"Shriek in the Night" Part 1 'From A Whisper to A Scream'
Peter Parker was glad to be back in the hustle and bustle of the Bugle's busy newsroom, with people running here and there clutching bundles of paper and fistfuls of computer disks, which doubtlessly contained juicy pieces of information on various high society figures or the type of people who didn't want their faces in the papers at all.
Like the Kingpin, Peter thought sourly. I wish I could figure out what the ol' grease bucket is planning - apart from his usual night-time raids on Kentucky Fried Chicken. That guy must clean them out of spicy wings every week... Sighing, he looked at the packet of photographs in his hand - the pictures were of a recent robbery that he had had the good fortune to catch on film - so far, so routine, as far as Peter had been concerned. The only difference was, the spandex involved wasn't red and blue. The guy who had stopped the robbery was Cardiac. Jonah would probably go off on a routine little tangent about how the superhero community was a "blight on our fair city" and how if it were up to him, they'd all be run off a cliff and/or boiled in their own tights. Peter wondered, briefly, what Jonah would do if he were to come face to masked face with Captain America - would he congratulate the man on being a living legend, or would he, as Peter rather suspected would be the case, jab a finger in the guy's face and tell him he was responsible for every single act of costumed violence since time immemorial? One thing was for sure - Peter would definitely pay to see that meeting. He knocked on the door to Jonah's office, and heard what he supposed was a grunt of acknowledgement on the other side, which he took to mean he was to come in. He turned the knob on the door, to be greeted by the slightly comical sight of J. Jonah Jameson trying to balance a phone call, a cigar, and a typewriter all at the same time.
"What do you want, Parker?" he growled in a clipped, annoyed tone. Then, to the person on the other end of the line, who Peter decided had to be Jonah's wife Marla, he said "No, I'm not thrilled about that letter, sweetheart, but what do you expect me to do about it? Write an editorial and hope it'll make it go away? I'm sure you're thrilled, you have every reason to be, but... look, we'll discuss it later. Parker's in my office now." He hung up the phone and muttered "Ah... the visit from Hell..." Then, he sat back into his leather chair and rubbed at his eyes with a forefinger and thumb, before looking up at Peter with a hawkish expression on his face. "You tell anyone I said the word 'sweetheart' and I'll skin you alive, Parker. Now what do you want?"
"You know, Jonah," Peter ventured, "having your mother-in-law over isn't the worst thing that can happen to you." Apparently Peter's sense of intuition was accurate, as Jonah gave him a withering glare and took a comforting pull on his cigar before blowing out a long stream of grey smoke.
"Don't push it, Parker," he said shortly. "You don't know my wife's mother. Now what do you have?"
"Some pictures -" Peter began. Jonah cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"Don't tell me," he said shortly. "They're of Spider-Man, right? Just what I need to cheer me up, that wall-crawling weasel showing his face again. You really have no sense of tact, do you, Parker?" Peter couldn't suppress a grin at that, and set the packet of photos down on the desk.
"Actually, Jonah, he doesn't appear once. This guy is someone different." He waited for Jonah's face to light up, and he watched with delight as Jonah eagerly drew the pictures out of the packet. "See? That's Cardiac. He hasn't been seen in years, and suddenly he's back. You think there's something up?"
"Could be, Parker," Jonah said thoughtfully. "Could be. But I don't have the time to worry about that right now. I wish I did..." Then, pulling out his checkbook, he wrote off a generous-by-his-standards check for the pictures. "That's for the pictures, and for getting out of my sight," he said shortly. "I don't need you making my staff distracted right now. Do I make myself clear?"
Peter grinned. "Yes sir, Mr. Jameson." Jonah scowled, and waved him away without another word.
As he was leaving JJJ's office, Peter saw Robbie walking towards him, apparently lost in thought as well as the thick file he held in his hands. "Hey, Robbie," he said, and watched the older man snap out of the trance he had been in.
"Hello, Peter," Robbie said. "Are you okay?"
"Sure," Peter replied. "But what's up with Jonah? He looks like he's just swallowed some hot coals."
