vaguely around them at the starless, moonless sky. “In the hands of the wrong person, it's all over. Willy could have ended everything if he got there first. And even though he’s gone now, there’ll always be someone new who wants that power. We have to destroy the Doodler before that can happen.”
There was a moment of silence after Lark finished, and then Nicky let out a small huff of laughter. Lark froze. Nicky looked amused, and Lark had to stop himself from leaping forward again to grab him by the collar or punch him. “You think it’s funny?” Lark’s voice came out quiet and hard. He clenched his fists to keep them at his sides. “I release the ultimate weapon into the world, and you laugh. Is everything just a joke to you?”
Nicky, one third deep in the bottle of tequila, broke out into giggles. “Do you even hear yourself?” he asked.
Lark felt slow from the alcohol, and his stomach churned uneasily. This wasn’t right; Nicky didn’t understand. The laughter put him on edge. “Why are you laughing? I summoned a monster to end our world, so why aren’t you mad? Why–why aren’t you afraid?” His hands, still clenched into fists, were shaking.
Nicky quieted down but there was still a terrible grin on his face. “I think I get it. We have to kill the Doodler because it’s dangerous and can end the world, sure. It’s a big, bad monster.” He waved a hand dismissively then leaned forward. “But I’m not afraid. Now that I know, I can’t be afraid. Lark, I’m sorry, but if I can handle you, I can handle the Doodler.”
Lark couldn’t move as Nicky reached up and ruffled his hair like he would a child. Nicky dissolved into peals of laughter again, and something like bile rose in Lark’s throat. He tried to inhale, but his lungs were working against him. He tried again, wanting to take a breath before whatever was rising inside of him drowned him. He could no longer hear the waves over the pounding in his ears. Unable to breathe, he leaned back and looked up at the sky.
—
Years went by. Things didn’t get better; they got worse. They had no idea how to kill the Doodler, and now, they had kids of their own. Lark looked down at little Hero and Normal building legos on the living room floor, and he was horrified. He started pacing around the room to stave off the panic. When he looked out the window at the red sky with its black sun, he could hear Nicky’s laugh from that night on the beach.
They had to do better despite already sacrificing so much. The others felt it, too, so they met to come up with a big plan.
Someone suggested another round of Code Purple; Nicky did not take it well. They tried to persuade him, to make him think of the children. As soon as Taylor’s name fell from Lark’s lips, Nicky took a swing at him. The others pulled them apart, and Nicky wasn’t smiling this time. An uneasy truce was called, and Code Purple was pushed aside. Lark held an ice pack to his purpling eye, counting his breaths in and out. He tried to focus on memories of the kids running around together at the park, but then he remembered the Doodler’s watchful eye looking down upon their picnic. He’d failed to make Nicky understand. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees to steady the ice pack in his trembling hands. The couch shifted next to him and from the heat alone he knew it was Nicky. They didn’t speak, but after a while, Nicky started humming a Christmas carol under his breath. Lark matched his breathing to the beats of the song.
The next day, the gang met again, notably without Nicky. A plan was devised. Lark steeled his nerves, and called Nicky to tell him to meet everyone else for a night raid the following evening. The bullet he was rolling in between his fingers left dark stains on his skin.
They walked into the woods together, and Lark kept his eyes trained ahead. He didn’t look up at the Doodler, and he didn’t look back at Nicky.
At Terry’s whispered word, everyone turned and aimed their guns at Nicky. He looked so confused, so betrayed, as he dropped his weapons and raised his arms. Nicky tried talking to them, asking them what was happening. Lark took the shot before Grant could. He didn’t know what a warning shot from Grant would look like.
After a flash, a bang, and a scream, Nicky was still standing, but it was all wrong. He was asymmetrical, bleeding, and turning to run. For a moment, though, their eyes met, and even in the darkness, the expression on Nicky’s face was clear. He was afraid.