{Chapter Five}




At eleven thirty that same night, Nurse Hope Sweeny sat at her post in Peter's hallway.  Her shift ended in half an hour, and visiting hours had ended half an hour before.  


The seventh floor hallway was fairly empty.


    Sighing, she turned a page in her book.  She had worked in the hospital for years now, and she was still shocked by some of the things she saw.  She supposed they would always shock her.  It was one of the reasons she had become a nurse, so she could do something about the terrible things that happened in the world.  
Turning another page, she glanced at Peter's closed door and sighed again.  She had rarely seen someone in so much pain as he.  He obviously felt Mary Jane Watson's condition was his fault, though he hadn't told her so.  After wheeling Peter back to his room, she had sat with him while he lay awake, obviously still distressed.  He'd fallen into a fitful sleep about an hour before, the exhaustion finally catching up with him.  The medication he was on should have helped him sleep, but it clearly would not come easily.  Nightmares haunted him that Hope couldn't even begin to comprehend.


    Suddenly, a man appeared at the end of the hallway.  She did a double take, startled.  He moved so silently it was uncanny.


He strode swiftly down the hallway to her and stopped in front of her desk, smiling.  "Good evening, ma'am.  Can you direct me to Peter Parker's room, please?"

 
    She studied him.  An average sized man in his late forties with a smooth smile, something about him struck her. He was familiar looking, for one thing.  Someone famous?


    "Visiting hours are over, sir."


    He shrugged and his smile grew.  "I know, and I apologize, but I have to see him.  I didn't hear about the accident until his friend called me and told me, so I rushed over as fast as I could."


    Hope watched him while he spoke, not really listening to the story, but studying the face.  Something about the eyes.  Like he was laughing at her but deadly serious at the same time.  Almost…insane. "As I said, visiting hours are over.  Are you friend or family?"


    The man looked down at the floor, sadness taking over his face.  "Family.  I'm only an uncle, but he's like a son to me.  His parents are gone.  We're very close."  The smile returned.


    Hope shook her head, decision made.  This man was unsettling, and she would not let him in Peter's room.  "I'm sorry, sir.  He fell asleep a little while ago and visiting hours are over.  I really can't allow you to go in there."


    He lost the smile.  "Ma'am, I'm begging you.  I need to see him."


    Though his voice betrayed no anger, she noticed his fists were tightly clenched, the knuckles white.


    "I'm sorry, sir."


    He gazed at her for a moment, and she thought his face twisted in fury for a moment, and she held her breath for no reason she could discern.  Then his expression changed, turning unreadable, and she let the breath out, a feeling very much like relief filling her.  He nodded once, and walked slowly back down the hallway, slowly uncurling his fists.  


    Hope watched him for a moment, then sighed.  Maybe the man was just worried for his nephew.  What could it hurt to let him go in and look for a second?  She'd check on them in a bit.  Hope would have stayed with them, but she couldn't leave her post.


    "Sir!"


    He turned.


    Sighing again, she motioned to the door.  "Go on in.  But only for a few minutes.  And make sure he doesn't wake up."


    The man strode back down the hallway to Peter's room, and his grin was back.  "I'll make sure he won't wake up.  As a matter of fact, I promise he won't."


    Hope watched as he slipped into the room.







    Norman shut the door behind him quietly.  That stupid nurse had almost caused a lot of trouble.  He had been about to kill her out of pure fury.


    Norman ambled silently across the room.  Peter lay asleep, tossing fitfully.  He moaned in his sleep, and Norman stepped back warily.


    When Peter's dream phantoms had left him alone, Norman approached again and watched him for a moment longer.  He didn't care if what he was about to do was low down, dirty, and unsatisfying, he needed Peter dead.  It was as simple as that.


    Peter shifted again, and the blankets pulled away from his chin.  The Goblin grinned at the sight of the harsh bruises covering his throat. They were especially gruesome in the hospital light.  