Robbie's grin was broad, his white teeth gleaming against his dark skin. "I guess he has, in a way. I guess Marla's family is visiting, he always get like that when they visit. So he's taking out his frustrations on us."
"And that's different to usual... how, exactly?" Peter laughed.
"Well, this time there's the small fact that he's got to get on with people he hates, and who hate him, for more than either hours a day." Robbie paused, and raised a greying eyebrow in speculative thought. "Actually, you're right. There is no difference." He slapped Peter on the shoulder. "You better get back to your wife, Peter - she'll be wanting you to cook her dinner on that kind of money." He gestured towards the check that Jonah had pressed into Peter's hand, and Peter held it up, glancing at it dismissively.
"On this kind of money? She'll get pasta and like it. That's if we want to keep our heating and fancy, new-fangled electric lighting, of course." He snorted with laughter. "See you, Robbie. Take care of yourself."
"You too, Peter. Tell Mary Jane we all send our love, okay?"
"Will do, Robbie."
Bidding Robbie goodbye, Peter slipped out of the offices and found his way to the top of the building via a staircase, leaping up it in long, loose bounces while he switched from his street clothes to his Spidey costume. He found the exit to the roof of the building and webbed up his jacket, shirt and other items of clothing in a small web-bundle, which he fixed to his back with a thin strap of webbing. Time to visit an old friend...
"So how's he coming along, Doc?"
Doctor Kafka stroked her chin and tapped a pencil thoughtfully against her clipboard before she said "He's doing really well, Spider-Man - he's remembered his name, for one thing, and he's started to get flashes of childhood memories: Christmases, New Years', that kind of thing. He's also remembered Osborn Industries, and his son - Harry, wasn't it?"
Spider-Man took a deep breath before answering. "Yeah... yeah, that was his name. He... hasn't remembered anything about..."
"No," Ashley replied. "No Goblin... yet. I'll let you know if it does happen, though." She paused. "You know, it's odd - a few days ago he wasn't remembering a thing, but now... more and more memories are surfacing every day. I don't know what happened, but something must have tripped a switch in his head. I hope this is going to be the end of the Goblin just as much as you, Spider-Man, but... be prepared, all right?"
Spider-Man hung his head for a moment, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. "Yeah," he said dejectedly. "I'll do that. Thanks, Doc. I'll... be in touch." Then he moved towards the door of the observation booth and left, silently. John Jameson, who had been quietly standing to one side of the conversation, attending to various security monitors, looked around at his partner in more than just the running of the asylum.
"You really think we can stop Osborn from becoming the Green Goblin again?" he asked, his brows creasing worriedly. Dr. Kafka scratched at the bridge of her nose, and shrugged hopelessly.
"I don't know, John. I hope so. I really hope so. Especially since the two of us are skating on such thin ice after what happened with the Chameleon. We'll just have to play this by ear and keep our fingers crossed that something bad doesn't happen..."
Peter swung towards his home in Forest Hills, the sky darkening enough that his costume didn't stand out too much. He somersaulted through the air and came to rest on the roof of the house, before crawling down towards the back door. His spider-sense wasn't warning him of any unwelcome eyes, so he dropped down to ground level, unlocked the back door with the key he'd kept in one of the pockets of the clothes webbed up on his back, and slipped inside, taking his mask off at the same time. MJ won't be expecting this, he thought to himself mischievously. He crept through the corridor, keeping his steps as quiet as he could, avoiding every loose board and potentially-noisy furniture item that was in his way, until he reached the door to the lounge. Preparing to burst through it, a loud "Surprise!" ready to break free from his lips, his heart sank when he heard MJ laughing and talking to somebody. His spider-sense wasn't going off, so they weren't there in person, but still... he hated having jokes - even ones in questionable taste such as this one - go down the pan needlessly. After the campaign of terror he and Uncle Ben had waged against one another when he'd been younger, every missed opportunity was really quite disappointing.
I wonder how MJ would react to blackface soap? he wondered silently.
