Okay, I wrote this fic the day after I watched the Spider-man movie, so if it's not exactly correct with information, that's only because it's been so long since I've heard about the comics or seen the cartoon series. I hope this is acceptable and I also hope you brought tissues. You're going to need them.
I don't own anything in this story, except Electra. You have to ask to use her.
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Following Past Steps
Chapter One
Hi, my name is John. You don't know me. You're probably even wondering what I'm doing writing this, but let me just say four words and you will understand why I am writing this. Spider-man was my father. That's right and you don't have to rub your eyes, you've read that sentence correctly. Spider-man--or shall we say Peter Parker--was my father.
Please note the was.
The thing is, I didn't know my dad (Peter Parker) was Spirder-man until a few years after he was killed. That's right, Spidey fans, Peter Parker was killed. By whom, you ask? Well, first I would have to start at the beginning of the whole thing...
It was my junior year in high school and I had basically everything going for me. Everything was simple then. Go to school, do work, some tests, come home, eat diner, go to bed, repeat. The downside? Well, everyone has a downside to everything going good for them. Mine just happened to be--
"Johnathon Daniel Parker!" A voice rang in anger from down the hall. I looked behind me and sure enough she was there.
--Melissa Louise Parker. My little sister.
She quickly ran after me as I started running down the high school halls, managing to barely dodge the people who were on their way out of the building for the day. Of course, I was quick enough at dodging, I bumped into several people, knocking them and myself over. I groaned, knowing she had caught up to me, and sat up just as my red-headed sister walked up calmly.
The people I had ran into growled curses at me and whatnot, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy thinking about how I was so dead meat. She gave me an icy look and put her hands on her hips just like Mom would do whenever I would do something wrong.
It was actually funny to see. Here I was, two years older than her, and well over five inches taller and she was the one that acted like the older and more mature one...which she probably was.
I grinned up at her, not really thinking of something else to do. "Hey, Sis. What's up?"
Didn't work.
She glared at me even harder than before with the eyes she had inherited from our dad and for a moment I wondered if her face was going to get stuck like that.
"I can't believe you told Dad about Greg!" she exclaimed in anger. By now the halls of the high school were clear and her voice echoed loudly throughout them. I gave her a confused look as she got even closer to me.
"Tell Dad? I didn't say anything to Dad about Greg because you two are just friends," I paused. "Or at least I thought you two were."
That got her to stop looking so threatening. She was stuck and I was in pure happiness. For once she was without words and couldn't say a thing.
"Then how'd he...ugh! He's been watching my dates, hasn't he?" she demanded in annoyance. I just shrugged and stood up again.
"He might have gotten the information from the friendly neighborbood spider. You know how he says he kind of knows him. What if old Spidey's been keeping an eye out for you going on dates?" I suggested while Melissa glared at me. Surprisingly, I wasn't too far from the truth, which I always found humorous when looking back.
"Don't tell me you actually still believe that!" I paused. Did I really believe that our dad was a friend of Spider-man? Was it true?
"Erm...do you really want me to answer that?" I asked, sheepishly. My younger sister gave me a look of total disbelief.
"I can't believe you! I bet you still believe there's a Santa Claus!" she said in disgust. I guess she hated the fact that I had never actually grew up then.
"You mean there isn't?" I asked as if I were clueless even though I knew fully well about the truth, but it had a desirable effect. Melissa tossed her hands up into the air and walked out of the building, toward my car.
I chuckled to myself as I took my time getting to my car, hoping to annoy my sister some more.
You know how I said that everyone has a downside to every good thing in their life? Well, I guess I had way too many good things in my life that day. And if I had known what I know now, I don't know if I would have done the same thing again.
As I walked on, I didn't notice the sound of my sister shouting something, but at that moment, the front doors to the school exploded inward as two figures fell through. I was thrown off of my feet and I think I heard Melissa screaming, but nothing could ever prepare me for what I saw then.
As soon as everything settled, I uncovered my head and looked over to the hole that was were the doors had used to be. There lied my dad, who looked like he had been through hell and back, while a woman with golden hair and a black outfit that looked as if it made of ashes stood above him, laughing in insane delight.
"Admit it, Parker," she commanded my dad. "This is your last fight and no quick plans can work on me."
