Chapter Forty-Four: What Ever Happened To Peter Parker?

"Oh, Annabelle! It's been a while," May Parker somehow looked even older than usual when she opened the door. She was hunched over and her fingers were bending with the later signs of arthritis. "Where have you and Peter been hiding?"

Annabelle smiled through the worry eating away at her. When Peter had moved out of her apartment, she thought that he had just needed some space. It was a certainty, in her mind, that he would return when he was ready and apologise for basically dumping her on her ass. He was upset at the time and it was obvious that he was making each decision without stopping to think about them first...but he was a good guy. If she knew nothing else in this world, she knew that at least.

Only...he hadn't come back. She usually wasn't the type to dwell on such things, if he didn't want to be with her then that was his choice, but he didn't show up at University either. Driven by a wild fear of her past repeating itself (which, my dear readers, will have to wait until another time), she had leapt up from her couch, tripped over the pile of empty ice-cream tubs on her floor, and hurried here - to the place she had come for Peter's birthday all those months ago. His childhood home.

"Hi, May. I guess you haven't heard from Peter either?"

May's expression dropped. There was a slight gleam of hope in her eyes that immediately extinguished after Belle said those words. Now she wished that she hadn't spoken at all.

"I thought he was with you." May's voice wavered like a fragile leaf at Autumn's end.

"He didn't tell you? He moved out. After that terrible situation with Curtis Connor's he was...a little lost. I thought maybe he would have come here, but I suppose not. Maybe he didn't want to worry you."

"That sounds like Peter."May smiled, but it was weak and forced. It looked like it took all of her effort to do it. "Please, come in. I wouldn't mind a little company."

May hobbled back inside, it was dark in there. Lonely. She shuffled along like there were magnets in her feet that prevented her from lifting them too high...or something like that. Running low on similes here. Let's just say she was looking really old, and that it was very upsetting for someone like your narrator who cries whenever they see a struggling elderly person. Annabelle, fortunately for this tale, was a stronger person than us (let's be honest, you'd cry too) and managed to keep the tears back by an incredible show of willpower as she followed her inside.

The house hadn't changed much at all. Pictures still lined the walls, framed and a little bit off-centre. It mainly depicted Peter as he was growing up, some alongside a much younger May and her late husband, Ben. One did seem to catch her eye though, and she briefly stopped in front of it to take a good look. Peter was in the middle but he couldn't have been any older than two years old. He was being held by a woman that looked nothing like May at all, and a man that resembled Ben in the chin but was much taller and lankier.

"Peter's parents." May said, and Annabelle only then realised that the elderly woman was watching her from the doorway of the kitchen.

"Would it be inappropriate of me to ask what happened to them?"

"Maybe a little," May laughed, but there was a sadness there too. A wound that had healed, but left a noticeable scar. "It was a plane crash. Peter was so young, I don't think he really understood what was happening. He missed them, of course, in the way any toddler would miss something familiar to them...but it faded in time. We were always honest about not being his parents, but he never asked about them until he was fourteen."

"Never?"

May shook her head. "When he finally did ask, we told him everything. I offered to take him to their graves but...I don't know. He was never interested in visiting them."

Annabelle nodded, scanning the framed photos and watching as Peter grew; always embraced by his aunt and uncle. The last picture was of him and May at his high-school graduation. It was the only one without Ben, and that almost made it look empty. It was obvious that Peter was loved dearly, so he wouldn't have felt any need to visit a cemetery and talk to people that couldn't hear him...and that he didn't know. "Looks like he already had pretty great parents."

May seemed to brighten a little at these words. "The circumstance was awful, but Peter was always the best thing that happened to us."

Annabelle nodded. They were lucky to have each other, especially after the loss of Ben. They always had someone to talk to and confide in. It made Annabelle feel a twinge of loneliness that she swiftly buried back down into the recesses of her mind.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" May asked as Belle finally joined her in the kitchen.

Annabelle had never quite understood the popularity of tea. Honestly, she liked the idea of tea more than actually drinking it. Still, she was by no means against a small mug of the stuff in social situations. "Sounds great, thanks, but let me make it for us. It'll give me something to do."

May was hunching, moving slowly and clearly struggling to stay upright. It was clear that she wanted to make the tea, because she was so accustomed to doing everything in the household...but, fortunately, she conceded and dragged herself over to the small dining table: falling into an uncomfortable wooden chair.

Two mugs had already been laid out. One was quite normal, but the other looked like a lump of clay that had been kicked around a soccer field. It was misshapen and bore the very messy (and misspelled) handwriting of a child across it - 'To Ant May. From Peter'.

Annabelle smiled as she switched the kettle on. This house was so full of love and memories. Everything that she avoided when designing her own apartment; she horded weird paintings and statues instead that held no real meaning at all. She liked to think that it would distract from the lack of photos or childhood possessions.

In a moment of boredom, while she was waiting for the water to boil, Belle's gaze fell to a slip of paper partly hidden under May's purse. Most of it was unreadable, but the large stamp reading 'eviction notice' kind of gave it away.

Annabelle closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Peter's disappearance was the last thing May needed right now. She was going to lose her house, this lifetime of memory, and now the most important thing in her world was gone. Without a word...without even a phone call. Annabelle liked to think that Peter had simply been busy, or needed more time to grieve, but something told her that it was far more serious than that. He could avoid her easily enough, but his aunt? The single-most important person in his world? There was no way.