Light slanted through the thick water at an angle, lighting up amber shafts in the deep pool. The lizard floated, motionless, eyes and nostrils above the surface. Sun warmed the metal room. Aside from the hole the lizard had made to get in, the water tower was a contained area.
The lizard tensed, nictitating membranes slipping up. It sniffed. Danger was near.
Peter silently scrambled up the support of the water tower. Yes. The lizard was inside. The water tower used to service an industrial plant that went out of business, so it was probably abandoned. So no one would notice the hole torn in its wall near the top, the hole just big enough for the lithe shape of the lizard.
Peter reached the top and peered into the dim gloom of the tower's interior. A few thin beams of light poked through the steel where rivets had rusted away. Peter sniffed, and the heavy stench of the lizard was strong; musty, ancient, reptilian.
He poked his head in. Wrong move.
A powerful leg snapped into the back of his head, and he tucked his chin to take the hit on the lip of the hole, instead of slamming his throat down on the edge. He felt his jaw wrench, and he tried to drag his head out. Too late.
The tail whipped around his neck, and in a flash he was jerked into the tower. Through the explosion of pain through his neck, Peter got an impression of his foe; dark, strong. Peter lashed out and caught the creature on the shoulder. They spun apart and crashed down into the thick water.
Peter caught a flash of nightmarish teeth and eyes as the lizard swirled through the water at him, and his fist shot out of its own accord, knocking teeth down the lizard's throat. It banked to the side, and he caught its shoulder with one adhesive hand, jerking it up out of the water enough to punch it square in the chest once, twice, before it twisted and tore at his ribs with its savage feet. He clanged hard against the side of the rocking tower, and they spun apart in the sloshing wake of the assault.
He was up the side and moving, diving down like a bird of prey, his fists crashing through the thin layer of water and thudding deep between the lizard's shoulder blades. It gasped as its air was knocked loose, and as it tumbled for position Peter sprang clear and clung to the ceiling in the tower. The tower's rocking registered in his senses, and he realized the position they would be in if it fell.
Acting with the speed of thought, he tore at the ceiling, and made a rent in the metal big enough to slip through. He was almost clear when that horrid grip snagged his ankle; the metal was torn up, and if he was tugged down on it, metal would shear deep into his leg. He braced and yanked with all his strength. With a deep gong, the lizard slammed into the ceiling of the tower and was shaken loose. Peter controlled his fall from the tower with a webline, then waited for a moment.
The lizard was not ready to let him go. All right then.
Peter felt his blood ooze out of the gashes in his side. Not good.
The lizard dropped down from the tower and stood looking at him, breathing heavily.
For what seemed like forever they just stared into each other's eyes. Then the lizard turned and darted away on all fours, slithering under a fence. Peter sprinted after him.
Peter came over the fence in time to catch an uppercut with all the lizard's coiled strength behind it. The blow crushed into his gut and lifted him through the air, tumbling further above the broken industrial park than he cared to believe, unable to draw breath, unable to think, unable to roll, wondering if he was hemorrhaging.
He thudded to the ground after flying forever, and he lay crumpled in a heap, trying to force his body to breathe. Some part of his mind knew that the lizard had gone, and it also knew that the docks were near, and he did not want to follow it into the water. Most of his energy was devoted to breathing and not throwing up.
He tore at the mesh, clearing his face, then he threw up.
xXx
Night.
He rolled off the bus and shot a webline to the trees lining the street, swooping up into an elm. Dizzy from the exertion, he lay in the tree trying to breathe for a short time. Pain. Fire in his guts.
Not far to his house from here. Springing and leaping were beyond him, and the houses had never seemed so far apart as they did now.
Patience, Peter. Just be patient. One tree at a time. He stopped to rest in a tree across from his house. Then one more concentrated effort took him across the darkened street, up on his roof, and down into his bedroom. He stripped off the mesh. Away from his skin, it started to dissolve. He tossed it towards the trash can, and it draped over the side. For a moment it looked very much like the skin cast off of a molting lizard. He shuddered, and went into the bathroom, where he stayed for quite some time. He took a shower. Brushed and counted his teeth. Swabbed his cuts.
