Chapter 10: The Date and Other Strange Events
Madison checked herself in the mirror one last time and smoothed her skirt self consciously. She was thankful that she was going out that night with someone who obviously wasn't very punctual. He was over a half and hour late, giving her time to change and make herself presentable. Madison gave another glance in the mirror as the doorbell rang, running her fingers through her short dark blond locks, which were shorter than ever due to the haircut she had gotten the day after her transformation. Shoving one last clip into her hair, she pushed the last few stray strands back from her face with her shades and pivoted to answer the door.
%2p; Harry lowered his hand and smiled sheepishly. "Hi."
Madison raised her eyebrows. "Hey."
"Sorry I'm late," he said. There was an awkward silence. Finally he laughed in a slightly self-decrepitating manner and held out the flowers. "These are for you."
% Harry lowered his hand and smiled sheepishly. "Hi."
Madison raised her eyebrows. "Hey."
"Sorry I'm late," he said. There was an awkward silence. Finally he laughed in a slightly self-decrepitating manner and held out the flowers. "These are for you."
Madison grinned widely and accepted them, motioning for him to come in. "Thanks. You can make yourself at home as I go put these in water," she had seen people in movies say stuff like that before, so it seemed the right thing to say. He nodded and stepped in the room, glancing around before settling himself on the couch.
Madison returned shortly, sett a vase with the flowers in it down on the coffee table, and turned to pull on her black trench coat. "Ready to go?"
xxxxx
The restaurant was small and tastefully furnished, the sky high prices that allowed only the richer inhabitants of the city to dine there in place only because of its world famous cooking. It was, in Harry's opinion, perfect.
He allowed himself to be led by a waitress to a table in the far corner, shadowed and slightly dark. Sliding off his coat, he sank into the comfortable chair and flicked open his menu, casting a sideways glance at Madison. He didn't know what had drawn him to her- she wasn't even the kind of girl that he usually fell into infatuation with. Normally, Harry was all for the kind of girl that one of his stature was expected to date: someone typically beautiful and chic who loved everyone and who wore their emotions right on their sleeve. Madison was none of these. She was blunt, manipulative, and from what he could tell from Peter's accounts, downright infuriating. She even looked the part, with strangely hawk-like features and piercing green eyes. It was the eyes that got him. They stared straight through you to your soul and seemed to judge you by some set of standards beyond those that society set. No one had ever looked at him like that before.
Harry snapped out of his thoughts as he realized that she was watching him, an amused smile playing on her lips. Leaning forward slightly, he tapped her menu and said, "you should really try the Fettuccini Alfredo. It's amazing."
"Really?" Madison scanned down the menu. A few moments later the waitress came to take their order. Harry noticed with a slight smile that she ordered the exact opposite of what he had suggested, but for Madison, he supposed, that was to be expected.
Madison leaned on her elbows and stared at him curiously. 'Those damn eyes,' he thought, feeling his throat constrict as she opened her mouth to speak.
"So what do you do for a living? I've heard that you own some big company that works with the government."
He nodded, taking a gulp of water from the glass next his arm. "Yes, Oscorp, we're the chief supplier to the United States Military."
She looked interested. "Really? What do you specialize in?"
He took another sip of water. At this rate he would have to go to the bathroom every five minutes. "Many things . . . robotics, genetics, engineering, cybernetics . . . "
"Wow," she paused, looking at him questioningly. "How did you come to be in charge of all this, you're only what, 20?" She somehow managed to make it sound condescending, even though she was probably the same age.
"After . . . after my father died I was left with complete control of the company."
She looked flustered. "Oh, I'm sorry."
"I am too," he said softly. Trying to lighten the mood, he said, "but I'm doing fine, with being in charge of the company I mean. You wouldn't believe some of the designs I found while going through my father's files. Machinery, technology that's like something out of a sci- fi movie. He was a genius. I just hope I can put some of his ideas to good use. The staff and I have already been able to assemble some of his designs properly, it's really very exciting."
"Sounds like it is," she smiled, her Spider Sense tingling ever so slightly in the back of her mind. She ignored it.
Their salad's came and there was silence for a few minutes, each focusing on the food in front of them. Finally Harry glanced upward. "So what about you? Got any stories to tell?"