I then saw that my dad was still conscious, but I didn't know how nor care why. He stuggled to get himself back onto his feet, but was kicked hard in the gut and hit the wall farthest from me.
"Dad!" I screamed in horror. Why is this happening? I cried out in my mind, probably hoping someone would have an answer.
Things were happening too fast. One minute I was joking with my sister, and the next my dad is thrown into a building and there is a crazy woman.
I was so lost and so confused and so scared that I didn't even realize that the woman was looking at me. That is...I didn't realize it until she spoke. "Ah, it tis a young one," she hissed in her musical voice, which caught my attention. "Shall we see if he is as good as you are, Parker?"
At that point I don't remember much. I just froze and stared at her not able to move or think. At that time, I didn't know what was happening, but later I would find out that she had powers that I thought only existed in movies. I didn't snap out of the trance-like state until I heard my father's voice.
"No! Leave him alone! Leave them all alone! They don't know anything about this!" Dad yelled, his voice suprisingly strong. I looked over to him and saw that he was leaning heavily against a wall, bleeding all over the place.
"Ah, believed ignorance is bliss, did we, Parker? Well," the woman looked over to me and again I looked back at her. "I guess I shall leave him to gain some knowledge."
Then she struck. She was suddenly in front of Dad and was pummeling him into the wall, which cracked and splintered under the force of the blows.
"John!" I whipped my head over to the entrance and saw my sister and heard the sirens in the distance. They aren't going to make it, I thought to myself as I watched the woman grab Dad and toss him back toward the hole. Toward Melissa.
"Mel! Get out of here!" I yelled as I saw the glint of metal in the woman's hand. Melissa actually listened to me and ran off toward the source of the sirens, tears falling from her eyes. The woman, however, wore a wicked grin on her face as she approached Dad, who lied still on the ground.
"Goodbye, Parker!" she shrieked with the same delight that I had heard in her laugh and was about to stab the metal into my father's chest when I knocked into her, sending her to the ground.
I breathed heavily as I watched her lying there. I was beginning to think that I was safe, that she was unconscious, when she suddenly began laughing. Laughing that musical melody that seemed twisted and not right. For as long as I live, I will never forget the sound of her laughter. It will haunt my every dream and will follow me wherever I go.
"The young one can fight," she began as she stood up. "But it will have to fight me some other day."
That statement confused me so much that I didn't even realized that she had hit me afterwards until I hit the other wall. The impact knocked the wind out of me and I thought I was going to pass out, but, instead, I remained awake, wheezing and gasping for air, while the woman approached Dad again. Another piece of metal in her hand.
"Goodbye, Parker," she hissed and raised the weapon high.
"See you in hell, Electra," my dad spat back weakly just before the woman--Electra--plunged the sharp object into his chest.
I would have screamed (I don't think I did), but, instead, rage, guilt, despair, and saddness stole all of the air I had recovered and my world then became black, with the sound of her laughing echoing in the darkness.
My eyes snapped open and as soon as they adjusted, tears began to fill them. It wasn't a dream. None of it was. The unfamiliar, yet familiar ceiling that was above me gave that away. It had all really happened and I was in a hospital room.
I looked down from the ceiling, trying my best to keep from falling apart and looked toward the foot of my bed. Sure enough, there was Mom and Melissa, both of them asleep and both with dried tear trails on their faces.
Oh, God, I thought to myself, looking up to the ceiling again and struggling to keep the blasted tears from falling. It really happened...
It hadn't sunken in completely yet. I was still expecting my dad to come into the room and see how I was doing, but it would never happen. Because now...now he wouldn't be able to come home again after a day's work or fall for another one of my lame attempts of getting him to laugh when he was upset about something that no one except he and Mom knew about.
Because he was gone...
And it's your fault, I heard a nasty little voice in my head (probably the side that always made me take the blame for everything). This little voice, though, made it harder to supress the wave of grief and guilt that struck.
"It wasn't my fault," I whispered softly, closing my eyes to both stop the tears from falling and to will the guilt away. I had tried my best, hadn't I? ...or was there something else I could have done? What if Dad had been killed because I wasn't fast enough or strong enough?
When I opened my eyes again, I saw that one of girls were awake. Melissa.