The gashes in his side were nasty. He spun some web and taped them shut; better than stitches. He stretched. He stood looking at his bed, aching in every joint, his stomach pulsing with his heartbeat.
Oh yeah, he hadn't eaten dinner. He felt faintly ill at the thought of eating, but he knew what would happen if he didn't. Hunger made him... grumpy. Grumpy and weak, too, and that was something he could not afford. The lizard was still out there. Maybe molting. What a disturbing thought.
"I should go to bed," he said aimlessly.
But while he was tired and broken, he wanted food. The thought of rummaging for leftovers briefly crossed his mind, and it left the way it came. He needed grease, fat, cholesterol, starch, food that was horrible for sedentary people. Food that his system reveled in.
Hey look, cash.
Peter sighed and picked up his wallet, then quickly dressed. "Need to get more clothes," he muttered glancing at his depleting wardrobe. He shrugged. "First things first."
He left through the front door.
Peter walked down the street, head down, a bit unsteady, wondering what people would think if they knew that he had stopped enough velocity to crush a car and he was out for an evening stroll.
Peter walked past Lucky's Pizza, breathing in the fresh pizza smell. He pulled the dogeared five dollar bill out of his pocket and sighed. He kept walking, headed for the golden arches. "I gotta jack up my price range," he muttered.
He felt a peculiar sensation, a warning sensation. He became alert, glancing from side to side. There; that laugh, that perfume.
Oh no.
Harry and Mary Jane came strolling out of the pizzaria. They swung around and casually strolled down the sidewalk towards where he was parked. They had the sidewalk to themselves. Harry opened Mary Jane's car door for her, then walked around to his side. Then with a flaring engine roar, they were off.
Peter watched through the glass windows of the gas station next door. He sighed, and felt a deep and empty moment.
"Altered States," said a headline from the rack between him and the window. He looked more closely. A magazine, had two silhouettes of faces with brains behind them. Peter pulled the magazine out of the rack.
"The Planetary," he muttered to himself, reading the cover. "Altered States: Another World of Communication" the subheading read. He quickly flipped it open and glanced at the table of contents. Odd stuff. Wacky even. On the back page it had a picture of the editor; Stephen Strange. Form echoes content, he thought, smiling. He read the last text box; it was curious...
If you have encountered something peculiar and thought provoking enough for the open minds of the editors at the Planetary, please feel free to contact us by our toll free number. Insane people have great ideas and encounters just like the rest of us, so be assured we will take your initial inquiry seriously. Confidentiality assured, a fair hearing likely, and esoteric problems made simple. Our policy on hoaxes and pranks; make them interesting or don't bother.
Dr. Stephen StrangeEditor in Chief
Peter smiled at that last bit. Then his smile faded.
"Hey," the cashier said. "You gonna buy that? We ain't a library, pal."
"Yeah," Peter said, shrugging. He put down the magazine and his five dollar bill. Moments later he was the proud owner of the February issue of the Planetary.
He got precious little change back.
xXx
Once again in his room, Peter picked up the phone and curled the magazine cover back. He punched in the number. The phone rang twice and picked up:
"You have reached the office number for the Planetary. This is Doctor Stephen Strange. Please leave a message with your name, number, address. If the planets are aligned properly, you never know: we might get back to you." BEEP
"Hi," Peter said, feeling supremely stupid. "My name is not important, but I hope you get back to me anyway and, uh, don't have caller i.d." He closed his eyes and cursed himself for a moment, but it was too late now. "I have a college professor who I think got somehow turned into a giant lizard, and even if he's brought into custody I don't know if the cops or the doctors can help him. I saw your magazine and I thought maybe you could shine some light on my esoteric problem. Make it simple, like it says in the ad. Anyway, if I could maybe get him to come in, could you help? Uh, I guess that's it. Look forward to hearing back. Uh, thanks." He hung up quickly.
He looked over his desk and sighed. Then groaned and lowered his head to his hands.
Tomorrow. Monday. Tests. Damn.
"I suppose now you want to sleep," he said to the mirror.