Madison sighed and pushed her food away, looking thoughtful. "Not really, so far I've had a predictably boring life." Except for this last month...she added privately in the back of her mind. "I was enrolled in the University of Chicago, but left in my second year to come to New York to get a job as a journalist. Not the smartest thing in the world to do, but," she shrugged, "at least it brought me to where I am now. I have a normal family and a normal home, but I guess I left that and college because I wanted to be anything but normal. Do you ever get that feeling?" She asked, tilting her head and staring at him.
He smiled slightly. "Sometimes. And I agree with what you did. Sometimes you have to do things differently, deal with things in your own way. Take matters into your own hands."
Madison smiled in an unusually cheery way. "I knew we'd understand each other."
His heart felt lightened at her grin, and he continued the rest of the meal with a smile on his face.
xxxxx
"So, how'd the big date go?"
Madison rolled her eyes sleepily and turned to stare at the ever perky Peter standing behind her, a fresh stack of newly developed photos in his hand. "How can you be so frickin' perky all of the time?" She asked, annoyed. "It's seven in the morning, be tired, damn you!"
"Can't," he responded cheerily. "Five cups of coffee will do that to you. So how did the date go?"
She sighed. "It went fine." At his continued stare, she laughed and threw up her hands dramatically. "What do you want to know? It was nice. We talked."
"Well, how about some details?" he asked, not giving any hint that he was looking for answers about more important things than how her date went. She looked at in an annoyed fashion, what little early morning patience she had wearing thin.
"Ummm, well, for one thing, he was like, forty minutes late, but after that things were fine. Went to a nice little restaurant, shared small talk, he talked about his work . . ."
"What did he say was going on there?" Peter tried to sound light.
She gave him another odd look. "He talked about his dad dying, that the company was doing good, that he found a bunch of his dad's old files, what the company works with . . . are you happy?"
"Very." He sounded sick.
"Good. Now," she dug around her trench coat's pockets and retrieved a file folder, which she plopped onto the nearest desk. "Found out some info on our guy."
"Goody," he sounded sarcastic and very grumpy, not at all like himself.
Madison cast a withering glance in his direction. "Anyway," she continued, "I looked up anything having to do with our new friend the other night."
"And?"
"Well, the basis of the name," she sorted through the papers in the folder. "It has shown up in literature throughout history, meant to represent the plague in the middle ages . . . in Edgar Allen's, of course, and it also plays a fairly large role in The Phantom of the Opera."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"OK, how about I tell you what I do have and you just shut up?"
They always did this- bicker like an old married couple. Peter sighed and waved his hand to indicate that she should continue.
"Thank you. Now, both the plotlines of these particular stories indicate someone particularly bitter - the short story is the basic high- and-mighty succumbing to what they had previously ignored, what they seemed to have brought upon themselves and laughed at, and in 'Phantom' it revolves around the whole plot of one man, shunned, and his hatred for humanity, especially the handsome young high-and-mighty viscount who took the woman he loved away from him . . . notice any similarities?" she pursed her lips and stared at him. "Sound like anyone you know?"
Peter stared. Did it?
'Don't tell Harry.'
He smiled weakly. "Nope." Then, clearing his throat loudly, he peered over her shoulder at the papers in her hands. "Got anything else?"
"Some homicide cases that I think might be linked to our new 'friend.' She handed him a few profiles of victims. "A lot of people in scientific fields, some working for random companies, most working for Oscorp. All killed by what appears to be brute strength or," and here she handed him a photo of the murder scene, "what appears to be swords."
"How did you get these?" Peter asked, indicating the photos.
She stared him down, unblinking. "I've got connections."
"Ah," he shuffled through them. "Mind if I take these with me? I'd like to study them a bit."
She gave him an odd look. "Sure. See you later," and with that she sauntered off to her computer on the other side of the room.
Peter plopped himself down into a chair, staring at the photographs in his hands. He flipped through them, landing on the first death, a middle aged scientist who was known for his work with Norman Osborn but had been dropped from the team as a result of the company downsizing after the owner's death. So what had he been doing, in the middle of the night, at Osborn's old research facility?
Making a few bucks, perhaps? Drawn into something he might regret out of desperation? Peter shook his head- this was all just speculation. Heck, the guy might have been as crooked as hell, but that didn't fit his past history. Nor did it fit the history of any of the other murders, most fitting the same profile- ex-Oscorp workers, left out in the street. The other's were all high up's in other competitive company's.
Peter frowned, shifting through page after page of information. The number of deaths were increasing every night. This couldn't be allowed to go on.