Norman had been deeply angered that Peter hadn't died.  He had been sure he was dead when he dropped Peter off the glider.  He'd thought Peter was unconscious, at least, and falling to his death when he broke his hand.  It had surprised him when he'd seen Peter in the window of an apartment. And then, he's even managed to escape the explosion.  It was maddening, how tenacious Peter's hold on life was.






But now dear Spidey was unconscious and on painkillers.  Not in a good position to fight.  Not a smart thing to do.  Norman shook his head in a mockingly scolding manner.  So naïve, to think that he was safe in the hospital.


Watching his sleeping enemy, he pulled the call button away from Peter's fingers.


Stepping to the head of the bed, Norman reached out to cover Peter's nose and mouth.  


A moment later, Peter began to moan and turn his head.







Peter's eyes shot open suddenly, and he lay for a moment, unable to figure out what had caused him to awaken so suddenly.  A horrible feeling enveloped him, but he couldn't place it.  His arm hair and the hair on his neck was standing straight up, and his instincts were screaming.


Blinking in the dim light, struggling to see, Peter realized his spider sense was going off.  


And he couldn't breathe.


Moaning and yelling into the hand covering his mouth and nose, Peter turned his head back and forth weakly.  The painkillers were dulling his senses, and he was exhausted already.  His legs were trapped under the sheets, and he barely had enough strength to lift his arms.


His eyes finally adjusted, and he gazed up at the shadowy figure standing beside his bed.  Though he couldn't see the face, he had no doubt who it was, who's fingers were digging into the sides of Peter's face.  


His yelling quieted into pitiful animalistic squeals.  Coughs suddenly burst through him, rattling his ribcage.  He began to jerk up and down against the hand, hitting his head repeatedly into the pillows.  The hand forced Peter's head down against the pillow, holding it there.  Groping wildly for the call button, Peter's eyes widened even more as he realized it was gone.  In a last attempt to free himself, he opened his mouth as wide as he could get it and bit down on the hand.


Teeth crushing down into the skin, Peter viciously ground them together.  He almost gagged at the metallic taste of the blood that spurted from the gashes his teeth made.  The figure hissed and yanked his hand away.  Peter's vision blurred as the figure backhanded him across the face.  He clenched Peter's broken bones and wrenched it to the side.  Peter was horrified and disgusted to hear the whimpering pleas coming from himself, but he couldn't tolerate the pain of having his broken hand twisted backwards.


"Please.....let go.....please....."


The figure slammed Peter's injury into the bed rail, and clamped a hand around his throat.   


Peter began to scream.







Nurse Hope Sweeney stood at her desk suddenly.  She thought she heard muffled sounds coming from Peter's room.  Sounds of struggling.  Suddenly, an extremely hoarse scream, little more than a yell erupted in the night.


Not wasting a moment, she practically ran to the room, throwing the door open.  She flipped on the light, gasping at the sight that met her eyes.

 
The man was holding Peter's broken hand in a tight grip and twisting, and, at the same time, wrapping his other hand around Peter's already ruined throat.  Peter was weakly trying to fight him off.  Hope stood paralyzed at the scene, unable to think what to do.  She broke through the shock and leapt at the man.


Turning at the sudden light, the man snarled and roughly shoved Hope out of his way as he escaped the room.  She snagged his arm on the way out by reflex, yanking him to a halt.  He turned without hesitation and swung a fist at her face.  


It felt like a sledgehammer slamming into her face.  She was thrown back a few feet into the wall, slumping to the floor, shocked.  A moment later, she dazedly sat up, rubbing her jaw.  It felt like it had been cracked, and she opened and closed her mouth for a moment, shocked by the pain.  "Security!" she screamed.  "Help!"  


Climbing to her feet, she ran back to her desk and grabbed her walkie talkie.  "Security!  We have a man heading down from the seventh floor.  He was assaulting patients and staff.  Find him quickly!"


Breathing hard, she ran back to Peter's room.  Her mouth ached horribly, and it felt like the jawbone wasn't attached the correct way.  Peter was struggling to sit up, breathing in short gasps.  "Nurse...?" he asked weakly, before falling back down.  


She held him down, trying to calm him.  "Peter, it's OK, he's gone, lay down.  Try to breathe properly.  It'll be OK."