We stared at each other for several quiet and painful minutes, before I felt a tear finally make it's way out, but no others followed. Melissa got up from her resting spot and came closer to me, sitting in the chair near my right side.
I looked away from her. I didn't want to see that it was true. That Dad was gone and wasn't coming back. And Melissa's red-rimmed eyes were too much proof for me to bare.
"John," she said softly, not wanting to wake Mom, obviously, but I didn't respond. "John, please don't shut yourself out. I...I need you, big brother...Don't shut yourself from me."
Now I couldn't help but to look at her. She had a few flood of tears coming down her face and I felt more guilt come at me. I had been lying there, trying to deny the things that had happened, thinking it was my fault that it happened, when there were other people deeply hurt by the horrible events.
Before I could start crying, I hugged my younger sister, who still cried on my hopsital gown. I was never one for caring for people who had hurt by showing compassion. I would usually talk myself out of an awkward situation or joke my way into people's dark moods, making them lighter.
But that time was one of the times I couldn't do either. I couldn't talk myself into believing that none of it had happened and that it as a dream and I could not joke the dark gloom that was in the room at that moment away. All I could do right then was hold my sister until she had fallen asleep due to exhaustion and hope that there was some way I could get that woman--Electra--to pay for what she had done.
Little did I know that I was following in a similiar path that my dad had followed not long ago himself.
About a week after the aweful events that had occurred, it was near time for the funeral. And I honestly didn't want to go. I had been the last one who saw him before he was killed and I didn't think I would be able to keep myself together if I did go.
Thankfully, I didn't shut myself completely off from everybody, though I didn't smile or joke as much as I used to. Actually, I don't think I made one joke since the murder. Instead, I talked to my sister about what I felt about things. I even told her what had happened those last few minutes before Electra had murdered our dad.
Melissa didn't complain about taking all the load, though, and would gladly listen whenever I became upset about something that reminded me of the guilt I had felt, of my possible failure to save Dad. And that was why she was the one who talked me into going to the funeral.
"You need to go, John. You're going to beat yourself over this forever if you don't," she told me seriously a few days before the day that the funeral would take place. How fitting it was to have our dad's funeral on the same day that he had first worn his mask, which I hadn't known then.
"I'm going to beat myself over this until I get rid of Electra. I've told you that a thousand times--" I began to yell, getting upset. Melissa began getting upset as well and looked as if she might cry, which was why I cut myself off.
"If you don't go, you'll never forgive yourself. This is your last chance to say goodbye to Dad and if you don't do it now, it will eat you alive until you're well over a century old," she told me forcefully before rushing out of the room. To keep from showing her tears to me, I suppose.
I immediately felt aweful for what I had done and was going to apologize when I felt a fresh wave of anger pass through my system. I shoved all the paper off of the desk that sat before me in frustration, before using one of my hands to grab at some of my hair. It was the position I used whenever my temper became too uncontrollable, which it was certainly becoming that day.
Just then the phone rang and I picked it up, dropping my hand from my head. "Hello?" I asked tiredly, rubbing my eyes. No sixteen year old, or fourteen year old in my sister's case, should have to deal with this kind of pain.
"Hello, is Mary Jane there?" a man's voice asked.
"That's depends," I answered, with a cold touch to my voice. "Who wants to know?"
I thought for a minute I had scared the man off the phone, but instead, he asked, "Is this John?"
"Yes," I answered, still having the cold edge. "Who are you?"
"I was a...friend of your father's. I'm sorry about what happened, John..." I almost hung up the phone then. I hated it when people wanted to give me their pity. I had no purpose for it and I had no need for it.
"Look, you're sorry about what happened. Okay, I can except that. But when you say it in that tone as if you want to give me some pity that I don't want, that's when I get mad, and that's when I start looking for your name and address," I told the man and was going to hang up, when the man protested.
"John! I had not meant to use that tone. Forgive me. I had not realized I was using such a tone," he assured me, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to believe him. It was much easier to hate someone you don't know than to get to know them.
"All right, fine. You said you knew my dad? How, when,...and where?" I don't even remember why I was asking so many questions. Maybe it was perhaps it made me feel better that I knew that someone else besides me and my family was hurting.
"We met when I went to New York to do an article there about nineteen years ago," the man answered and I froze. Okay, the man might be telling the truth. Dad was, after all, a photographer, so they might have ran into each other when doing an article for an event.