Somebody had to stop this.
xxxxx
(Insert review plead here)
Madison checked herself in the mirror one last time and smoothed her skirt self consciously. She was thankful that she was going out that night with someone who obviously wasn't very punctual. He was over a half and hour late, giving her time to change and make herself presentable. Madison gave another glance in the mirror as the doorbell rang, running her fingers through her short dark blond locks, which were shorter than ever due to the haircut she had gotten the day after her transformation. Shoving one last clip into her hair, she pushed the last few stray strands back from her face with her shades and pivoted to answer the door.
%2p; Harry lowered his hand and smiled sheepishly. "Hi."
Madison raised her eyebrows. "Hey."
"Sorry I'm late," he said. There was an awkward silence. Finally he laughed in a slightly self-decrepitating manner and held out the flowers. "These are for you."
% Harry lowered his hand and smiled sheepishly. "Hi."
Madison raised her eyebrows. "Hey."
"Sorry I'm late," he said. There was an awkward silence. Finally he laughed in a slightly self-decrepitating manner and held out the flowers. "These are for you."
Madison grinned widely and accepted them, motioning for him to come in. "Thanks. You can make yourself at home as I go put these in water," she had seen people in movies say stuff like that before, so it seemed the right thing to say. He nodded and stepped in the room, glancing around before settling himself on the couch.
Madison returned shortly, sett a vase with the flowers in it down on the coffee table, and turned to pull on her black trench coat. "Ready to go?"
xxxxx
The restaurant was small and tastefully furnished, the sky high prices that allowed only the richer inhabitants of the city to dine there in place only because of its world famous cooking. It was, in Harry's opinion, perfect.
He allowed himself to be led by a waitress to a table in the far corner, shadowed and slightly dark. Sliding off his coat, he sank into the comfortable chair and flicked open his menu, casting a sideways glance at Madison. He didn't know what had drawn him to her- she wasn't even the kind of girl that he usually fell into infatuation with. Normally, Harry was all for the kind of girl that one of his stature was expected to date: someone typically beautiful and chic who loved everyone and who wore their emotions right on their sleeve. Madison was none of these. She was blunt, manipulative, and from what he could tell from Peter's accounts, downright infuriating. She even looked the part, with strangely hawk-like features and piercing green eyes. It was the eyes that got him. They stared straight through you to your soul and seemed to judge you by some set of standards beyond those that society set. No one had ever looked at him like that before.
Harry snapped out of his thoughts as he realized that she was watching him, an amused smile playing on her lips. Leaning forward slightly, he tapped her menu and said, "you should really try the Fettuccini Alfredo. It's amazing."
"Really?" Madison scanned down the menu. A few moments later the waitress came to take their order. Harry noticed with a slight smile that she ordered the exact opposite of what he had suggested, but for Madison, he supposed, that was to be expected.
Madison leaned on her elbows and stared at him curiously. 'Those damn eyes,' he thought, feeling his throat constrict as she opened her mouth to speak.
"So what do you do for a living? I've heard that you own some big company that works with the government."
He nodded, taking a gulp of water from the glass next his arm. "Yes, Oscorp, we're the chief supplier to the United States Military."
She looked interested. "Really? What do you specialize in?"
He took another sip of water. At this rate he would have to go to the bathroom every five minutes. "Many things . . . robotics, genetics, engineering, cybernetics . . . "
"Wow," she paused, looking at him questioningly. "How did you come to be in charge of all this, you're only what, 20?" She somehow managed to make it sound condescending, even though she was probably the same age.
"After . . . after my father died I was left with complete control of the company."
She looked flustered. "Oh, I'm sorry."
"I am too," he said softly. Trying to lighten the mood, he said, "but I'm doing fine, with being in charge of the company I mean. You wouldn't believe some of the designs I found while going through my father's files. Machinery, technology that's like something out of a sci- fi movie. He was a genius. I just hope I can put some of his ideas to good use. The staff and I have already been able to assemble some of his designs properly, it's really very exciting."
"Sounds like it is," she smiled, her Spider Sense tingling ever so slightly in the back of her mind. She ignored it.
Their salad's came and there was silence for a few minutes, each focusing on the food in front of them. Finally Harry glanced upward. "So what about you? Got any stories to tell?"
