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Spiderman 3: Legacy
Chapter Two
It had begun slowly. Doctors say that all obsessions and mental insecurities start off slowly. Harry Osborn had heard that many times before, when the damned doctors tried to explain what had happened to his father. But never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined that it would one day be him who went crazy. He was not even quite sure that he was crazy. There was a constant voice in his head, a green menace that never ceased to plague him. It was as if the monster inside of his head had become a part of him, and that without this monster, Harry Osborn would cease to exist.
At first, Harry had been frightened of this menace. The Green Goblin, it called itself. The face was always haunting him as well, the green mask with no eyes, no depth. It was evil, he was sure of that. But Harry was weak, and he did not know if he could fight the being out of his soul. He had nothing anymore, besides his need for revenge and the voice inside of his head. There was nothing but emptiness.
"Peter," Harry whispered harshly, taking another sip of his vodka. "Why in hell's name did it have to be Peter? I could have killed anyone if they murdered my father, anyone but my best damn friend." He took another swig of the drink, slamming his fist down against the wooden desk. "God damn it, why did Peter betray me? I was nothing but loyal to him, and he stabbed me in the back!"
The laughing began, quietly at first. It picked up speed and volume, a high-pitched cackle that made the hair on Harry's neck stand on edge. He shivered involuntarily. "No," he muttered, sinking back in his leather chair, "Not you again! Stay away!"
All of the cackling stopped, but a cold, evil voice filled the room. "Now Harry, my boy, you know you cannot make me go away. You love me, I am your father by blood and love. Are you going to let my death go quietly?! Will you not avenge me by killing Peter Parker?"
Harry trembled, sipping more alcohol. His head was spinning, he could not think, let alone speak, clearly. "I cannot kill my best friend."
"But you would let your best friend get away with killing your father." The voice was dangerously low now, as it always was before it exploded. Harry held up his hands, pleading with the mask to leave it alone. It just laughed more. "Embrace your destiny, Harry, embrace what you were born to be! You were born to save me, you were born to avenge my death!" The voice softened. "Don't make me be disappointed in you, my son."
Harry collapsed on the floor as he felt the spirit, the menace, leaving his room. He was a failure, though not in the way that his father thought he was. He was indeed weak, so weak that he would have to kill his best friend. "Peter," Harry murmured, just before slipping into unconsciousness, "I'm sorry, my dear friend."
---
To celebrate their impending marriage, Peter had donned his Spiderman outfit, and taken MJ for a spin around the town. She seemed to enjoy that more than anything else he could have done before. Several onlookers cheered the flight of Spiderman, and he obliged them with a single wave and nod. That seemed to thrill the New Yorkers more than anything. Sometimes, people were quite easy to please.
On the top of the Empire State Building, Peter made a web. He gently dropped MJ off onto the sinewy strands, then took his mask off and crawled over to where she sat, perched on the very peak of the skyscraper. She was gazing appreciatively at the sights below her. It was not often one got to look upon all of New York from the top of such a building. In fact, it was a view that most would never see their entire life.
"It's so beautiful up here, Peter," Mary-Jane said, gazing at the twinkling lights below her. Even at such a late hour, the inhabitants of New York were awake. There really was truth to the term 'The City That Never Sleeps'.
Peter gazed at MJ, a turbulent mess of emotions knotting in his stomach. That often happened whenever he looked at her. She was, in all honesty, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. And he told her so. "You are beautiful, MJ, a thousand times more beautiful than the most gorgeous view in the world. And I mean that with all sincerity."
He crept closer to her, wrapping one arm around her thin frame. She was always so frightfully skinny. Peter felt like quite the hero next to her, he always had, even when he wasn't Spiderman. Of course, the skintight suit and superpowers never hurt his male ego. Just his psyche.
"I like this suit," MJ laughed, stroking his forearm. "It shows off all of your muscles."
"That's why I bought it," Peter dead-panned, "To show off my muscles. It helps attracts the ladies, you know. I could have any woman in New York, if I so wanted," he boasted, only half-teasing. Of course he knew of his position as a sex-symbol, but never really commented on it. In all honesty, the scrutiny made Peter feel uncomfortable.
Apparently MJ knew this too. She laughed again. "Well, go fly off with one of them as well." She sobered a bit. "How many other girls have you taken to this very spot, Peter? Of course, any college guy looking to get lucky would love to have a beautiful scenic spot to take a girl, get her all mushy and in the mood for love."
Peter locked eyes with his fiery red-haired fiancé, pouring his soul into her. "You are the only woman I have ever taken here, Mary-Jane Watson, and you are the only woman I would ever dream of sharing with this. It was always you, MJ, right from the beginning."
"I bet you say that to all the girls," she whispered, before kissing him forcefully on the mouth. Though not one to get jealous easily, MJ did have a selfish side. When it showed itself, it was fierce. The result could be good or bad. In this case, for Peter at least, it was good.
"I love you so much, Peter."
He snorted. "I love you too, but I'd prefer you wouldn't show it on top of the Empire State Building. That's why we bought an apartment, remember?"
She swatted his arm. It stung a bit. "You can be such a pervert, Peter Parker."
"But you love me."
"Yes. I most definitely do."
---
Aunt May did not particularly like her new apartment. It was certainly big enough, and well-furnished, with all the necessary commodities. But, despite the beautiful bathroom and sweeping view, it just didn't feel like home. Home was a place fifteen minutes away, with her beloved husband Ben, and her brilliant and caring nephew Peter. This new place, right in the heart of Manhattan, was much to cold to be home.
She tried to enjoy it; she led Peter to believe that her apartment was the joy of her life. Her neighbors were kind people, but old and frail, like she was fast becoming. Aunt May valued her life and freedom, she did not want to end up like the woman across the hall, who's high point of her life was receiving a phone call, or a knock on the door. She did not want to become starved for company, or so dependant on others that she became a nuisance. But all of the days living next to such helplessness had caused her own independence to weaken.
The night was somewhat cool, and Aunt May could not sleep. She rolled out of bed, without the speed she used to have, and headed for the small kitchen. In a few moments, she had a pot of tea brewing. The whistling of the kettle filled her apartment with noise again.
Drifting into a dream-like state of consciousness, Aunt May was only shaken from her thoughts when she heard a sharp knock at the door. Glancing at the clock, and seeing that it read 1:30 AM, she wondered who would possibly be calling on her. She was about to leave the person outside to their own devices, when another knock, louder and angrier, sounded on the wooden door. Shaking her head at the rudeness of people, May left her table and headed over to the door.
The door was gone by the time she reached it. It was kicked to the floor, surrounded by a pile of dust and nails. Floating in the doorframe was a green monster, cackling and hideous. Her left hand flew to her mouth, as she quickly crossed herself with her right. The figure laughed at her, and then zoomed past Aunt May into the apartment.
"Sit down, old bag, I need to talk to you."
Aunt May stood firmly in her spot, determined to stare-down the gruesome monster. "I will not condone your presence in my apartment! Leave at once!"
It laughed more, and flew into the kitchen. Seconds later, the figure appeared, floating on its machine, carrying a pot of hot tea. "Sit down, I told you, or you will have to suffer the consequences. And how would dear, sweet Peter feel about that now?"
She gasped, reaching for anything that might protect her. There was nothing to be found. "You are a sick person, coming in here like this! I am nothing but an old woman, leave me and my nephew alone!"
"I cannot do that." The figure hovered closer, and then opened the top of the scalding pot. "If you refuse to obey, then so be it."
Aunt May blocked her face with her hands just in time to stop the boiling liquid from coming into her eyes.