After driving around aimlessly, passing by the school several times, the killer ended up in the train yard. During the day, it was a busy bustling place, with engines and cars coming in for maintenance and repairs. The self-proclaimed protector found this place a safe haven. Trains always brought forth a comfortable and relaxing feeling, especially the big old Iron Horse. The steam locomotive came out only on special occasions. Here amid the massive metal machinery, thoughts became clearer, answers to problems appeared and ideologies came into focus.

'Killing Greer would buy me time, and save my own identity. I still have the hospital badge and white coat. I can do it, I know I can. I have to for Spider-man's sake.'

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Peter walked into the uncomfortably familiar building. He had left the hospital what had seemed years ago, but was in fact only days.

"Hello, Mr. Parker. Are you here for a checkup already?" a nurse called, smiling from behind her desk.

"No. I'm visiting a friend. Can you tell me what room Mark Greer is in?"

After studying the computer screen for a moment, she looked up and said, "ICU. That's upstairs in 3 East."

As she leaned over the desk to point in the direction of the elevators, Peter snorted softly, "Thanks. I unfortunately know where they are."

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A white lab-coated figure stood down the hall in the shadows. Looking busy. The door to Mark Greer's room was guarded as expected, but unfortunately the watchdog seemed to know everyone on the floor. The assassin kept busy, constantly watching for a break in the situation, fearing that none would come that morning. If the current sentinel stayed on duty, there would be no chance at silencing the lone visual witness. The only hope to get to Greer begore he talked would be if the guard needed a break.

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As Pete exited the elevators, his senses were assaulted by the noise. There was not a lot of talking but every patient had a heart monitor beeping and a ventilator whooshing. He saw a uniformed police officer sitting outside one of the doorways and Peter deduced that this must be where Mark was. He had a cop outside his own room after Pete Barrow was murdered. Recognizing the guard as one of the ones who kept vigil over him he called, "Hi, Grant."

"Peter. It's good to see you up and about. You here for a checkup?" the cop asked.

"Nope. I just came to visit Mark. He's a friend of mine. Am I allowed?"

"Well, only relatives are supposed to go in, but …." Grant looks around sheepishly, "Go on in."

When Pete entered the room Mark's eyes were closed. He had a breathing tube down his throat and IV's out of both arms. There was more tubing from his neck and chest which Peter recognized from recent experience as being drains.

"Hey, Mark. It's Peter. I came by to see how you were." He paused not knowing what else to say to the unconscious man.

Mark's eyes fluttered open and focused on Peter, weakly raising his right hand. He couldn't speak.

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Trying to maintain the illusion of being busy, the white-coated killer walked towards the stairs, planning on climbing up or down for a flight or two, then back to the third floor. Halfway into the stairwell, the cop's voice filtered over, "Peter. It's good to see you up and about. You here for a checkup?"

Quickly turning around, the protector looked back down the hall and saw the back of a young man approaching the guard.

'Parker!'

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The frail hand Peter was holding squeezed in recognition. With a tube down his throat, there could be no dialog. But Peter sensed that there was something that Mark needed to communicate.

"Is it about the killer? Did you see the killer?" Peter asked not masking the concern in his voice.

Mark nodded almost undetectably. Peter grasped Mark's hand with both of his, as if willing the information to osmose from one human to the other.

"I'm going to ask just 'yes' and 'no' questions. Can you do that?"

Feeling his strength already fading fast, Mark shook his head 'no' and squeezed Peter's hand. He made a feeble motion with his right hand.

"You want to write? Is that it?"

Mark nodded.

Peter looked around the room and found a pencil but no paper. He called out to the cop, "Grant, can I borrow your notepad?" knowing that they all carried one.

Grant leaned into the room and tossed the small notepad at Pete.

"Thanks"

He quickly opened to a blank page, placed the pencil in Mark's hand and held the pad for him.

Several times Mark dropped the writing instrument, too weak to hold it. But with resolve, he concentrated every ounce of energy into writing what he needed to say. Without the strength to hold up his arm, he couldn't see the pad to write on. It needed to be held down where his arm rested. So, without guidance other than his memory, he scribbled two words. Exhausted, he fell back into the deep black void.

"Mark? Mark?" But Peter realized that was all he was going to get from his friend tonight. He looked down at the paper, his brow knotted in concentration and confusion. He couldn't read the writing. He stood there, grasping the small notepad tightly with both hands, staring at the penciled scribble.

His eyes widened as he deciphered the script. He ripped the page from the pad, tossing the pad to the guard as he ran out the door.

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Returning back into the stairwell, a muted scream "PARKER!" muffled throughout the open area as the brick wall received a beating from a fist.

Peering back through the door, the killer got just a glimpse of the young man rushing out. "DAMMIT! Greer talked. Now I've got to get to Parker first before he hits the paper. How? How do I get to Parker before he brings the story to the paper?"

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Hello, Mrs. Watkins?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Watkins, this is St Gabriel's School. Your oldest boy Tommy did not show up for his class after recess today."

"What do you mean, he didn't show up? Was he in any classes this morning? Is Bobby still there?" a very worried Stacy Watkins asked.