"All right, hold on while I get my mom," I told him and covered the mouthpiece. "MOM!"
"What is it, John?" I heard Mom answer. This was how we did things at our house, although it had been more quiet lately.
"PHONE FOR YOU!" I called back, knowing she was probably in the kitchen, where there was no phone. I heard some pots and pans being dropped and then my mom's cry of frustration.
"Who is it?" she demanded, while I felt a bit of a smirk creeping onto my face. I had just been trying to get the man on the phone to tell me who he was. Irony could be humorous at times.
"This time, I have to know your name. Mom's in a very bad I-dropped-my-pots-again mood," I told the man on the phone, while I listened to Mom's cursing and the slamming of cabinets as if she was looking for something.
The man chuckled a bit, "Glad to know that Mary Jane's still kicking. You can tell her that this is Clark Kent."
I covered the mouthpiece again. "MOM! IT'S CLARK KENT!" I called and that time I heard a dish crash and knew that was a total accident.
Mom came rushing into the room and stared at me while I held the mouthpiece and gave her a funny look. She seemed worried about something that I couldn't put my finger on.
"Give me the phone and go up to your room," she told me softly, as if she were afraid she'd say something that I wasn't supposed to hear. I did I was told and just as I began to climb the stair case I heard her talking to Clark Kent on the phone.
"It's good to hear from you, Clark...yes, I wish it could have been..more of a better time...I honestly don't know...he's distanced himself from me and I don't think he wants..to go...I don't know how it happened...John refuses to talk about it. All I know is that it had something to do with our friendly neighborhood spider--"
I stopped listening as soon I heard that line. How was Spider-man involved? How come Mom was talking about him? He wasn't even there.
I shook my head and continued onward to my bedroom. If I would have thought about it a little longer, I may have figured things out more quickly than I really had.
It was the day of the funeral and I didn't know if I could make it all the way through with the ceremony. Dad was being buried near his uncle's grave and that's where we all stood as the wind blew gently over the mourning group. And it was a large group.
There were many people there that I didn't even know. How could my dad have known this many people when all he did for a job was take photos for a newspaper? It didn't make sense to me at the time, but now that I look back on that moment, I think it would have been better to know what my dad had really done for everyone.
"...thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven, give us this day our daily bread..." It was coming close to the time where each member of the group would say their last goodbyes to him.
As everyone repeated the words the priest said, I kept my mouth shut, just watching the headstone that had my father's name on it.
Peter J. Parker
Loving husband and father
Cared more for others than he did himself
I snapped out of my thoughts when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw a slightly taller man with dark hair and glasses standing there, tears in his eyes. He was one of the people I didn't know and I wondered how much my dad did for him.
"You can go right now if you want," he told me and I immediately recognized the voice. It was Clark Kent without a doubt. I shook my head in reply to his suggestion.
"I want to go last," I told him and my wish was granted. Everyone except for Clark Kent, his wife, Mom, Melissa, and myself began to depart the sight. I wasn't sure if I wanted to say goodbye in front of the others, but I did it anyway.
I dropped to my knees, in front of the gave, not caring about my black pants, and blinked back the tears. I struggled to say something. Anything. But nothing came out. It was as if the words got stuck before they had even reached my mouth.
The only thing I did manage to get out was a tearful, "I'm sorry," after several minutes of silence. As soon as I said those two words, Melissa came over to me and hugged me tightly, knowing that I would probably fall apart right then if I didn't have any support.
We sat there, in front of our father's grave, until almost dusk. We both cried until our eyes were dry and red, but we didn't say a word. It was almost as if we would destroy something fragile if we even breathed too hard. And we probably would have.
But Clark and Mom touched our shoulders and got us to get up from the ground and begin walking away from the headstone. Just as we were leaving, I noticed one detail I had failed to see while staring at the marble for that long amount of time.
A small spider web that had a spider in the center was on the top left-hand corner of it. It wasn't a real one, of course, but engraved. I didn't really think about the small spider until well over three years after that morbid day.
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Go ahead and let it all out everyone. Yeah. Petey's gone, but hey, we still got the kids around. Be expecting more of this fic later and make sure to bring tissues next time. You know, just in case you may need them.