Ten minutes later he was gently snoring in the chair.
xXx
Phone. Ringing.
Peter jerked awake, answering the phone before his eyes were really open. Sunlight. Phone. Noise. Ack.
"Peter Parker speaking," his voice said crisply as he struggled to wake up.
"Yes, this is Doctor Strange," the cultured voice with an unplaceable accent said on the other end of the line. "I was intrigued by your call."
"Yes," Peter said, sitting up straight and clearing his throat. "It is a fascinating case. If the lizard could be delivered to you, could you, as your magazine says, take a look at it confidentially?"
"If nothing else, you can trust my discretion," the doctor said.
"Great. What's the address?"
Strange relayed it as Peter scribbled it down. "When were you thinking of stopping by?" the doctor asked.
"Do I need an appointment?" Peter said, shifting uncomfortably. "I can't guarantee timeline."
"No," Strange replied. "So there is an element of uncertainty remaining."
"Yes, basically," Peter said cautiously. "I'll do my best to wrap it up as fast as I can."
"Then I will await your contact," Strange murmured.
"Thanks," said Peter. "I wanted to be sure you'd help before bringing him to you. He will, uh, need restraint."
"I have the best that are available. Our guest will not misbehave," the doctor said. "Until we meet, then."
"Yeah," Peter nodded. "Later." He hung up and blinked properly. Glanced at the clock.
Ten twenty seven.
Halfway through his science lab.
"Dammit!" he said, snatching at his coat and stumbling towards the door. "Harry's gonna kill me..."
xXx
"I'm gonna kill him," Harry muttered through his teeth as he walked out of the lab. "He dogs me to get the lab results prepared for today and then he can't be bothered to show."
"Yeah," Gwen sighed. Peter came limping towards them.
"Hey, Parker," Harry said. "Glad you could make it."
"Whad I miss?" Peter said, out of breath.
"Lab," Harry replied, a touch of coldness in his voice. "We had a sub and they moved the class, so nobody took roll and noticed that a certain deadbeat didn't make it."
"Sorry, Harry," Peter said. "Wild night last night. Had to get caught up on my reading. Slept in."
"All caught up then?" Gwen asked coolly.
"Uh," Peter said, scratching the back of his head. "Uh, I'm really sorry about Saturday, Gwen."
"I'll leave you to it," Harry smiled, and he walked by Peter.
"Yeah," Peter said, looking after him.
"Nice flowers," Gwen noted. "Somebody die?"
"Ooh," Peter winced. "Actually those were my apology. Something came up; something unexpected. When Aunt May sees a pest in the house I just can't leave until she's satisfied that it's dealt with. She's scared to death of little animals." He smiled ruefully.
"That sounds like a very sweet fabrication," Gwen murmured.
"Fabrication?" Peter said innocently.
"Lie," Gwen clarified. "I'll let it slide, Parker. I hope you have your essay done for English."
"Oh, yeah, that thing," he said with a wave and a smile as his heart sank. All weekend to do it, all the time in the world. Damn.
She hesitated, then turned back to him. "Hey Parker," she said. "You can make it up to me if you want. We could go to a movie this afternoon. I'm all caught up in English, and you're hopelessly behind in there anyway. Want to go to a movie?"
He brightened immediately. "A movie? Sure!" he said. Right before he remembered he was flat broke. Well, he could write a check for it; buy a day or two to get money in his account. "Let me drop this off in the lab."
"Better not leave me standing here," she said archly.
"Wouldn't dare," he replied with a grin. He moved like he had a purpose, resisting the urge to speed things up by using the ceiling.
He dumped the books, slammed the locker, and was headed out the front door of the science building when his pace slowed, and an unnatural awareness settled on him. Something wrong. Something out of place.
A woman's voice, alarmed: "Muffy? Muffy, here girl! Muffy?"
He heard the slosh of the water, the sharp desperate yip. Oh no.
The lizard returned to familiar ground. To a nearby lair?
Peter was torn for a moment, undecided.
Gwen. Peter steeled himself then walked up to her.
