"Shriek in the Night" Part 3 'Shrieking Mad!'

There are better ways to die...

That was the only thought that was running through Peter Parker's head as the horde of mesmerized citizens swarmed over him, trying to land as many punches and kicks as they possibly could. Their fists and feet kept clumsily landing on taut muscle and nubs of bone beneath Peter's skin, causing more jarring pain to run up his spine like lightning bolts, slamming into the base of his skull with the pressure of a fire hose, making him dizzy with recycled agony. They tugged at his mask, stretching the fabric but not tearing it - obviously Shriek had no desire to see who was under the Spider-Man costume; she just wanted Spider-Man deader than a doornail, and quickly.

Typical supervillain mindset, a part of Peter's brain thought with a surprisingly detached and sardonic tone. Through the writhing heap of bodies that weighed down heavily upon him (although not as heavily as they would have done on a normal human being), Spidey could see his captor firing off force blasts and cooking Guardsmen in their armored suits as if they were nothing more than raw meat. He could smell the odor of burning flesh, above even the stench of bitter sweat and anger that filled the air around him and his assailants. It made him want to vomit, but he knew that he could do no such thing while he was pinned down. He'd simply choke on his own puke, and that would be letting Shriek win by default -

- and there's no way I'm going to let her do that, he thought determinedly. Focusing for a moment, he noticed that as Shriek fired her energy blasts, the weight of his attackers lessened ever so slightly - not by much, but enough for him to notice with his heightened senses. That, he decided, was the key to getting out of this predicament. Struggling with one young woman, whose grip seemed like that of an iron vice while she was under the control of Shriek's deadly powers, he managed to get one webshooter free for a moment, and fired a long, thin strand towards Shriek's leg. It impacted just above her thigh, and Spidey pulled on it as soon as he felt it go taut. Shriek's thigh whipped out from under her, and she collapsed in a tangled heap, cursing and screaming in rage as she did so.

Spidey felt the weight of his assailants lift off him as their trance was broken, and they started to step back from him in a daze. He could see the shock and disbelief in their faces as they realized what they had been doing, and he wished that he could make that go away. Then, the crowd saw the corpses of the dead Guardsmen and Shriek, who was just rising to her feet, her eyes glowing with yellow-hued energy, and they began to run, yelling cautions to each other or just concentrating on escaping with their lives.

"Aww," Shriek cooed, "don't you pretty babies wanna play no more? Too bad... Mommy wanted to play with you so much... guess I'll have to just punish you instead." Without another word, she slammed her hands together and let a huge blast of energy loose, its searing waves flaring out from her body and enveloping the crowd before they could even take another step away from her. Shriek laughed and writhed with pleasure as their bodies were obliterated by the golden light, their flesh turned to ash even more easily than the Guardsmen's bodies had been. Shriek howled ecstatically as the blast died down, and licked her lips lasciviously, turning her gaze back towards Spider-Man. She sauntered towards her intended prey, swinging her hips and putting her index finger to her lips coyly, like a psychotic version of Shirley Temple. "Needed some salt," she whispered huskily, "but that was pretty tasty. Now... I want me some Spider-Man as dessert. Whatcha say, honey?"

"Go back," Spider-Man wheezed, his lungs straining to draw breath, "to Hell."

"Oooh," Shriek purred. "Flattery will get you everywhere... if you catch my drift."

"Shut up!" Spidey yelled, white-hot rage burning at the corners of his vision and deep within his soul. "Murderer!" Without thinking, he pulled on the webline that was still clutched in his hand, and swung Shriek into a wall. She hit the bricks hard, and fell to the ground limply, her body unmoving as she lay on the cold concrete.

Spidey blinked. Oh, God. What did I just do? He leapt quickly over to where Shriek lay, his heart pounding. He knew that his temper could get the better of him at times - he only had to recall what had happened after Gwen had died to see that; he'd been ready to kill Norman Osborn, and probably would have done if he hadn't pulled back at the last instant - but he didn't want the blood of a person - any person - on his hands. Cautiously, he crept up to where Shriek's body was lying motionless. Kneeling close to her, he pulled up his mask so that his mouth and nose were uncovered, in case he needed to give her CPR. Moving closer to her, he checked her pulse, and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a steady beat.

Still, she did look fairly unconscious, and Peter thought he'd better get her back to Ravencroft so that the doctors there could take a look at her. He slipped his arms underneath her, and was just about to lift her up when her eyes flicked open.