Also, I know the beginning my have been a bit rushed, but that was kinda before it reached midnight...yep, it's 4 am CST and I'm still awake....need caffine! Well, goodnight everyone! Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite!
I don't own anything in this story, except Electra. You have to ask to use her.
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Chapter One
Hi, my name is John. You don't know me. You're probably even wondering what I'm doing writing this, but let me just say four words and you will understand why I am writing this. Spider-man was my father. That's right and you don't have to rub your eyes, you've read that sentence correctly. Spider-man--or shall we say Peter Parker--was my father.
Please note the was.
The thing is, I didn't know my dad (Peter Parker) was Spirder-man until a few years after he was killed. That's right, Spidey fans, Peter Parker was killed. By whom, you ask? Well, first I would have to start at the beginning of the whole thing...
It was my junior year in high school and I had basically everything going for me. Everything was simple then. Go to school, do work, some tests, come home, eat diner, go to bed, repeat. The downside? Well, everyone has a downside to everything going good for them. Mine just happened to be--
"Johnathon Daniel Parker!" A voice rang in anger from down the hall. I looked behind me and sure enough she was there.
--Melissa Louise Parker. My little sister.
She quickly ran after me as I started running down the high school halls, managing to barely dodge the people who were on their way out of the building for the day. Of course, I was quick enough at dodging, I bumped into several people, knocking them and myself over. I groaned, knowing she had caught up to me, and sat up just as my red-headed sister walked up calmly.
The people I had ran into growled curses at me and whatnot, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy thinking about how I was so dead meat. She gave me an icy look and put her hands on her hips just like Mom would do whenever I would do something wrong.
It was actually funny to see. Here I was, two years older than her, and well over five inches taller and she was the one that acted like the older and more mature one...which she probably was.
I grinned up at her, not really thinking of something else to do. "Hey, Sis. What's up?"
Didn't work.
She glared at me even harder than before with the eyes she had inherited from our dad and for a moment I wondered if her face was going to get stuck like that.
"I can't believe you told Dad about Greg!" she exclaimed in anger. By now the halls of the high school were clear and her voice echoed loudly throughout them. I gave her a confused look as she got even closer to me.
"Tell Dad? I didn't say anything to Dad about Greg because you two are just friends," I paused. "Or at least I thought you two were."
That got her to stop looking so threatening. She was stuck and I was in pure happiness. For once she was without words and couldn't say a thing.
"Then how'd he...ugh! He's been watching my dates, hasn't he?" she demanded in annoyance. I just shrugged and stood up again.
"He might have gotten the information from the friendly neighborbood spider. You know how he says he kind of knows him. What if old Spidey's been keeping an eye out for you going on dates?" I suggested while Melissa glared at me. Surprisingly, I wasn't too far from the truth, which I always found humorous when looking back.
"Don't tell me you actually still believe that!" I paused. Did I really believe that our dad was a friend of Spider-man? Was it true?
"Erm...do you really want me to answer that?" I asked, sheepishly. My younger sister gave me a look of total disbelief.
"I can't believe you! I bet you still believe there's a Santa Claus!" she said in disgust. I guess she hated the fact that I had never actually grew up then.
"You mean there isn't?" I asked as if I were clueless even though I knew fully well about the truth, but it had a desirable effect. Melissa tossed her hands up into the air and walked out of the building, toward my car.
I chuckled to myself as I took my time getting to my car, hoping to annoy my sister some more.
You know how I said that everyone has a downside to every good thing in their life? Well, I guess I had way too many good things in my life that day. And if I had known what I know now, I don't know if I would have done the same thing again.
As I walked on, I didn't notice the sound of my sister shouting something, but at that moment, the front doors to the school exploded inward as two figures fell through. I was thrown off of my feet and I think I heard Melissa screaming, but nothing could ever prepare me for what I saw then.
As soon as everything settled, I uncovered my head and looked over to the hole that was were the doors had used to be. There lied my dad, who looked like he had been through hell and back, while a woman with golden hair and a black outfit that looked as if it made of ashes stood above him, laughing in insane delight.
"Admit it, Parker," she commanded my dad. "This is your last fight and no quick plans can work on me."
I then saw that my dad was still conscious, but I didn't know how nor care why. He stuggled to get himself back onto his feet, but was kicked hard in the gut and hit the wall farthest from me.