He shot up again, eyes wild.  "No!  You have to get him!  Make sure......don't let him.....MJ...."


Hope gently gripped his shoulders and laid him down again.  "They're going to find him Peter, don't worry."


Peter nodded and sank back against the pillows, thoroughly drained.






A little while later, five or six security guards were standing outside Peter's door, talking in low tones.  Hope ran a hand through her hair and massaged her jaw, which turned out to still be attached the correct way.  "Did you find him?"


One of the guards was nursing a black eye while another sported a broken nose.  The others had similar injuries.  A young guard, one with a bloody lip spoke.  "Yeah, we found him."


Hope sighed.  "And?"


The guard barked a laugh.  "And what do you think?  We couldn't even take him.  We tried to grab him and he beat the crap out of us.  Six of us, one of him, and he was walking all over us.  When we finally tried to shoot, he was running.  We chased him down seven flights of stairs, and all through the first floor, but we don't know where he went.  Lost him somewhere on the first floor.  Long gone by now."


Hope sighed.  A moment later, Dr. Monroe was storming down the hallway.  He'd had a long night.  He should have been off duty half an hour ago. He had burn victims.  He had MVA's.  And more burn victims.  Lots of them.  All with the same wild story of a monster on a flying contraption.  Now he had to deal with a madman loose in the hospital that a nurse wasn't smart enough not to let in. "What happened?"  he asked in a tightly controlled voice.  


Biting her lip, Nurse Sweeny answered.  "A man arrived here a little while ago, saying he was Peter's uncle.  He said he wasn't able to come earlier, and he needed to see Peter.  So I let him in."


"Visiting hours were over, am I correct?"


Hope hesitated.  "Yes sir."


"Did you ask for ID?"


Hope stared for a second in shock.  "No.  I didn't.  I can't believe I didn't....I didn't even ask his name."


Dr. Monroe looked at her for a moment.  "I think you know I'm disappointed a nurse on my staff would do that, so I won't bother lecturing."


He looked at the security guards.  "What happened to all of you?"


A guard holding a wad of tissues to his bloody nose sighed.  "We found the guy."


Dr. Monroe stared for a moment and then nodded.


Suddenly, a elderly woman was practically running down the hallway to them.  "Is Peter all right?  Please tell me he's all right!  I didn't bother to check my messages when I got home, but then I got the call from Harry."


Hope listened to the story, garbled with emotion.  She gave the woman a once over and figured she was telling the truth.  She was taking no chances, however. "Try to calm down, ma'am.  Who are you?"


Wringing her hands, the woman sniffed once, trying to regain composure.  She stood up straight, the posture of a proud woman.  "I'm Peter's aunt May.  May Parker."
Dr. Monroe stepped forward.  "Hello, Mrs. Parker.  I'm the doctor attending Peter, and let me assure you he's going to be all right."


May sighed in relief.  "Oh, thank God."  She looked around at the bruised faces and the expressions.  "Why do you all look so worried, then?"


Dr. Monroe sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair.  "A little while ago, a man arrived here.  He said he was Peter's uncle, and needed to see him.  We let him in."
He shot a quick glance at Hope, who looked down at the green tile floor, ashamed.  


"The man then attempted to harm Peter.  He was trying to kill him."


Aunt May's eyes widened in shock.  "But Peter's all right."


"Peter is fine, Mrs. Parker.  He's sleeping now.  But come with me for a moment.  I need to ask you a few questions."


He led her into Peter's room.  Despite Peter's pleas against it, Dr. Monroe had put him on a stronger sedative to help him sleep.  Dr. Monroe intended to have Peter's room watched. Peter insisted that no one they posted could stop the man, but Monroe figured Peter was just frazzled and disturbed by the days events.  Monroe was certain the guy wouldn't return.  


The boy needed sleep if he was to recover, no ifs ans or buts.  The sedative appeared to be working, because although Peter's face was still haggard and drawn, his eyes were closed in deep sleep.  May gasped at the sight of his neck and hand, and the fierce protection and love she felt flared in her eyes. Her voice lowered to a whisper.  "Who would do such a thing?"