"Gwen?" he said. "I've found out about a project I forgot about that I need to do this afternoon, I promised, and I can't get out of it. I would be delighted to go to a movie with you, and I swear I will this week. I need to do this first, though. If I can get through it in good time, I'll call you, okay?" He was already backing away.
"Oh, Peter," she sighed. "Should I bother giving you my phone number?"
"I have it, but thanks," he said with a grateful smile.
"You sure?" she said softly. She waved goodbye, and headed for her English class, head down.
"Peter Parker," he muttered, "you are a class A-1 jerk and a half. Either you have commitment issues or you're stark raving mad or maybe blind. Need to give up this gallivanting about in silk pajamas and get a haircut and a real job and meaningful relationship. And floss once a day." He sighed, moving down towards the lake.
He immediately spotted the lizard, half in the water by the bank. It saw him at the same moment, and propelled itself out of the water with one lash of its tail, moving fast and low towards the science building once more. Peter set his aching jaw, feeling the thud of his pulse in his guts, the ringing of his ears, the ache of his head. Once more into the breach. And he was moving.
Peter was right behind it as it scuttled up the side of the building and wormed with disturbing swiftness into the hole it had clawed to get out. Then through the interior, Peter stripping as he went; today he had worn the mesh beneath his clothes.
The lizard ducked through a side grate and into an open space. Peter hesitated and sensed out into the room for a moment before following, having been taught the hard way that too rapid a pursuit could be deadly.
Large open room. Pitch black. Dome?
Great. Peter breathed out slowly.
The observatory.
Peter shot out of the grate and rolled to his feet, his senses flaring all around him. He was paranoid, blind. He waited, patient, his heart thrumming, his muscles tight. Another outfit gone. He was almost out of khakis. Must remember to strip before crawling around in tunnels.
Movement. He didn't think, his body reacted. He spun, lashing out with a kick, and he landed a glancing blow on the lizard's shoulder. Even a glancing blow had serious power, and the lizard was slung onto its back as it slid away. Then it bounced effortlessly to its feet. It resumed silent running, and Peter relaxed. He let his senses make decisions for him.
From above.
He whipped to the side, lashing out with a two fisted strike that slapped home into the creature's hip; the lizard slid awkwardly, then bounded up to the wall.
On the metal. Peter shot strands out, feeling them tug into metal or stone; then one jerked in response, and he hauled swiftly. Felt the lizard hissing through the air towards him. Let a punch go with everything he had. It hit something solid that still had give to it. The lizard grunted as he smashed into it, then it clanged against the wall.
"Need light," Peter muttered.
Then it was on top of him again; in the pitch dark, his razor sharp senses screamed as his mind went blank and he deflected an unreal series of slashes and kicks, bites and tail lashes, driven back but almost untouched by the creature's barrage of feral slashing blows. It hissed, and he felt its chill breath, its hate for all things that breathed out warm air.
He reflexively slung a webline up to the dome and bounded out of the lizard's reach for a moment. Slapping against the metal dome, he found a seam in the metal. He applied his strength.
The dome creaked open a fraction, enough for him to slide out. The lizard did not give him time to escape; before he squeezed out, it crashed into him and propelled them both into the air, thrashing and without leverage.
They crashed into the top of a tree, then bounded out and hit the slope that led down to the lake.
The lake.
The lizard was moving.
"Not this time," Peter gritted out. And he let go.
The spider sprang at the lizard, crashing into its lithe back, feeling it twist. Fight, he willed it. Fight your best. Show me. Show me what you have.
It spun with its claws. His fist slashed into its incoming wrist. Bone splintered. The lizard snarled and snapped at his face, and rather than ducking he put a calculated blow across its nostrils, jerking its head painfully to the side. They rolled, and he threw out a leg to stop them. The lizard clawed at him, and his rage swelled. He attacked with a cold calculated burst of speed.
He lashed his knuckles into the soft flesh under its jawbone, and as its head whipped up he cracked his head into its collarbones. Snapping his knee into its ribs, he hurled it up and spun so his leg arced above him, slashing into it. It clawed at his leg as it was crushed with a kick that bounced it off the tree. It gagged and made an odd chirping noise, but his fist was already hissing through the air, slamming between its eyes. He jumped up and kicked straight down into its gut, bouncing it off the ground, he dropped with his elbows on its chest. The lizard vocalized desperate clicks and scrabbled feebly to escape; he smashed a blow home to the back of its head, grabbed the loose skin of its neck and swung its head into the tree hard.