Madison sighed and pushed her food away, looking thoughtful. "Not really, so far I've had a predictably boring life." Except for this last month...she added privately in the back of her mind. "I was enrolled in the University of Chicago, but left in my second year to come to New York to get a job as a journalist. Not the smartest thing in the world to do, but," she shrugged, "at least it brought me to where I am now. I have a normal family and a normal home, but I guess I left that and college because I wanted to be anything but normal. Do you ever get that feeling?" She asked, tilting her head and staring at him.
He smiled slightly. "Sometimes. And I agree with what you did. Sometimes you have to do things differently, deal with things in your own way. Take matters into your own hands."
Madison smiled in an unusually cheery way. "I knew we'd understand each other."
His heart felt lightened at her grin, and he continued the rest of the meal with a smile on his face.
xxxxx
"So, how'd the big date go?"
Madison rolled her eyes sleepily and turned to stare at the ever perky Peter standing behind her, a fresh stack of newly developed photos in his hand. "How can you be so frickin' perky all of the time?" She asked, annoyed. "It's seven in the morning, be tired, damn you!"
"Can't," he responded cheerily. "Five cups of coffee will do that to you. So how did the date go?"
She sighed. "It went fine." At his continued stare, she laughed and threw up her hands dramatically. "What do you want to know? It was nice. We talked."
"Well, how about some details?" he asked, not giving any hint that he was looking for answers about more important things than how her date went. She looked at in an annoyed fashion, what little early morning patience she had wearing thin.
"Ummm, well, for one thing, he was like, forty minutes late, but after that things were fine. Went to a nice little restaurant, shared small talk, he talked about his work . . ."
"What did he say was going on there?" Peter tried to sound light.
She gave him another odd look. "He talked about his dad dying, that the company was doing good, that he found a bunch of his dad's old files, what the company works with . . . are you happy?"
"Very." He sounded sick.
"Good. Now," she dug around her trench coat's pockets and retrieved a file folder, which she plopped onto the nearest desk. "Found out some info on our guy."
"Goody," he sounded sarcastic and very grumpy, not at all like himself.
Madison cast a withering glance in his direction. "Anyway," she continued, "I looked up anything having to do with our new friend the other night."
"And?"
"Well, the basis of the name," she sorted through the papers in the folder. "It has shown up in literature throughout history, meant to represent the plague in the middle ages . . . in Edgar Allen's, of course, and it also plays a fairly large role in The Phantom of the Opera."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"OK, how about I tell you what I do have and you just shut up?"
They always did this- bicker like an old married couple. Peter sighed and waved his hand to indicate that she should continue.
"Thank you. Now, both the plotlines of these particular stories indicate someone particularly bitter - the short story is the basic high- and-mighty succumbing to what they had previously ignored, what they seemed to have brought upon themselves and laughed at, and in 'Phantom' it revolves around the whole plot of one man, shunned, and his hatred for humanity, especially the handsome young high-and-mighty viscount who took the woman he loved away from him . . . notice any similarities?" she pursed her lips and stared at him. "Sound like anyone you know?"
Peter stared. Did it?
'Don't tell Harry.'
He smiled weakly. "Nope." Then, clearing his throat loudly, he peered over her shoulder at the papers in her hands. "Got anything else?"
"Some homicide cases that I think might be linked to our new 'friend.' She handed him a few profiles of victims. "A lot of people in scientific fields, some working for random companies, most working for Oscorp. All killed by what appears to be brute strength or," and here she handed him a photo of the murder scene, "what appears to be swords."
"How did you get these?" Peter asked, indicating the photos.
She stared him down, unblinking. "I've got connections."
"Ah," he shuffled through them. "Mind if I take these with me? I'd like to study them a bit."
She gave him an odd look. "Sure. See you later," and with that she sauntered off to her computer on the other side of the room.
Peter plopped himself down into a chair, staring at the photographs in his hands. He flipped through them, landing on the first death, a middle aged scientist who was known for his work with Norman Osborn but had been dropped from the team as a result of the company downsizing after the owner's death. So what had he been doing, in the middle of the night, at Osborn's old research facility?
Making a few bucks, perhaps? Drawn into something he might regret out of desperation? Peter shook his head- this was all just speculation. Heck, the guy might have been as crooked as hell, but that didn't fit his past history. Nor did it fit the history of any of the other murders, most fitting the same profile- ex-Oscorp workers, left out in the street. The other's were all high up's in other competitive company's.
Peter frowned, shifting through page after page of information. The number of deaths were increasing every night. This couldn't be allowed to go on.
Somebody had to stop this.
xxxxx
(Insert review plead here)