"Boo," she said with a deranged cackle of a laugh. Peter's heart seemed to leap out of his chest, and he staggered backwards in shock - at which point, Shriek lashed out with a hard kick to his jaw. It left the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, snapped his head to one side and left him dazed, open for a hard punch to the solar plexus. As Peter moved backwards again (if only to absorb the shock of the blow's impact, rather than to register any real damage), Shriek seized her opportunity and began to make her escape. "You'll never take my baby!" she snarled, all her previous childish seductiveness disappearing as fast as it had appeared. "Never! You'll have to kill me first!"

Suddenly, a shining circular object (which Spidey could just make out as the lid of a garbage can) hurtled out of the shadows of a nearby alleyway and hit Shriek square in the back of the head, bouncing off her skull with a hefty thudding sound. Dazed and a little confused, Spidey couldn't see exactly who had thrown it, but since his spider-sense hadn't been set off, he supposed he ought not to look a gift-horse in the mouth.

Shriek snarled, her stance a little wobbly and unbalanced. "That... wasn't very nice," she hissed through clenched teeth. "You shouldn't hit your Mommy, baby. Now I have to punish you, too..."

Behind a battered, but still basically functional Ravencroft van, Ashley Kafka and John Jameson listened to the noise and fury of the battle between Spider-Man and Shriek with bated breath.

"I gotta do something," John whispered in a frustrated tone. "I can't just sit here..." Dr. Kafka shook her head, dejectedly.

"Me neither, John, but we're still no match for that girl without any Guardsman armor -"

"What the hell's that got to do with anything?" John retorted sharply, his breathing harsh and ragged in his throat. "It didn't do much good for those poor guys she just killed, did it?"

Dr. Kafka paled for a moment, and John could clearly see that she was shaken and afraid - but as if he wasn't. He reached out with one hand and she gripped it tightly, her knuckles whitening over the dark blue of his thick gloves.

"It'll be okay," he whispered, trying to sound as strong as he possibly could. "I promise."

"We're going to need more than your promises, John," Ashley replied, reaching into a jacket pocket with her free hand and dialing a number hurriedly. After a few rings, the other end of the line opened up and Dr. Kafka almost shouted into her handset "Do you have the Carrion vaccine?" An anonymous voice assured that "We have the vaccine, Doctor. It ought to be ready by the time you get Shriek back to Ravencroft."

Thank God for that, Ashley thought. She'll finally be free of that death sentence. Pausing, she wondered what that might mean. She hoped the outcome would be positive.

She prayed that it would be positive.

Gripping the handset even more tightly, she pressed the "end call" button and slipped it back into her jacket hurriedly.

"So what'd they tell you?" John said breathlessly.

"She'll be cured within the next few hours," Ashley replied. "We can take her back to Ravencroft for treatment."

John shook his head. "Damn." Then, reaching into a half-destroyed medical bag, he fished out a couple of tranquilizer guns, which were fully loaded with sedative darts. "Care for a duck shoot?"

"Always, John," Ashley replied, with a wan smile. John grinned at her, and then stood up from behind his cover.

"Hey, freakshow!" he yelled, causing Shriek to begin turning towards the sound of his voice, away from Spider-Man. Before she could fire off any energy blasts, however, both he and Dr. Kafka had unloaded at least three darts into her body. Each one injected a potent, individually-tailored cocktail of drugs into her system, which overloaded her accelerated metabolism and caused her to slump to the ground, motionless.

Spidey watched, stunned, as John Jameson and Ashley Kafka proceeded to save his red and blue butt. He supposed he ought to thank them, but he knew that if the story of this night got out, he'd be a laughing stock in the long-underwear community.

And coming from a guy who hangs out with guys who have little wings on the side of their heads and look like a pile of orange pebbles, that's saying a lot... He shrugged. At least it was better than getting his behind kicked by a psycho mother-wannabe. "Uh... thanks, Doc - John," he said uncertainly.

"No problem, Webslinger," John replied, giving him a mock salute and then pointing to Shriek's unmoving form. "Say... you wouldn't mind, you know, stopping her from getting up?"

"Sure." Spider-Man pointed his web-shooters towards Shriek's body and sprayed a thin but inflexible coating of webbing all over her body, fastening her firmly to the ground and rendering her immobile. "That ought to hold her until we can get her back to your place."

