12

Peter stopped the car and sighed. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, just to kill time. Just to make it all go away. To not have this day come, to let it pass by and not affect him. ~ Harry's passed by ~ he's not going away ~ you killed him too ~ just like you're killing time. ~

Peter let his head fall back onto the leather head rest. He gulped loudly. Breathing was difficult today. It was too much of an effort. Plus, a guy like him didn't deserve to breathe, to keep on living, when so many had died because of him. All those wasted lives. A cool, gloved hand rested on his brow.

"You okay, honey?" Mary Jane's voice was like a beacon in the fog. Peter drew his head off slowly and turned to look at her, his guiding light.

"I don't think I can do this," Peter's glance fell behind MJ, where mourners were criss-crossing through the graves to get to the nailed coffin of one Harold Norman Osborn. ~ Nailed down ~ stone dead ~ because of yours truly. ~ "I know I can't do this."

"No such word as can't," said MJ, pressing his nose. She picked up the paper from her feet and it rustled as she handed it to Peter. "Read this. It's a beautiful article." Peter took it from her and started to read.

HAROLD NORMAN OSBORN

1983 - 2003

Harold Norman Osborn is being buried today at Lily Grove Cemetery. Harold or Harry, as he liked to be called, was the only son of Norman Osborn, the business entrepreneur, and Jacqueline Prince-Osborn. Harold was born in-

Peter stopped reading. This was stupid. He knew when Harry was born, he knew who his parents were. How was this one article, written by someone who had never even met Harry before, supposed to make him jump up and mourn the death of his best friend with other people he'd never met before when he can do it at home by moping, weeping and blaming himself?

"MJ, this isn't working," he gave her the paper back and turned on the radio. Macy Gray. She was playing when Norman killed the board members and tried, to a lesser extent, to kill his only son and many other innocents. Macy's gravely voice filled the front of the car gradually.

"I try to say goodbye and I choke! I try to walk away and I stumble and when I try to hide it, it's clear, my world crumbles when you're not here.."

"You hear that?" said MJ after a pause. "She's talking - singing, about someone she loves who's gone. Who she wants back. She wants to," MJ started to sing, "Turn back ti-ayme!" Peter grunted. "Just keep reading the damn article, Pete." She thrusted the paper back at him and looked out of the window, her head on her fist. Peter found his place again.

- March, 1983.

"It's just a biography, MJ. It doesn't say anything else." Peter let the tiredness and frustration seep through his voice, the radio still a presence in the background.

"Keep reading. Skip the stupid biography." MJ sounded tired and frustrated herself. Maybe they shouldn't go. This was a stupid idea anyway. It was just going to open old wounds. "Keep reading, Pete. Stop doubting yourself." Peter coughed and rustled the paper. He skimmed through the biography, which took up most of the article, until he came to the last paragraph. Peter began to read it out loud to himself.

"Harold N. Osborn was a young man with great dreams and hopes for the world of science and of humanity. A dream of humanity moving forward and forgetting fighting and death, instead remembering life and love. A dream he shared with his father. Mr Osborn was a man who wanted peace in the world around him, an everlasting peace that would touch the inside of every being. He is gone in the material sense but everlasting in the peace and love he gave to his family, his friends and everyone around him."

Peter stopped and breathed in deeply. MJ looked at him and then looked right through him. He seemed lifted of a heavy burden. A tear ran down his cheek. He didn't notice. He stared at the paper knowingly and sighed.

"You're right as always, Mary Jane. That was really beautiful."

"I've made peace with him, Peter. He made peace with me, I think, in a way beyond words." She took the paper from him and put it on the back seat. Peter found her hand and interlocked his fingers with her own he put his head back and closed his eyes. MJ copied him and the car was filled only with the sound of the news on the radio.

"And finally, police say they have caught a burglar and mugger who has yet to be named. Back to you-." Peter switched the radio off with his free hand.

"We should really get out of the car soon."

"I know," MJ smiled. She opened her eyes, as did Peter, opened the door and stepped out of the car. Now there was just the Osborn family, living and departed, to deal with.

***

"That was a fitting service, reverend," Mary Jane shook the kindly old man's hand. "No one else could have done it but you."

"Thank you, Miss Watson. It was as hard for me as it was for you. Poor Harry is the third Osborn I've buried in the past three years." He looked sadly towards the three graves. Jacqueline, Norman and Harry. The perfect dysfunctional family. The priest looked at MJ with his wrinkled eyes and smiled his wise smile. Mary Jane smiled and went over to a young, dark haired woman standing over Harry's grave. She looked like him a little, even though the heavy veil she was wearing obscured most of her face.

"Are you alright?" said MJ. The woman sniffed and held a black lace handkerchief to her face and dabbed her eyes, though no tears showed.

"Yes. I'm fine," she replied. "But that's the problem. I don't feel anything." She sure sounded like it, thought MJ. The woman's voice was a like a drone and she was becoming more and more of a drag by the second. "How did you know Harry?"

"Oh," MJ's head bobbed a little as she stared at the gravestone marked, Harold Norman Osborn, 1983 - 2003, 'Everlasting'. "We were old friends. You?"

"I'm - I was his cousin," she lifted up the veil. She was very beautiful, pale skin, watery blue eyes, thick black hair cascading over her shoulders. "Diana Prince. My mother was Jacqueline's sister." She shook MJ's hand.

"Mary Jane Watson. Nice to meet you. Pity it had to be here." Diana smiled at MJ but MJ felt unmoved. There was no sadness or frustration in Diana's eyes. Just relief.

"Indeed. You know something, Mary Jane? I'm glad he's gone. He got what was coming to him." MJ thought she even saw Diana smile.

"Well, I have to go now. I'm very sorry for your loss." MJ walked away from the grave but began to walk faster and faster, saying hurried goodbyes, giving hand shakes and condolences to whoever she recognised. She found Peter and curled her arm round his own.

"Oh, MJ, what's up?"

"I don't feel good. Can we leave? We can always come back another time, if you want to."

"Oh, okay, if you're not feeling well," Peter didn't sound that convinced but he still said goodbye and left with her. They sped through the cemetery, over the graves, down the path and to the road. They got into the car and MJ let out a long sigh. "What was wrong with you?" Peter asked, not intended as malicious but still coming out slightly agitated.

"Nothing, it's that woman. Harry's cousin, Diana something." MJ shuddered. "Tell me if I'm being stupid but by the way she talked, it sounded as if she had just killed somebody."

"Don't be stupid, MJ," Peter started the car up. He needed sleep more than anything. Sleep so he could dream of bringing the peace that Harry always wanted. It was the least he could do.

"I'm not being stupid, Peter, I'm being perfectly rational. She said, and I quote, 'he got what was coming to him.' She's Spider-Woman! She was even wearing a veil."

"And what does that prove?" said Peter, half-laughing.

"Nothing," MJ sighed. "I just think she could have pulled the trigger you know. She had the mental ability." Peter looked at her and laughed. "Okay, maybe not. Dismissed."

"No, MJ. No one is dismissed. Everyone is a suspect." He looked her up and down. "Even you." MJ laughed and adopted a sexy growl.

"Well, what are you going to do about it? Give me a strip search?"

Peter thought about it, oh he thought about it all right, long and hard. Then again, the last time he slept with MJ was when Harry died. If every time they made love was either going to be a funeral or when someone died, a pattern had to be broken.

"Maybe later."