The lizard lay motionless.
"Not in the water," Peter said in a voice he did not recognize. "I don't like the water."
He came to his senses as every muscle in his body screamed with abuse.
"Ow," he said softly. "You," he growled, pointing at the inert form. "You are boots, luggage, a belt, and a wallet. I mean, damn," he said. "Lots of mean, action packed hide on you."
Shame swept him for a moment, and he fell to his knees and felt for the lizard's pulse.
He found one. It was thready, dim, uncertain.
"Okay, big guy," Peter said, his voice shaky. "Don't die. I'll take you to the doctor."
xXx
The door creaked open. "Hello?" Peter said, steadying himself on the door frame.
"You must be Peter Parker," came the cool voice from inside.
"You must be Strange," Peter said. "I mean, you must be Doctor Strange. I'm not saying you're strange, or that you're not, just your name, it's unusual—"
"Are you alone?" Strange gently interrupted.
"Oh, ah, no," Peter said. "I, uh, have him wrapped in a tarp in the trunk. I would have gotten him by now but it's hard to walk with a foot in my mouth."
"Please get him. You will not be observed," Strange said.
Peter shrugged. "You're the boss." He walked down the steps to his car and opened the trunk, then he hauled out the heavy tarp. The lizard shifted feebly, and Peter felt cold, hoping he had not permanently crippled the beast. He hefted the lizard, and entered Strange's mansion.
The door shut behind him.
"I know this sounds weird," Peter said as he carried the body up the stairs, following the doctor, "but I hope the lizard is okay. I mean, I know we had our differences, but it was just doing what it does. Me, I should know better," he said. He glanced around at the heavy dark paneling and tasteful, if grim, décor. The doctor was dressed simply in a tasteful expensive suit. "He's, uh, sticky, doc. You might want to get some scrubs."
"Please do not concern yourself, Mr. Parker," the doctor said. "I have things well in hand. Now, if you will please put him down on this bench I will take him from here."
"You have a gurney or something?" Peter asked.
The doctor smiled. "And how did you restrain the lizard?"
"Oh," Peter said, rubbing the back of his aching head. "I borrowed a friend's car and ran over him a couple times. It's a really big car. But I forgot to wear a seatbelt." He gestured at his puffy face. "Damned steering wheel."
"As you wish," the doctor said, suppressing a smile. "You may either wait in this study, or in the kitchen, whichever is more comfortable."
"I think I need some ice for this," Peter said, gesturing vaguely at his face. Strange nodded, and easily picked up the heavy bulk of the lizard, moving into the depths of the house.
Peter watched him go for a moment, toying with the idea of following him. Then he decided that ice sounded pretty good right about now.
He lounged in the spacious kitchen. Glancing at the clock, he sighed. English would be finishing up right now. He and Gwen could be cuddling together in a dark theater at this point. He leaned his head back and lowered the ice pack over his aching face. Yeah. He could also be scratching the foil off the winning lottery ticket, or lounging on the beach watching dolphins play in the tropical waters.
"At least nobody's called me a hero lately," he muttered to himself.
The sun sank in the sky, shining between the buildings on the skyline. Peter had made himself some hot chocolate, filled out a crossword puzzle that was handy, called Aunt May to let her know he would be missing supper again, tried to remember Gwen's number and failed, and tried to remember what he had due for tomorrow's classes. He even had a bad patch where he couldn't remember what classes he had tomorrow.
"I wonder if all my college learning is being knocked out of my head a piece at a time," he muttered, gently rubbing his aching jaw.
xXx
"Where am I?" Connors asked. All was dark.
"That is not important," came a smooth and peculiar voice. "Do not open your eyes yet. Do not open your senses."
Connors relaxed. "What happened? I remember... I don't know what I remember."
"You may never sort it out," the voice said gently.
"Am I dead?"