Putting that thought behind him for the moment, he opened the door quietly and saw MJ lying back on the couch. She waved to him, got up, and bounced over to kiss him hello before resuming her phone conversation. "No, Jill, it's just Peter. He works long hours and he's only just got back. I'm lucky to see him most days, you know. Makes me feel like renting out a Chippendales video to get my nightly dose of studly goodness." She winked at Peter, who had pursed his lips and folded his arms, one eyebrow raised silently. He pointed upstairs and indicated that he was going to take a shower, since his costume was sweaty and damp, and he needed to ease some lingering tension out of his limbs. MJ nodded and waved him away, and then resumed her conversation on the phone. "Anyway, as I was saying - I want this expo to really show the world - or just New Jersey, whichever - that my designs are something to sit up and take notice of. I want this to be my moment, you know? I have a talent and I want to make a living out of it. Is that so bad?"
Jill was silent for a moment and then said "Of course not, MJ - I hope it all goes well for you. You know I'd buy your stuff, so it must be great!"
MJ made a face. "Yeah, I know that, Jill, but one customer doesn't make me Vivienne Westwood. I want everyone to know about me. Thanks for the good wishes, though - I appreciate it."
"No problem," Jill replied. "Look, I need to get off the phone - Dad wants to make a phone call. It looks important, so maybe you'd like to meet up for coffee sometime this week?"
"Sure - how about Wednesday?" MJ suggested. "I don't have anything on my social calendar then - what about you?"
"Nope, I'm still living the lonely life of a single girl," Jill said wistfully. "See you Wednesday, then - your place or mine?"
"Mine, I think. I need the company. I'll see you then, Jill." MJ pressed the hang-up button on the phone's handset and pushed the "on" button on the TV remote. She felt predisposed towards some brain-melting TV this evening, and there seemed to be plenty of it to choose from. Even the episode of "The Simpsons" was one she'd seen a million times before - and there was only so many times the sight of Homer Simpson in a clown outfit could make her laugh really loudly.
Just then Peter popped his head around the doorframe and said excitedly "MJ, we have to watch this." He pointed to a page in the TV guide he held in his hand, to a movie called Shriek If You Know What I Did Last Summer. This time, it was MJ's turn to be skeptical.
"Oh, come on, Peter - don't you think this whole 'ironic' thing has gone a little too far? That guy should stick to making Dawson's Creek - at least I can watch that and not laugh myself stupid at how dumb the whole thing is."
"MJ, please - this is different. And it beats reruns, right?" Peter used the secret weapon in his arsenal - his ability to apparently make his eyes grow to twice their normal size so that he looked even more like a hard-done-by little boy than usual - and MJ sighed in defeat.
"Oh, all right, Peter. You find the channel and I'll go make us some popcorn, okay?" Peter almost squealed with delight and gave MJ a grateful kiss.
"Thanks, MJ. You're the best."
MJ grinned. "And don't you forget it, tiger."
"You're going to pay for what you did last summer, girl..."
The TV crackled in the dark, ill-lit office. Dr. Kafka had switched it on in desperation to try and keep herself awake. Mountains of paperwork had a way of lulling her to sleep faster than a few rounds of "Rock-a-bye baby". The movie stank, but at least it was helping her to keep her eyes open - if only because she occasionally shrieked at the screen in contempt at the bad acting and ludicrous plot - what there was of it, in between the increasingly bloody killings.
Just then, the internal intercom buzzed, so Ashley switched the TV off and pressed the button on her desk. "Go ahead," she said quietly.
"It's Frances Barrison," said a staid voice on the other end of the line. "Doctor, she's being... difficult. She keeps telling us not to take her baby away from her, and she won't listen to reason. We need to get that antidote for the Carrion Virus soon."
Dr Kafka rolled her eyes. If it's not one thing, it's another... "I'm on my way," she said. "Keep her busy until I can get there, all right?"
"No! I won't let you take her away from me!" Frances Barrison - the villainess also known as Shriek - shouted at the guards and doctors. "She's my baby! You can't have her!"
"No, Frances - we don't want to do that. We just want to help both of you," Dr. Kafka said softly. "I mean that. We want the best for both of you, but you have to let us help you, all right. Now just let the guardsmen help you back into bed and we can all sort this out in the morning, all right?"
