Lizard People by Charlie Price

red fluted stalks leaning out over the spines.
    â€œNow, the least we can do is answer your questions,” Gila said, “and I believe the first had to do with a cure for mental illness?”
    â€œYeah,” Marco said, “and the University. What’s the University? And the Lizard thing. What is going on with the Lizard thing?”
    â€œActually your last question is the easiest,” Gila said, looking out the window, as if the answer were inscribed on a cloud. “Emotions are primary. They override cognition and reason. In 4000, we were all taking supplements that assisted in the suppression of feelings. When we had to use extrasensory communication, that particular neural configuration brought a flood of emotions to the surface, different than, but similar in effect to, adrenaline. Fight or flight. The emotional brain, the reptilian brain, the primitive brain, would break through. The unfortunate side effect of reengineering and suppressant use was that, with the emotional breakthrough, inevitably came a momentary swelling, plus pigmentation and skin configuration disruption. As you saw, for seconds at a time, we began reverting to very deep ancestral DNA.”
    I got up so fast my chair went over backward. I wanted to throw something. Why was he laying this on me? Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe he was cruel. Crazy. Into some ugly mind game. I couldn’t figure out what to do. Marco stayed as still as a rock. After a minute, Mrs. Onabi flashed in my mind. Get back to class.
    I righted my chair and sat.
    â€œAs to the University, the University is the governing body that controls the supplements, provides the genetic engineering, and conducts the experiments that inform future decisions regarding our species’ psycho-physiological structuring. Thanks to you, as the creator of Emofirst, I am now president of that University.
    â€œAnd your last question … sadly, I can give you very little to cure mental illness in 2007. You do not yet have the neuropsychological inventions to change the nature of illness, and your epoch’s government lacks compassion for social support. Families in your time are left to fend for themselves.”
    I didn’t realize the yelling was mine. I knew the rage was. I stomped out to the dining room.
    When I pulled myself together, Marco was gone.
    I walked through his house looking for him. Like before, no furniture, no people. But I realized something else. No parents’ bedroom. No bed. No dressers. His mom’s a decorator? No way. No tools, no books, no … I went to every small room and checked every closet. No clothes. Kitchen? Cabinets empty.
    Nobody’s living here. Marco sleeps here.
    Maybe.

Take-Down
    Driving home, the sadness left me but the rage stayed. I thought about going fishing for an hour or so to settle down, but I was too restless.
    My wrestling coach always said, “Never get mad in a match. All the blood goes to your arms and legs.” It leaves your brain, in other words, and you get stupid and make a mistake, and then you’re upside down on your shoulders and the ref is counting you out.
    It took running a stop sign to wake me up, and then some deep breathing to calm me down. It would have worked, too, if the Monte Carlo hadn’t been parked in front of my house.
    Vinnie was there on the couch with Mom when I walked in our front door. He stood and stepped out from the coffee table, and I hit him with a running tackle, butting him in the solar plexus, and we slid together across the wood floor into the bottom of the recliner Dad used to sit in. While he was gasping for breath, I hit him in the ear. I knew that hurt. I’d had it happen to me. I found the knife he carried in a Kevlar sheath on his belt, and put it in my pocket and stood up. He was curled up. I stomped on his foot. I don’t think I broke it, but his groaning got louder. He would have yelled if he’d had any breath. I