"Let's hope so," Dr. Kafka replied. "I don't want to go through a repeat of this. At least not tonight." Spider-Man snorted with relieved laughter.

"Doc, whenever I doubt you have a sense of humor, you always end up surprising me." He shrugged. "But I know what you mean - hopefully this ought to teach your guys a few lessons about how to handle that girl."

"I hope so," John said, all traces of levity leeched from his tone.

"Me too, John," Spidey said sadly. "Me too."

Ravencroft was cold. It was always cold, but Dr. Kafka thought it was more noticeable tonight, of all nights. In the medical room of the asylum, Shriek was tied down to a cot with leather straps, her hands secured and placed within steel manacles that covered them right up to the ends of her slender fingers. Dr. Kafka wasn't taking any more chances with her patient than she had already - bitter experience had taught her that Shriek punished risk-taking with blood. "The vaccine's ready, Doctor," an aide said, handing Dr. Kafka a syringe filled with a bright green liquid. "Shriek ought to respond to this fairly quickly - we made it so that it interacted with her unique physiology - but you ought to be prepared for any unforeseen side-effects."

"Yes, thank you, Patterson," Dr. Kafka said through clenched teeth. "I'll bear that in mind." Considering how raw her nerves had become over the last few hours, she was surprised she didn't do a lot worse to him, but she managed to keep her cool long enough to jab the syringe right into Shriek's milky-white arm and depress the plunger, emptying its contents into her bloodstream. Almost immediately, Dr. Kafka could see the vaccine working its way through her patient's body - the vivid green hue of the vaccine acted like a signpost to where it was headed. The patient began to thrash in her restraints, her hands clenching and unclenching in their manacles, and her teeth grinding in pain.

"Gone," she moaned plaintively, the stress enough to wake her from her unconscious state. "She's gone..."

"Yes, Frances, I'm afraid so," Dr. Kafka replied softly, deciding to play along, just this once, with Shriek's confused delusions. Shriek saw the stationary form of Spider-Man stood just off to one side of the treatment room and her eyes began to glow with a murderous yellow-hued glare.

"You did it," she hissed. "You killed her!"

Spider-Man did nothing, but step closer towards Dr. Kafka and whisper "I shouldn't have come here... I'm sorry, Ashley."

"Nonsense, Spider-Man," Dr. Kafka said quietly. Then, more loudly, she addressed Shriek "Spider-Man did nothing to your baby; she just... slipped away. We tried to save her, but there was nothing we could do."

"Liar!" Shriek howled hopelessly. "You killed her!"

"She died of natural causes, Frances... we tried to save her, but there was nothing we could do." Turning back towards Spider-Man, she nodded. "Perhaps you ought to go. Frances is usually much more docile without a source of stress to upset her."

Spider-Man nodded and turned to leave the treatment room, but not before John Jameson took hold of his arm and said quietly "Thanks for the help, Webhead - couldn't have done it without you." He grinned wanly. "Let's just hope none of this gets out to the press, huh?"

"Yeah, might as well use up our luck quota wishing for that, John. We sure didn't get much else tonight." Spider-Man gripped John's outstretched hand in friendship and then left the room feeling dejected, sore, and miserable.

He arrived home in Forest Hills at around six a.m., his body screaming out for a hot bath and some decent sleep. MJ was already up, doing her morning regimen of kung fu stretches and tai chi movements. "Hey, tiger," she said as he stumbled into their kitchen, his motion sluggish and distracted. "Long time no see." Peter tried to smile, but the resultant look was weak and without conviction. MJ realized something was wrong then, and moved closer to him to try and see what that something was. "You okay?" she asked rhetorically.

"No," Peter said in a somewhat redundant fashion. "Shriek killed a lot of people last night, and I couldn't stop her."

"But you helped get her back where she belongs, Peter - you have to look at it that way -"

"Do I?" Peter snapped angrily. Seeing MJ's hurt expression, he softened his voice and reached out with his hands to enfold her in his arms. "I don't want those deaths on my conscience. I hate that I couldn't save them. All my strength and speed and power, and I couldn't even do that."

MJ sighed. "Oh, Peter... I'm not going to win a fight against the Parker conscience, am I?" She stroked his face and kissed him gently on the lips. "Go to bed. Sleep a little. You'll feel better once you've had a few hours' rest, I promise." She gave him a naughty smile and hugged him a little tighter as she did so. "I might even bring you breakfast in bed if you're real lucky."