"No," the voice replied, with perhaps a touch of regret. "There is to be no release for you yet. You have been granted a respite."
"A respite?"
"From the darkness," the hypnotic voice said. "From the rage."
"The rage," Connors echoed, his thoughts throbbing. "I remember... the lab... and then..."
"The damage that was done has been contained," the voice said, emotionless. "You are now more whole than you were then."
"My arm?"
"Your arm is still gone," the voice said. "Your spirit has been given a chance to heal."
"Can I open my eyes now?" Connors asked.
"Yes," the voice replied.
Connors opened his eyes, and he saw a thin man sitting on a chair not far from him. The man had hawkish features, and burning eyes. His dark hair was swept away from his face, white streaks fading back from his temples. He sported a mustache and small goatee; dark, but peppered with white hair. Incense trailed its smoke up from a brazier behind the thin man.
"Who are you?" asked Connors, noticing that his voice had grown hoarse.
"I am a doctor, in many ways like you," the man said softly. "You may call me Doctor Stephen Strange."
"Well, Doctor, thank you," Connors said, feeling the strain in his throat. A thudding pain woke in his head.
The thin doctor smiled. "You are welcome," he murmured. "The pain in your chest will fade in a few days."
Connors looked down and saw a brilliant black and red design, a peculiar eye-tugging knot pattern woven on the flesh of his right pectoral. "What in God's name is that?"
"That," Strange said, "is a tattoo."
"I signed no consent forms," Connors said, anger growing in him.
Strange smiled gently. "That is true. You may sue me if you wish. But the demon that has haunted you has been stymied in that pattern. As long as it is not disrupted, you are free of the darkness, for while it cannot be taken from you it can yet be bound within you."
"Demon? Within me?"
Strange inclined his head. "There are many ways of viewing the same issue from different angles, doctor. Let us say that the impulses, the uncontrollable darkness, the rage, and the temptation have been reduced to levels that you will be able to contend with. Your family... they will be delighted. I would pull the demon from you entirely, but you have... given it a home. Willingly and freely given it a place within yourself. Given it a form, as well."
"I don't follow."
"It is not necessary for you to understand," Strange said simply. "You may resume your normal life now. As for your arm," Strange added, looking out the window, "there are worse parts to lose."
Connors nodded slowly. "I remember a young man," he said. "He was... he figures prominently, my memories," he said, halting.
"Yes," Strange nodded.
"Can I go?" Connors asked. "What is today?"
"Monday, February twelfth," Strange answered.
"Days," Connors said softly. "I've lost days."
Strange steepled his fingers. "Perhaps it's time you were getting back."
xXx
"You know my address, should you ever need anything," echoed the voice from the upstairs hallway. Peter was awake in a moment.
"This guy has a knack for waking me up," he muttered, standing and moving to the hallway. Strange was coming down the stairs, Connors behind him.
"Doc!" Peter said. "Doctor Connors. Good to see you. Are you okay?"
"I... I will be," Connors said slowly. "Parker. You know Dr. Strange?"
"I do now," Peter shrugged. Strange moved discreetly to the side for a moment.
"I... remember... you," Connors said slowly, looking at Peter sideways. In a sudden move he stepped to him and put one arm around him, pulling him into a surprisingly strong hug. "I will remember that you saved me," he said quietly.
Peter patted him awkwardly on the back, not sure what else to do. Then Connors released him and looked into his eyes for a moment.
A car horn tooted outside.
"Your cab," Strange said.
"Thanks, doctor," Connors said, extending a hand. Strange met his grip. Then Connors was out the front door and down to where the yellow cab waited. Strange and Peter made eye contact, waiting for the car door to slam, the cab to drive off.
"Your friends car. A big one," Strange repeated.
"Uh," Peter said.
Strange nodded to himself. "Peter Parker," he mused. "I've seen your work."
"You have?" Peter asked, genuinely shocked.
Strange nodded. "I take an interest in photographers and photography. Reliable ones are so hard to find in my line of work."
"You gotta be kidding," Peter said reproachfully. "Where did you see my work?"