"That's what we asked him.  He refused to tell us, or couldn't.  He was in terrible shock over his friend."


May looked at him.  "His friend?"


"He came in with Mary Jane Watson."  He cleared his throat.  "She's in a coma.  Her apartment exploded.  We don't know how yet."


Tears shimmered in her eyes.  "Oh...the poor girl...poor Peter…"


"Mrs. Parker, do you know anything about this man who is trying to harm them?  Peter's neck looked like this when he came in, not after the man left.  He looked like this before the man arrived."


Aunt May sniffed and tried to gain composure.  "What did this man look like?"


Hope, who was standing in the door way, spoke.  "Late forties, I guess.  Brown hair, blue eyes, I think. Average height.  Wiry."


Aunt May shook her head.  "I can't tell by that.  I'm sorry."


Hope frowned, remembering.  "I could have sworn I knew him from somewhere…I recognized him.  Not like someone I knew personally, but knew from the newspaper, or something."


Aunt May frowned, too.  "Wait a minute…brown hair, you said? Blue eyes, and wiry?"


Hope nodded.  "I think so."


Aunt May thought for a moment.  "I can't think of anyone alive that would fit that."


Hope shrugged.  "Must have just looked like someone I knew, then."


The doctor sighed.  "Well, he's gone now.  We won't find him.  From this moment on, no one except those that Mrs. Parker recognizes will be allowed into his room.  I'm taking no chances."


Aunt May nodded.  "Thank you, doctor.  May I stay and sit with him?"


The doctor studied her for a moment and nodded.  "Yes, just please make sure you don't wake him up.  He needs sleep more than anything."


May nodded, eyes still watery, and pulled the chair near the window to the bed.  The others left as she sat down to keep watch over Pete, as protective as a lioness with her cub.






Norman Osborn paced in his laboratory once again.  Fists clenched, he turned to face the mask on the chair.


He was unconscious, on painkillers.  Alone in the room.  And he's still alive.


Norman ran a hand through his hair.  The Goblin's voice was low, hissing with barely controlled rage.  "What did you want me to do? The damned nurse walked in, it would've taken too long.  We would've been caught."


You should have gotten rid of her!


Norman clenched his fists tighter.  He knew he had screwed up, and was furious at himself.  He had made some bad mistakes in his life, and it looked offering Spiderman friendship rather than just killing him so long ago would be one of them.


A faint voice came to him.  Maybe testing your own product on yourself was the mistake, Norman, it said.  It was his conscience.  A voice he had lost, forgotten about.  
Stop yourself for good before it's too late.


He shoved the thought and what it implied away and concentrated on the other voice.


"It was instinct to leave. It seemed it would have taken too long to kill both of them."


We didn't even have to kill the nurse. We could have just knocked her unconscious.


Norman didn't bother answering, knowing this was a lost argument. "What do we do now?"


A malicious laugh filtered through his head.  Now we do it my way, Osborn.  







Peter awoke the next day at eleven o'clock.  An overcast day greeted his bleary eyes.  Blinking, rubbing the sleep from them with his good hand, he winced.  His broken hand hurt even more, though for a moment, he couldn't remember why.


Peter stretched as best he could with the bandage on his arm and yawned.  Turning his head, he realized that Aunt May was sitting looking at him.  She did her best to smile brightly. "Good morning, Peter."


He smiled weakly. His voice was little more than a rasp with some tone to it.  "Hi, Aunt May.  What's up?"


    She was obviously distressed to see him in so much pain, but she kept her bright smile for his benefit.  She rubbed his arm.  "How do you feel, Peter? Does your hand hurt badly?"


"No," he lied.  "It's fine.  When did you get here?"


She rubbed her eyes and shifted position, stretching.  "Oh, it must have been about eleven forty-five last night.  Harry's here, too, but I think he went to get some coffee from the cafeteria."


Peter nodded and yawned.  "You should go home, Aunt May.  You're probably tired, and I'm fine.  I'll be all right if you want to go home."