Peter brightened a little, his haggard, unshaven features looking a little less haunted for a second or two. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Eleven a.m. arrived a lot quicker than Peter might have asked for, but five hours' of sleep was better than none, and, as she had promised, MJ did bring him breakfast in bed - a sumptuous repast of fruit, toast and orange juice that really did make him feel better. It still didn't ease the sting of the previous night completely, but it lifted his spirits just enough for him to be able to smile properly, and not feel like a fraud for doing so. After dressing and grabbing his camera, he padded downstairs, where MJ was sitting in front of the TV with her sketchpad and pencils, drawing a pair of running springbok from the documentary that was currently showing on the Discovery Channel.

"Hey, honey," MJ said. "How do you feel?"

"Not as good as I ought to, but I'm okay," Peter replied. "I'll be fine in a few hours, when I've got some Bugle coffee inside me." He tried to grin then, but he only managed a small half-hearted smile. MJ's face fell and she got up off the sofa, and embraced her husband gently.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry..." she said quietly. "You don't have to go out today if you don't want to. I'll call the Bugle for you and tell them you're sick -"

Peter shook his head. "No, MJ - don't do that. I have to get out there and... do things... or I'm going to go nuts cooped up here."

"If you're sure," MJ said, grasping his shoulders and holding his gaze earnestly for a moment. "Take care, Peter. I love you."

"I love you too, MJ," Peter told her, kissing her softly on the lips. "Thank you for breakfast." He winked at her, and she smiled, finally.

"My pleasure. See you later, Peter."

I sure do love avoiding rush hour traffic, Peter thought as he swung over the crowded concrete canyons of Manhattan, which seethed with yellow cabs and various other types of vehicles, as well as thousands of New Yorkers going about their daily business. Makes me wonder how I'd have managed without Spider-Powers... Somersaulting over the top edge of the Daily Bugle's office building, he switched to his civilian clothes and snuck down the service stairway towards the Bugle's newsroom, where he was sure he'd find himself a decent assignment - or at the very least, something that would buy him lunch for the next couple of days.

As soon as he entered the bustling newsroom, however, he saw Robbie waving to him from across the way, a copy of the Daily Globe in his weathered hand. "You know anything about this, Peter?" Robbie said. "Did Spider-Man tell you anything about this?"

"Tell me about what?" Peter was genuinely puzzled by what Robbie was saying, and it wasn't until Robbie showed him the headline on the Globe's front page that Peter realized what Robbie meant. The headline read, in stark black lettering: "SHRIEK TERRORIZES CITY DURING NIGHT-TIME RAMPAGE: SPIDER-MAN INVOLVED". That, however, wasn't the worst part of the page. The worst part of it was the by-line. The story was being reported by an Edward Brock.

Brock's back? he thought worriedly. But... how'd he manage to get this story published in the Globe? I thought they'd never have hired him back after what he did the last time he got them an "exclusive" - what must he have done to change their minds?

"Don't bother Jonah, today, Peter," Robbie said, snapping him out of his worried thoughts. "He's expecting a visit from Marla's relatives, and he's got his hands full trying to avoid them." He smiled, his warm brown eyes twinkling. "You should have seen him earlier - he was begging people to take his phone calls for him, just in case it was his mother-in-law."

"That is funny," Peter admitted. "She must be a real scary woman to have Jonah shaking in his boots."

"I've never met her," Robbie replied, "but from what Jonah tells me, she's like a thousand ton weight hitting you right in the back of the head. Not something you want to experience too often, right?"

"Sounds like it," Peter replied. "Look, Robbie, if I've got to avoid Jonah right now, how about I come back later when he's cooled off a little?" It'll give me a chance to think a bit about what I'm going to do about Brock, he thought hopefully.

"Good idea, Peter," Robbie said, after thinking about Peter's suggestion for a moment or two. "Give Jonah a couple of hours and he'll only be a little bit grouchy. See you then, son." He clapped Peter on the shoulder and moved across to the other side of the newsroom to ask a copy boy for a favor. Peter took the opportunity to leave the crowded room and take the stairs back up to the roof, where he changed quickly into his costume, and prepared to swing off the roof once again.

Where are you, Brock? he thought, uneasily.

Suddenly, the day seemed a lot colder...

THE END