"Yes. Little Bobby's ok, just worried. And Tommy's teachers from the first two classes stated he was in class. Did you send someone to pick him up, or is there any reason why he would have skipped out on school?"

"Oh my God!" wailed Stacy. "Oh no, no no!"

"Mrs. Watkins, what's wrong, do you know something?"

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Madison had her nose buried in the newspaper largely ignoring the normal day-to-day commotion that occurs on a crowded commuter train. But the energy level seemed higher this afternoon and the train was sitting at the station longer than normal. She looked up and was surprised to see several police officers canvassing other riders up and down the aisle. She leaned over to her unknown seatmate and asked, "What's going on?"

"There seems to be a lost little boy."

Just as the stranger finished the answer a uniformed woman approached and handed a picture of a young boy to each seat occupant, "Have either of you seen this kid today?"

The stranger shook her head, but Madison's eyes just froze on the photo. She knew this face. She looked up at the cop who read her face easily.

"You did see him today?"

Madison answered, "No, not today, but I know him. He was on the train that day with Spider-man. You know, all those passengers are now being murdered." The last of the sentence sticking in the black woman's throat.

"Please come with me, Ma'am," the policewoman politely ordered. Madison obeyed.

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Snatching the kid was easier than originally thought. When Parker didn't show up at the newspaper, another plan came to mind. The photographer would definitely hold off with the story if a kid's life was at stake. So reluctantly, a visit to the school was deemed necessary.

However worry creased the face of the kidnapper who looked over at the unmoving boy, slumped against the passenger door. It was just a shove. It wasn't that hard. Just enough to quiet the child.

Non-plussed, the killer chose a payphone uptown to call the photographer. Eyes glared in anger at the telephone book, a message can't be left for all the Peter Parkers, Pete Parkers and P. Parkers listed. Pulling out the crumpled list the killer chose a name from there and dialed that number instead.

The phone booth was the recipient of a head banging from frustration when the voice mail picked up. The message was left: "Tell Peter Parker not to bring the story to the newspapers or police if the kid is to live. Tell him to go to the railyard tonight, ALONE."

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The phone seemed to be ringing with a more frantic tone than usual. But Alfred shrugged it off. How can an inanimate object tell if the sender of the call was frantic or not? But heedless of what his brain said, he answered it with greater urgency as if he knew he needed to.

"Hello?"

"Fred? It's Madison. We need to get a meeting together right now. Mark usually put them together didn't he? Can you do it? Peter must be there too. He HAS to be!" she almost screamed into the phone.

"Calm down, Maddi. What are you talking about, what's going on?" Alfred asked realizing something bad had happened.

"The boy. One of the boys from that day. He's gone. I think the killer's got him."

"Oh My Lord. Ok,ok….calm down, can you be at my place by 7?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll be there."

Alfred held the disconnected phone in his shaking hand. 'A boy? The killer has actually gone after a little boy?'

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The room was buzzing at an obscene decibel level. For such a short notice, Alfred was able to find just about everyone for the meeting. It was the first time in days that they all seemed to be back as part of the group. There were a few missing people, but just one person that they were all waiting for, the most important person.

Alfred stood at his breakfast bar overlooking the crowd in his living room. There were too many people to sit around his small table. In fact there were too many for all to have a seat. He banged his meat mallet on the countertop and quieted everyone down.

"I know Peter's not here yet. I'm not sure if he's coming."

A cacophony arose at that, and he banged the make-shift gavel again. "I left multiple messages on his answering machine. Spider-man doesn't carry a pager ya know!" he said getting angry. He wished Mark were here. "Why don't we get started and if Peter shows up we can update him. Maddi, would you tell everyone what you found out?"

Madison did not like the nickname Alfred had christened her, but felt it wasn't the time nor place to correct him. She quickly stated, "On the ride home on the train today, the cops started handing out flyers of this boy," and she held up the picture of the 10 yr old. She could tell on the faces that most of them recognized the kid. "The cops said he has disappeared. When they found out that I knew of him, they brought me to the station and asked me to give them every detail I could think of."

As Peter was racing up the stairs to Alfred's apartment he nearly ran over Nancy who was carrying her phone's answering machine.

"Oh thank God you're here, Peter. You have to listen to this," Nancy blurted between breaths.

As they both plowed inside the apartment, Alfred called "Peter! Thank God you're here. We've been waiting."

Nancy didn't let anyone get another word in, "You all have to listen to this and she played her tape.

After listening to the brief communication, Fred asked, "Why were you called?"

Everyone looked puzzled and she just shrugged her shoulders.

"That's not important right now. What is, is that I've got to go now." And Peter left in a flash.

"Wait" came a chorus, but Pete did not heed. He was out the door before anyone could stop him.

Nancy looked puzzled, "When we ran into each other outside he said he had something very important to share with all of us. What could it have been?"

After sitting in silence at the shock, Teddy started to speak. "You know, we have all been thinking that the killer was on the train with us. We even thought it was the engineer until we found him dead. Suppose it's another train employee?"