Aunt May's expression darkened.  "No, Peter.  I'm not leaving you, not with what happened last night.  Who was that man?"


Peter looked away and didn't answer for a long moment.  "I don't know.  Must have been just some crazy guy."


Aunt May wasn't buying it.  "He knew your name.  He said he was an uncle of yours, and you two were very close.  Do you know who he was?"


"No," Peter said softly.  He hated lying to his aunt, but it was necessary.  Now that he had two identities, it was necessary more and more.  He silently cursed the spider he'd been bitten by.  "I couldn't see his face.  It was too dark."


Aunt May's face creased into a worried expression.  "But how did you get those bruises?  The doctor said you had them before coming in."


"I got mugged.  Walking to MJ's yesterday.  A guy mugged me, and was strangling me when I told him I had no money.  Ran off when he heard someone coming."
Aunt May rubbed his good hand.  "I'm sorry Peter.  Seems you didn't have a good day yesterday."


Peter shook his head.  "No," he whispered.  "I didn't."  He looked at her with tortured eyes.  "Did you see MJ, yet?"


Aunt May looked down sadly and shook her head.  "Not yet.  I wanted to wait until you woke up, and she's in critical care, so I have to wait for visiting hours."


Peter nodded.  Harry suddenly appeared in the door, holding two cups of coffee.  Peter's expression brightened a little.  "Hey Harry.  What's up?"


Harry gave one of the cups to Aunt May who gratefully accepted.  "Well, I had to sneak past a bunch of doctors and nurses to get this coffee here.  I was almost run over by a gurney.  And my best friend is in the hospital.  How's your day been?"


    Peter smiled faintly.  "I've slept so far.  That's it."


    Aunt May chuckled at the two.  "Oh, Peter, good news.  Dr. Monroe said that because you don't have a concussion, and your hand should heal well, you can be discharged today. They just want to be sure there are no complications with your throat, though, so they're not sure when exactly."


    Peter nodded, his spirits once again low.  Harry went to the window and gazed out, sadly watching the sky above the city.  Large black clouds were rolling in. Another storm was arriving.  


    Harry turned to Peter.  "How's MJ?"


    Peter stared at his feet for a moment before speaking.  His tone was quiet and tortured. "She's in a coma."


    Harry sank into a chair and ran a hand over his face.  "God.  What happened?"


Peter closed his eyes and shook his head.  "I don't know.  All of a sudden, there was this explosion.  Maybe there was a gas leak or something, I don't know."


Harry shook his head sadly.  "I'm sorry, Pete."


    Aunt May rubbed Peter's arm comfortingly, then stood.  "I'm just going to go to the ladies room for a moment, and then maybe to the cafeteria. I'll be right back, Peter.  Harry, you'll stay here, won't you?"


    Harry nodded. "Yeah, of course I will."


    May nodded and pulled the door shut behind her.


    Harry stood again and went to the window.  A fork of lightning shot down from the impending clouds and thunder accompanied it a few moments later.  He cleared his throat and shifted position uncomfortably.  Peter could tell there was something on his mind, and he waited patiently.  After fidgeting for a few more moment, Harry spoke.  "So uh....what were you doing with MJ yesterday?"


Peter almost laughed.  Almost.  They were in a hospital, MJ was in a coma, the Green Goblin was back from the dead and trying to kill Peter, and Harry was worried about what Peter and MJ were doing.  


Peter waited to get control of himself before answering.  "I went over to see if she was OK, after the explosion at the theater."


Harry stared at him incredulously.  "You guys were there, too?  What, is someone trying to assassinate you?"


Peter bit back another giddy laugh.  "Just bad luck, I guess."


He closed his eyes for a moment. The bruises on his throat felt like they were choking him, and talking made it worse.  His voice barely worked, anyway.  Wincing, Peter eased his throbbing hand into a more comfortable position.  The painkillers were making him drowsy, and he was dropping off to sleep again when Harry suddenly spoke.  "What the hell is that?"


    Peter's eyes shot open.  "What is what?"


    Harry stepped away from the window, eyes fixed on something outside.  "There's something...."