Shriek's eyes narrowed, fixing the Doctor with a steely glare. "No. I know you, Assssshhhley. I know what you want to do to me. You want to slice my head open and take my brains out so you can study what makes us crazy people crazy, don't you?"
"No, Frances, that's not true. I want to help you get better -"
"Liar!" Shriek screamed. "You don't want that at all! You want to take my child from me and you want to tie me up and cut me! You're just like my father! Leave me alone!"
Dr. Kafka was just about to reply when she heard the swish of an automatic door at the other end of the corridor, and she saw John Jameson and two Guardsmen walking towards her. Dr. Kafka also could have sworn she saw a black cat following behind the three men, but she put that down to lack of sleep and the poor lighting in the corridor. "John!" she exclaimed. "See if you can calm her down - she always seemed to respond to you better." John swallowed nervously, and stepped up to the door of the cell, opening it slightly so that he could get a better view of Shriek.
"Hello, Frances," he said quietly.
"Hiya, John-john," Shriek cooed seductively, waving coyly to John as she did so. Her keen eyes saw that the door was open just a little too much for it to fully close before she could get to it, and she decided to use that to her advantage. "Miss me?"
John nodded, aware that if he didn't go along with her the moment might be lost. "Of course I missed you, Frances. Now, are you going to be a good girl for me and let my men put some restraints on you - we just want to move you somewhere where we can talk to you properly, all right?"
"All right, John-john," Shriek whispered. "But just because it's you..." John motioned the two armored Guardsmen to move forward into Shriek's cell and cuff her. Too late, John noticed that they had attached the cuffs to her wrists instead of her arms. Her hands slapped together and the resultant blast incinerated both men. A subsequent blast sliced through the group of doctors and nurses, causing them to scatter, and allowing Shriek to shatter a nearby window and escape. "Could have been magic, John-john..." was the last thing John Jameson heard before the reality that Shriek had escaped sank in with a sickening crunch. His hand went to his belt where a radio hung by some leather straps.
Bringing it to his lips, he said "Give me all available Guardsmen. We have an escapee. Repeat, we have an escapee..."
Peter stuffed the last mouthful of popcorn into his mouth, and MJ gave him an evil look. "You finished this batch, Peter. That means you have to go and make the next one - I'm not doing it twice!"
Peter shrugged. "Okay... but don't expect me to peel you some grapes while I'm out there." MJ threw a cushion at him and he retreated to the kitchen before it hit his right in the stomach. Abruptly, he heard a hideous shrieking sound, which really made a shudder run down his spine. He dismissed it as the best special effect in the movie's otherwise small FX budget and set the popcorn into the microwave without a second thought.
The same shrieking sound ripped through the air of Ravencroft, sending yet another shiver through Ashley Kafka's body. John twitched slightly, his trigger finger spasming. "I guess we can safely say Frances has left the building."
"I called in some search personnel, John - they should be here as soon as possible. Once they do arrive, we'll have to go looking for Frances before anything can go drastically wrong. She's a very disturbed young woman, and if someone were to say something to upset her..." She didn't finish the sentence, since both she and John knew exactly what would happen then. John took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.
"Ashley... are we shooting to kill here?" Dr. Kafka glared at him.
"How dare you ask me that?" she snapped. "Of course we're not. Not unless we have no choice, and I don't want to admit that until every last avenue has been explored. Is that clear?"
John nodded. "Crystal."
Suddenly, and to the surprise of both Dr Kafka and Jameson, the black cat that Ashley had thought she had seen earlier leapt up onto the table top where they were sat, purring and rubbing itself against John. He tried to shoo it away, but it was extremely persistent, only moving when he swatted it with a hand. It hissed and scratched him across the face, slicing three neat wounds into his cheek, causing him to curse loudly. The cat leapt off the table and ran out of the room, and John shook his head.
"Well, that was... different," he said.
"Absolutely," Dr Kafka agreed. "But we can't worry about that now - I'll give you a tetanus jab when we come back."
John nodded in agreement and the two of them left the room to go in search of their missing patient.
When they'd left, Maguire ran out of the Asylum and into the waiting arms of Mad Jack. "Good girl," he crooned softly. "Good girl..."