Nancy added eagerly, "It makes sense. And the trainyard has lots of places to hide a kid. Look at all the empty cars just sitting around, rusted to the tracks. But what about Peter? He's fresh out of the hospital himself and not going in a Spider-man."

Teddy looked at the rest of the group, "I don't know about you, but I'm going down there. He might need our help."

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As Peter neared the darkened trainyard, he passed by the recently repaired barricade that almost became his grave marker. A chill wormed up his spine at the thought. He alit atop an adjacent building in the shadows looking down at the railroad corpses. The place was perfect for hiding.

In this darkness, he wasn't afraid of anyone seeing him as Peter Parker acting like Spider-man. He'll be on the ground soon enough. Staying in the gloom, he landed effortlessly amid the engines and cars. No time was specified on the tape, so he figured he could look around before calling out for the killer.

His spider-sense was tingling, but he already knew danger was present. He couldn't pick up anymore detail from it. There were several dozen railcars and locomotives sitting in the yard, too many to check them all out. So he opted to start with what looked like the oldest and least likely to have been moved or to be moved in the near future, hoping the killer would have chosen one of those.

Peter clung to the shadows, sliding along some of the cars, dipping under others. The oldest train turned out to be the Old Iron Horse, which was connected to a coal car, a passenger car and a caboose. When he came upon it, he carefully climbed up the steep steps and peered inside. He knew old engines like this ran on coal and wood. He crept over to the cold firebox and turned the crank on the door. He grimaced as it squealed its objection to being opened. He thought it was a good place to hide a young boy, but apparently the killer didn't think so.

Stealthily he climbed over the open-topped coal car. There didn't seem to be anyplace to hide a child there, so he continued to the passenger car. Sliding off onto the landing, he peered inside. At first glance it was empty, but he noticed that with the placement of all the seats, a kid could easily be stuffed and hidden under any of them. Grabbing the handle, it turned without a sound and he carefully opened the door. Skimming along the floor, he checked under the seats. The old-fashioned car had open-aired baggage racks above the seats so there was no place to hide in them. However at the other end was what looked like a toilet. Noiselessly he came upon the peu de coin and unlatched the door.

The smell overwhelmed him. It seemed that the tank had not been emptied for quite some time. But again there was no boy.

He creaked out the back door grimacing once again at the noise, and entered the caboose. It looked to be used as a storage facility. He sighed at all the human size boxes that needed to be examined. Carefully and systematically he went about to check every box. He didn't want to call out in case the killer was within ear-shot. He reached the first box, marked TRAVEL REFRIGERATOR. He simply tore a hole in the top of the cardboard and looked in. It was a frigde too small to hold the 10-yr-old. The next three boxes were also cardboard that he quickly tore open and checked. But when he came to a wooden crate he studied it for a moment. It would be faster to punch a fist size hole in the side, but he didn't want to hurt the kid if he was in there. Using his spider-strength, he grabbed the edge of the lid and pried it open.

Nothing.

He went through three more cardboard boxes before coming across one last wooden crate, the size of a coffin. Without hesitating, he grabbed the lid and tore it open. His eyes widened.

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Bobby, Alfred, Teddy, Madison, Nancy and Mary were the only members from the meeting that opted to follow Peter to the trainyard. Ironically, they took the train to the last stop, then when they thought no one was looking, broke through the fence and into the yard.

"Gee, this is an awfully big place," Mary whispered loudly.

"Shhhh"

After admonishing Mary, Alfred signaled the others to keep quiet, then in a barely audible murmur, "We have no idea where Peter is, or the killer. But this place is so big, I think we should split up into twos."

"I think it would be better if each woman paired with a man," Nancy suggested.

Alfred steamed a little but then realized it was the best. Two women could easily succumb to a killer. "Ok. You and Bobby head to the farthest corner over there," he said pointing to the large maintenance building where the locomotives are brought inside for work.

"Teddy, why don't you and Mary, hit the older trains over there." He pointed to Old Iron Horse.

"Maddie, stick with me."

Madison was just about to let Alfred have a piece of her mind but decided that helping Peter find the killer was much more important that picking a fight with a hothead over a nickname.

The six split up.

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The killer was walking in circles talking to the kid. "You know why I have to do this, don't you? He protects us all. If the identity of Spider-man were revealed then his enemies would be able to find him and even if he survived their attacks, they would hound him the rest of his life. We need him here."

Periodically the self-proclaimed protector glanced over at the stilled boy.

"Can't you see? Crime will become rampant if we lose him. Don't you remember how bad it got when he disappeared for a while just before that damned train incident?"

Sweat trickled down the temple of the killer.

"How am I going to handle Parker? He's too wise to let me get close now," the killer stated fingering the small pistol sitting in the right pocket. 'who'da thought a train engineer would have a gun?'

Waving the gun, the diatribe continued, "You know your brother, he could talk too. I can see it now. A bully comes along one day and he says he's a personal friend of Spider-man, gave him back his mask and everything. Can't you see that happening? What about you? You get old enough to want to impress a girl, you need money, so you decide to sell his identity to the highest bidder. That's what that Joe fella tried to do. Extort money. Well, I showed him."

The lament remained unanswered.