    Peter struggled to sit up in the bed as Harry backed further away from the window.  "Harry, what is it?"


    Harry stared, rigid, out the window.  Gripping the bar around the bed, Peter yanked himself into a sitting position.  Shaking his head to clear the wooziness, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and followed Harry's gaze.


    His heart leapt into his throat.  Sure enough, the Goblin was drawing a line across the sky, straight for the hospital. When is this guy gonna stop?  "Harry, get out of here! Get away from the window! Leave, now!"


    Rooted to the spot, Harry watched as the Goblin stopped outside the window.  Peter pulled the IV out of his arm.  Teetering on his feet, he went unsteadily to the window and struggled to pull Harry away.  "Come on! Harry, move!"  


The mask's eye visors were up again.  Peter could clearly see the rage and hatred dancing in those eyes, dancing with madness.  With those horrible eyes on Peter, the Goblin produced a bomb.  He pulled back his arm to throw it and Peter's eyes widened in  fear and sudden realization.  There would be no partnership offered this time.  There would be no chance to fight back and maybe win.  This wasn't a fight.  He was going blow Peter to bits, not to mention the other helpless hospital inmates.
This was a cold blooded murder.  


    Peter stared straight into the Goblin's terrible eyes and lifted his chin, in a pointless act of defiance.  He tensed as the Goblin started to throw the bomb and said goodbye to the world.


The Goblin suddenly froze.  


Gaze now locked on Harry, he hesitated.  Harry's eyes widened in shock and fear.  The Goblin hovered, visibly torn.  Heart pounding, Peter didn't move, utterly baffled as to what was wrong.  The Goblin had him cold. He could kill Peter in an instant, and yet he hesitated, as though fighting a battle with himself.  The three of them waited like that, frozen, waiting to see what the Goblin would decide. Lives were being decided in those few seconds that seemed like eternity to Peter.


    Finally, the Goblin roared and hit something else on the bomb.  The lights went off.  To Peter's utter shock, he pulled the glider into a turn and was off.  

   
    Harry stood, mouth open, eyes wide, staring after the speck in the sky.  "Uh....did he just leave?"


    Peter, whose mouth was also agape, nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  I think he did."


    "But why?"


    Peter shook his head just as slowly.  "I don't know....it was like he saw you and then....."


    Harry was bewildered.  "And what?  He left because of me?"


    Peter suddenly understood.  Harry was Mr. Osborn's son.  Mr. Osborn was the Green Goblin.  Though Peter still had trouble associating Mr. Osborn with the goblin, it was the truth.  And as Harry's father, of course he wouldn't want to kill him!  


    Harry was watching Peter work through the fairly obvious solution in his head.  "Peter?  Why'd he leave? What was that?"


    Peter thought quickly.  "Uh....maybe he left because....maybe he was after someone specifically, and we weren't him.....maybe he just left...."


    Harry scratched his head, baffled.  "Peter, you're not making sense.  And besides that, who was that?"


    A million answers sprang to Peter's mind, but he only sighed, choosing not to give any of them.  


    "Wasn't that.... that thing from the Festival a few months ago?  The thing the Daily Bugle named?"


    "The Green Goblin."


    Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's it.  Was that....was that him?"  


    Peter slowly nodded.  "Yeah.  I think it was."


    "What did he want?"


    Peter went back to his bed, moving slowly.  Speaking so much was tearing his throat apart.  He swallowed painfully and said hoarsely, "I really don't know what he wanted. Who can say?"


    Harry shook his head.  "He's probably the one blowing all this stuff up.  What're the odds you've been everywhere?  Bad luck, Pete."


    Flopping back down on the bed, Peter nodded.  "Yeah," he said weakly.  "I know."


    He pulled the blankets up to his chin and closed his eyes.  "Hey Harry?" he asked sleepily.


    "Yeah?"


    "You're not leaving soon, are you?"


    "I was gonna stick around for a while.  Why do you ask?"


    "No reason."


    Spiderman curled onto his side, hugged the pillow to his face, and fell asleep.