"Dad!" I screamed in horror. Why is this happening? I cried out in my mind, probably hoping someone would have an answer.
Things were happening too fast. One minute I was joking with my sister, and the next my dad is thrown into a building and there is a crazy woman.
I was so lost and so confused and so scared that I didn't even realize that the woman was looking at me. That is...I didn't realize it until she spoke. "Ah, it tis a young one," she hissed in her musical voice, which caught my attention. "Shall we see if he is as good as you are, Parker?"
At that point I don't remember much. I just froze and stared at her not able to move or think. At that time, I didn't know what was happening, but later I would find out that she had powers that I thought only existed in movies. I didn't snap out of the trance-like state until I heard my father's voice.
"No! Leave him alone! Leave them all alone! They don't know anything about this!" Dad yelled, his voice suprisingly strong. I looked over to him and saw that he was leaning heavily against a wall, bleeding all over the place.
"Ah, believed ignorance is bliss, did we, Parker? Well," the woman looked over to me and again I looked back at her. "I guess I shall leave him to gain some knowledge."
Then she struck. She was suddenly in front of Dad and was pummeling him into the wall, which cracked and splintered under the force of the blows.
"John!" I whipped my head over to the entrance and saw my sister and heard the sirens in the distance. They aren't going to make it, I thought to myself as I watched the woman grab Dad and toss him back toward the hole. Toward Melissa.
"Mel! Get out of here!" I yelled as I saw the glint of metal in the woman's hand. Melissa actually listened to me and ran off toward the source of the sirens, tears falling from her eyes. The woman, however, wore a wicked grin on her face as she approached Dad, who lied still on the ground.
"Goodbye, Parker!" she shrieked with the same delight that I had heard in her laugh and was about to stab the metal into my father's chest when I knocked into her, sending her to the ground.
I breathed heavily as I watched her lying there. I was beginning to think that I was safe, that she was unconscious, when she suddenly began laughing. Laughing that musical melody that seemed twisted and not right. For as long as I live, I will never forget the sound of her laughter. It will haunt my every dream and will follow me wherever I go.
"The young one can fight," she began as she stood up. "But it will have to fight me some other day."
That statement confused me so much that I didn't even realized that she had hit me afterwards until I hit the other wall. The impact knocked the wind out of me and I thought I was going to pass out, but, instead, I remained awake, wheezing and gasping for air, while the woman approached Dad again. Another piece of metal in her hand.
"Goodbye, Parker," she hissed and raised the weapon high.
"See you in hell, Electra," my dad spat back weakly just before the woman--Electra--plunged the sharp object into his chest.
I would have screamed (I don't think I did), but, instead, rage, guilt, despair, and saddness stole all of the air I had recovered and my world then became black, with the sound of her laughing echoing in the darkness.
My eyes snapped open and as soon as they adjusted, tears began to fill them. It wasn't a dream. None of it was. The unfamiliar, yet familiar ceiling that was above me gave that away. It had all really happened and I was in a hospital room.
I looked down from the ceiling, trying my best to keep from falling apart and looked toward the foot of my bed. Sure enough, there was Mom and Melissa, both of them asleep and both with dried tear trails on their faces.
Oh, God, I thought to myself, looking up to the ceiling again and struggling to keep the blasted tears from falling. It really happened...
It hadn't sunken in completely yet. I was still expecting my dad to come into the room and see how I was doing, but it would never happen. Because now...now he wouldn't be able to come home again after a day's work or fall for another one of my lame attempts of getting him to laugh when he was upset about something that no one except he and Mom knew about.
Because he was gone...
And it's your fault, I heard a nasty little voice in my head (probably the side that always made me take the blame for everything). This little voice, though, made it harder to supress the wave of grief and guilt that struck.
"It wasn't my fault," I whispered softly, closing my eyes to both stop the tears from falling and to will the guilt away. I had tried my best, hadn't I? ...or was there something else I could have done? What if Dad had been killed because I wasn't fast enough or strong enough?
When I opened my eyes again, I saw that one of girls were awake. Melissa.
We stared at each other for several quiet and painful minutes, before I felt a tear finally make it's way out, but no others followed. Melissa got up from her resting spot and came closer to me, sitting in the chair near my right side.