Strange smiled a peculiar secret smile, strolling into the kitchen and filling a kettle with water. "Last year, the art department's photography exhibit. You submitted a fascinating collection of spider web photos. You are regularly represented in the yearbook the last two years, since you were their staff photographer, and I have also had the opportunity to see some of your work for your photography classes, since Mr. Freeburg is a friend of mine."
"Wow," Peter said, struck by something between awe and paranoia, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable. "You sure do know a lot about me."
"There's a trick to it," Strange smiled.
"So... why me?"
"Well," Strange said, putting the kettle on the stove. "For one, you have the knack for being in the right place at the right time to experience the most... fascinating subject matter, if you could keep your wits about you. For another, you have an absolute talent for then being able to walk away from these situations. Taken together with your contacts in the world that my magazine happens to be about, the world within and beyond this one, and your... particular other talents, I'd say you were worth the investment."
"Just one hitch," Peter said ruefully, hoping he wasn't talking himself out of a job. "I tend to leave my camera behind."
"That," Strange said with a gesture, "can be remedied." Peter looked where Strange pointed, and he saw a bag on the counter. He walked over to it, unzipped it; his camera!
"Oh man," he said with a delighted grin. "Oh wow!"
Strange smiled to himself and said nothing further on the camera's mysterious presence. "I'll be in touch," he said.
"Do you need my number or address or anything?" Peter asked.
Strange's small secret smile turned positively saturnine. "I have caller i.d." he explained.
xXx
It was close to eleven when Peter finally returned to his room. He sighed. "I've been going all day," he said to himself. "When they say Doc Connors gives a mean final, they have no idea."
He flopped down on the bed and pulled out the camera Strange had returned to him. "Neat," he said to himself. He popped it open to load film.
Tightly rolled into the interior of the camera were a number of bills. Peter's eyes shot wide open as he pulled the money out and unrolled the rubber band that kept it tight.
A short sentence was scrawled on the back bill in silvery flowing script: Consider it an advance.
"Must be two hundred bucks here, easy," Peter whispered, freeing the bills. He slowly smiled as a plan began to form in his mind.
xXx
Wednesday.
At least he wasn't late. Peter sat in the lecture hall across the building from the normal advanced lab; the usual classroom was closed for remodeling. He sat waiting, and keeping a sharp lookout, because she was always early too.
Sure enough, Gwen came in and took her customary seat on the front row. Peter sidled up behind her.
"Hi Gwen," he said. "Mind if I sit?"
"Is that the only trick you do?" she asked, looking away.
"I'm good at 'heel'," Peter said. He sat. "Look, Gwen, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I know there's no point in going into my reasons, but they aren't about you. This is."
She looked down as he put a small necklace on her desk, a necklace with a heart locket.
"Now," he said, "there's no picture of me in there or anything. I didn't know who you might want pictures of. You might want, you know, your folks or something. Anyway," he rushed on, "I have these two tickets to the movies tonight, and I've made dinner arrangements at Constantine's for eight. These tickets are yours, so if you had somebody else in mind you wanted to take, that's cool too. I just wanted you to have a happy Valentines Day."
She looked at him, genuinely surprised. "Peter," she said. "I'm not sure what to say."
"Wanna invite me on a date again? Since you have one all set up?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
She shook her head. "I guess so. Peter, you busy tonight?"
"I sure hope so," he said. "With you I mean. I've taken care of everything else. Just you and me."
She snapped the locket open and looked at it. "I think I won't put any pictures in it," she said, her tone a bit arch. "Then I can look in here and think of all our times together."
"Ow," he said. "Easy!"
She looked at him and smiled, a real smile.
She might just like me, Peter thought. He smiled back.
Doctor Connors walked in, and the class settled down.
"Hello, class," Connors said. He looked haunted, but much better than he had the last time Parker saw him. "I've had the flu bug, it laid me low for a few days. I understand the lab was vandalized while I was gone, but we're re-convening here. Now, I see what the substitute covered in the lecture Monday, and I must say that I think we need to start again, from the top." His eyes moved over Parker. "Shall we begin?"
"Indeed," Peter murmured with a glance at Gwen.
They started over.