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There are a few replies to my faithful Review Squad at the end of the chapter! Thanks for all the support :)
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TUESDAY AFTERNOON
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I heard the scream again.
"Where are you?" I screamed, jumping to my feet and - big mistake. I inhaled too much heat and smoke and instantly slammed to the floor again, coughing. I ripped my mask off and coughed so hard my throat felt as if it had gone through a shredder.
I threw up a little and looked up blearily into the smoke, squinting. Come on, I thought. Where would I hide if it was me?
I struggled back to my feet and kept at a crouch bent at the waist, maneuvering between a small bar-counter of a half-kitchen and small dining area encroaching on the entry. There's smoke but no fire yet. One look at what's lying around, and I realize that this is not your typical living situation. There's too many stains on the carpet. Too many upended toys. Cigarette butts lying haphazardly around, even on the floor.
I slipped through the living room and run for the window, throwing open the sash. Smoke instantly began to pour out like a Biblical plague - but not quickly enough.
"Where are you?" I screamed again, ducking and running lopsidedly into the small hallway where there were two bedrooms and a bathroom. I looked into the bathroom, and it was trashed with... I don't even know. Lingerie. Pill bottles. Trash bags full of things that smell sour. Urine and feces all over.
"Oh my god," I whispered in horror. What do you even do with this? Is there anything I can do to help? Not a bike. Not a churro. Not a kitten in a tree.
These are REAL problems and I have no idea what to do with this.
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PRESENT
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I'm in a dazed state of consciousness. Usually only awake enough to answer a question or two and then doze off again.
This has nothing to do with smoke inhalation, or lacerated skin slowly knitting itself back together in double-time.
This is pure teenage exhaustion. After everything with the Vulture, and Aunt May, the fire, and then the torture... I'm just so tired. I just want to sleep for a million years and play some X-box with Ned and then sleep an extra five hundred years just in case the first million was only a nap.
In the lavender and white state coming down from a nightmare and ascending into the land of the living yet again, I notice Tony Stark sitting in a chair next to the bed, his pointer fingers pressing together in a church steeple at his mouth.
"Are you awake or do you just sleep with your eyes open?" Mr. Stark asks abruptly. "Otherwise this is very uncomfortable."
I took a deep breath and blinked a few times to get my bearings. "Still sleeping," I lie, holding up my hand in front of my face. I wiggle my fingers.
Mr. Stark wiggles his fingers back, then stops. "Oh, you're not waving."
"I'm testing them," I say, my throat still raspy.
"The finger bones were the first things to start healing," he replies matter of factly. "They made little popping sounds when the bones came back together. Very disconcerting." He looks down at his own fingers in mild disgust and returns them to his lap, and can no longer meet my gaze.
"Mr. Stark..." I begin. "I'm so, so sorry..."
His head jerks up. "What the hell are you apologizing for?"
"I said things - u-u-under pressure, I mean..."
"You mean torture."
"I guess," I whispered. "Things about the Avengers facility - security and check points - to th-the guy who..."
"Stop," he holds up a hand.
I shut up instantly.
"One, you were either lying very well, or severely misinformed. None of the details you supplied were harmful to Avenger operations. None. Zip. Nada. Understand?"
"But I said there was a gate, I think, and..." I pause. "Wait... how do you know what I said?"
"All of the video feed from the baby monitor program from the last twelve hours were uploaded to the main server," Mr. Stark answers, suddenly standing up and walking over to the window, glancing out distractedly.
"All of it?" I ask. "Since... yesterday afternoon?"
"From the time you left the rooftop." He returns to the bedside and absently pats the blanket. "Kid," he says, his voice thick. Mr. Stark suddenly chokes up and can't finish his sentence, but only for a moment. He pretends he needs to pull his sunglasses out of his breast pocket and polish them briefly.
"Did you watch it?" I ask.
"I tried," Mr. Stark says heavily. "I tried. I couldn't. I have guys combing through it, looking for any detail... that we can use..."
"Use for what?" I ask.
Mr. Stark looks offended that I'd even ask. "Mr. Parker," he says, "We can nail this guy. I promise you that... and without compromising your identity."
The thought of this guy being out on the streets as a police officer of New York makes me sick. I grimace and look away, and can't bring myself to answer. I can't think about it right now... if I do, it's a dark hole I may not emerge from again. I could just take care of it myself.
"You shouldn't have had to go through that." Mr. Stark says another voice break in tears disguised as a cough. "That one is on me, kid."
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TUESDAY AFTERNOON
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I rushed quickly into the second bedroom. There were Star Wars posters on the wall, shriveling and peeling in the heat, toy ponies and a Mrs. Marvelous Barbie doll in full battle-armor. There were dirty pieces of trash and half-eaten food items lying in various places. Eclectic tastes.
"Hey!" I yelled, dropping to my knees and looking under the bed. "I'm here to save you!"
Nothing.
I threw open the closet doors, nothing. I heard a crash from somewhere in the building, and something that almost could have been the roar of a large animal. The fire was spreading.
I coughed harshly again on the back of my hand and rushed for the other bedroom. Checked the closet - nothing. Under the bed - nothing.
"WHERE ARE YOU?" I shouted again. "I'M... I'M THE HERO COMING TO RESCUE YOU!"
Kids get scared... don' they?
"LIKE... LIKE A JEDI! OR BLACK CAPE!"
I heard the scream again, but this time I realized what it was. It wasn't a person. It was the hot air pushing through something small, setting off a squeal - like a tea kettle, only much worse.
Suddenly I felt a flickering at the edge of my senses. Not like fire, and not like hearing a sound, either. Almost as if a gentle hand had brushed over the tiny, microscopic hairs on the back of my neck, making me turn around, just in time to see the top of a laundry hamper shift.
As if someone inside had lifted the lid in order to peer through.
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GoTeamSkipper - Thanks so much for your faithful reviews! I remember always looking forward to yours for other stories back in the day, now I can't remember if it was LOTR or Narnia stories of mine that you followed. I just really appreciate your insight! I am glad the crazy lady didn't have a screwdriver too, lol. I have a weird tendency to write something and then have something similar happen to me in real life so I should probably be careful with this story :)
Cherubino19 - I would love to include Daredevil, that's kind of in the long-term plan. :)
Atlanta- Oh my goodness, what an honor! Thank you so very much.
Wedonthavetodance - Thank you so much for your compliment! Means a lot to me when writing in one of my oldest comic favorites...
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