I looked away from her. I didn't want to see that it was true. That Dad was gone and wasn't coming back. And Melissa's red-rimmed eyes were too much proof for me to bare.
"John," she said softly, not wanting to wake Mom, obviously, but I didn't respond. "John, please don't shut yourself out. I...I need you, big brother...Don't shut yourself from me."
Now I couldn't help but to look at her. She had a few flood of tears coming down her face and I felt more guilt come at me. I had been lying there, trying to deny the things that had happened, thinking it was my fault that it happened, when there were other people deeply hurt by the horrible events.
Before I could start crying, I hugged my younger sister, who still cried on my hopsital gown. I was never one for caring for people who had hurt by showing compassion. I would usually talk myself out of an awkward situation or joke my way into people's dark moods, making them lighter.
But that time was one of the times I couldn't do either. I couldn't talk myself into believing that none of it had happened and that it as a dream and I could not joke the dark gloom that was in the room at that moment away. All I could do right then was hold my sister until she had fallen asleep due to exhaustion and hope that there was some way I could get that woman--Electra--to pay for what she had done.
Little did I know that I was following in a similiar path that my dad had followed not long ago himself.
About a week after the aweful events that had occurred, it was near time for the funeral. And I honestly didn't want to go. I had been the last one who saw him before he was killed and I didn't think I would be able to keep myself together if I did go.
Thankfully, I didn't shut myself completely off from everybody, though I didn't smile or joke as much as I used to. Actually, I don't think I made one joke since the murder. Instead, I talked to my sister about what I felt about things. I even told her what had happened those last few minutes before Electra had murdered our dad.
Melissa didn't complain about taking all the load, though, and would gladly listen whenever I became upset about something that reminded me of the guilt I had felt, of my possible failure to save Dad. And that was why she was the one who talked me into going to the funeral.
"You need to go, John. You're going to beat yourself over this forever if you don't," she told me seriously a few days before the day that the funeral would take place. How fitting it was to have our dad's funeral on the same day that he had first worn his mask, which I hadn't known then.
"I'm going to beat myself over this until I get rid of Electra. I've told you that a thousand times--" I began to yell, getting upset. Melissa began getting upset as well and looked as if she might cry, which was why I cut myself off.
"If you don't go, you'll never forgive yourself. This is your last chance to say goodbye to Dad and if you don't do it now, it will eat you alive until you're well over a century old," she told me forcefully before rushing out of the room. To keep from showing her tears to me, I suppose.
I immediately felt aweful for what I had done and was going to apologize when I felt a fresh wave of anger pass through my system. I shoved all the paper off of the desk that sat before me in frustration, before using one of my hands to grab at some of my hair. It was the position I used whenever my temper became too uncontrollable, which it was certainly becoming that day.
Just then the phone rang and I picked it up, dropping my hand from my head. "Hello?" I asked tiredly, rubbing my eyes. No sixteen year old, or fourteen year old in my sister's case, should have to deal with this kind of pain.
"Hello, is Mary Jane there?" a man's voice asked.
"That's depends," I answered, with a cold touch to my voice. "Who wants to know?"
I thought for a minute I had scared the man off the phone, but instead, he asked, "Is this John?"
"Yes," I answered, still having the cold edge. "Who are you?"
"I was a...friend of your father's. I'm sorry about what happened, John..." I almost hung up the phone then. I hated it when people wanted to give me their pity. I had no purpose for it and I had no need for it.
"Look, you're sorry about what happened. Okay, I can except that. But when you say it in that tone as if you want to give me some pity that I don't want, that's when I get mad, and that's when I start looking for your name and address," I told the man and was going to hang up, when the man protested.
"John! I had not meant to use that tone. Forgive me. I had not realized I was using such a tone," he assured me, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to believe him. It was much easier to hate someone you don't know than to get to know them.
"All right, fine. You said you knew my dad? How, when,...and where?" I don't even remember why I was asking so many questions. Maybe it was perhaps it made me feel better that I knew that someone else besides me and my family was hurting.
"We met when I went to New York to do an article there about nineteen years ago," the man answered and I froze. Okay, the man might be telling the truth. Dad was, after all, a photographer, so they might have ran into each other when doing an article for an event.
"All right, hold on while I get my mom," I told him and covered the mouthpiece. "MOM!"
