5
Harry Osborn sat in his father's study, the place where he saw Spider- Man lay his father's cold body down, and stared at the curtained windows. He tightened his smoking jacket and suddenly felt weak. He reached for a bottle.

Harry had been taking his father's strength 'potions' ever since he'd died. It made him feel at one with his father's mind, tapping into his creation. Lately, the old glider had shown signs of wear. One of the old labs had been broken into, the one where they kept the rats. The rats had been set free but when they found them, half of them were dead. Harry's plan to talk to MJ had backfired; she never showed up. In fact, Harry couldn't remember that whole day except saying something about payback.

Opening the bottle, he took a sip, then gulps and finished it, immediately feeling very sick. He threw the bottle at the wall and hung his head in his hands.

"Oh, dad. Why did he kill you? That murderer. But I know who he is. I read your journal. You really shouldn't leave stuff like that lying about. Why did he kill you?" his 'conversation' ended abruptly when he heard a knock on the door. He opened the curtains and yelled, "Who is it?"

"Mr Parker, sir."

"Let him in and get him a drink." He said, in a crocodile snap. "The bastard." He muttered. Putting on a chummy smile, he went to the door. "Pete!"

"Harry."

"How are you?" Killed anybody else, you freak?

"Good, thank you. I heard about the company. Congratulations."

"Thanks Pete, it means a lot to me." He said, almost through gritted teeth. They sat down on the leather sofas, opposite eachother. The tribal masks stared at them, eavesdropping on their every word.

"I'll be reporting on it. And taking the pictures." Jenkins came in and set down a cup of coffee. "Thanks."

"Well, Pete. If it was anybody, I'm glad it's you." Who killed my father. A wicked thought burst into Harry's mind. "I'd be happy to give you a private interview."

"Harry, that would be a godsend. I don't know much about the fair. Will it be as eventful as last year?" Harry smirked.

"I hope it'll be good but not THAT sort of eventful. If Spider-Man steps foot on the ground, I'll kill him on the spot." Peter spluttered into his coffee. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Harry, it's been great but I know you're busy. I have to go and see MJ." Peter realised he'd uttered the word. Harry looked away. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." But it wasn't. Harry wasn't looking at him.

"I'll call Aunt May. She's been worried about you. I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."

"Fine." He snapped.

"Goodbye."

"Whatever." Peter left. Harry laughed, a manic laugh, then broke down into tears. He curled himself up into a foetal position, a little child again. "Oh dad. Oh daddy dad."

"Are you alright, sir?" It was Jenkins, standing at the doorway.

"Phone, Jenkins. I need the phone." Jenkins took the old-fashioned telephone off of the table and set it down beside Harry. "You know which number, Jenkins." Jenkins whirled round the number dial. It seemed to take forever. Whirl, click click. Whiiiiiirl, click click. He handed the headset to Harry. "It's me. Are you free tomorrow.."