"What is it, John?" I heard Mom answer. This was how we did things at our house, although it had been more quiet lately.
"PHONE FOR YOU!" I called back, knowing she was probably in the kitchen, where there was no phone. I heard some pots and pans being dropped and then my mom's cry of frustration.
"Who is it?" she demanded, while I felt a bit of a smirk creeping onto my face. I had just been trying to get the man on the phone to tell me who he was. Irony could be humorous at times.
"This time, I have to know your name. Mom's in a very bad I-dropped-my-pots-again mood," I told the man on the phone, while I listened to Mom's cursing and the slamming of cabinets as if she was looking for something.
The man chuckled a bit, "Glad to know that Mary Jane's still kicking. You can tell her that this is Clark Kent."
I covered the mouthpiece again. "MOM! IT'S CLARK KENT!" I called and that time I heard a dish crash and knew that was a total accident.
Mom came rushing into the room and stared at me while I held the mouthpiece and gave her a funny look. She seemed worried about something that I couldn't put my finger on.
"Give me the phone and go up to your room," she told me softly, as if she were afraid she'd say something that I wasn't supposed to hear. I did I was told and just as I began to climb the stair case I heard her talking to Clark Kent on the phone.
"It's good to hear from you, Clark...yes, I wish it could have been..more of a better time...I honestly don't know...he's distanced himself from me and I don't think he wants..to go...I don't know how it happened...John refuses to talk about it. All I know is that it had something to do with our friendly neighborhood spider--"
I stopped listening as soon I heard that line. How was Spider-man involved? How come Mom was talking about him? He wasn't even there.
I shook my head and continued onward to my bedroom. If I would have thought about it a little longer, I may have figured things out more quickly than I really had.
It was the day of the funeral and I didn't know if I could make it all the way through with the ceremony. Dad was being buried near his uncle's grave and that's where we all stood as the wind blew gently over the mourning group. And it was a large group.
There were many people there that I didn't even know. How could my dad have known this many people when all he did for a job was take photos for a newspaper? It didn't make sense to me at the time, but now that I look back on that moment, I think it would have been better to know what my dad had really done for everyone.
"...thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven, give us this day our daily bread..." It was coming close to the time where each member of the group would say their last goodbyes to him.
As everyone repeated the words the priest said, I kept my mouth shut, just watching the headstone that had my father's name on it.
Loving husband and father
Cared more for others than he did himself
I snapped out of my thoughts when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw a slightly taller man with dark hair and glasses standing there, tears in his eyes. He was one of the people I didn't know and I wondered how much my dad did for him.
"You can go right now if you want," he told me and I immediately recognized the voice. It was Clark Kent without a doubt. I shook my head in reply to his suggestion.
"I want to go last," I told him and my wish was granted. Everyone except for Clark Kent, his wife, Mom, Melissa, and myself began to depart the sight. I wasn't sure if I wanted to say goodbye in front of the others, but I did it anyway.
I dropped to my knees, in front of the gave, not caring about my black pants, and blinked back the tears. I struggled to say something. Anything. But nothing came out. It was as if the words got stuck before they had even reached my mouth.
The only thing I did manage to get out was a tearful, "I'm sorry," after several minutes of silence. As soon as I said those two words, Melissa came over to me and hugged me tightly, knowing that I would probably fall apart right then if I didn't have any support.
We sat there, in front of our father's grave, until almost dusk. We both cried until our eyes were dry and red, but we didn't say a word. It was almost as if we would destroy something fragile if we even breathed too hard. And we probably would have.
But Clark and Mom touched our shoulders and got us to get up from the ground and begin walking away from the headstone. Just as we were leaving, I noticed one detail I had failed to see while staring at the marble for that long amount of time.
A small spider web that had a spider in the center was on the top left-hand corner of it. It wasn't a real one, of course, but engraved. I didn't really think about the small spider until well over three years after that morbid day.
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Go ahead and let it all out everyone. Yeah. Petey's gone, but hey, we still got the kids around. Be expecting more of this fic later and make sure to bring tissues next time. You know, just in case you may need them.
Also, I know the beginning my have been a bit rushed, but that was kinda before it reached midnight...yep, it's 4 am CST and I'm still awake....need caffine! Well, goodnight everyone! Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite!