Chapter 3 — The Charlie Question
"Hello, this is your pilot speaking. We've entered an unexpected storm, and may experience some slight turbulence… Please remain calm and put your seatbelts on, we should be leaving the storm shortly…"
"Whoa, looks pretty dark out there…"
BOOM!
"Ouch, that flash really hurt my eyes! Did you see that lightning bolt? It looked so close to the plane!"
My eyes shot open all of a sudden, and I stared up at my ceiling, my entire body trembling. My skin felt clammy. A cold sweat clung to my pores. The short, rapid inhales and exhales I managed to take shook, and I swallowed down some bile that threatened to bubble up into my mouth. Light poured into my room through the window to my right and glared over my bed, causing me to blink rapidly in pain. Owww, my eyes! Who left my blinds open?
Oh, right, me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, groaning at the red glow remaining in my retinas even with my eyelids closed, and swallowed again before taking several long breaths. This had happened to me several times before, waking up and remembering that. Exhaustion crept in the back of my head; whenever I had that dream, I never got a good night's sleep. At last, though, I felt calm enough to climb out of bed, head over to the bathroom attached to my room, and splash some cold water over my face.
"JJ, you okay?" my grandfather's voice called into my room. "I heard you screaming. Was it another nightmare?"
"Y-Yeah…" I called back, gripping my sink and staring down at the water as it drained. I still felt like I might throw up, but other than that I felt fine again. "It was another nightmare. Sorry if I woke you up, Da—Grandpa." With how much my grandfather cared for and raised me in place of my parents, it almost felt like he was my real dad sometimes, even though my real dad had died long ago. I'd sometimes accidentally call him dad, even.
After drying my face and then brushing my teeth, I left the bathroom and pulled some clothes on. I wore a dark purple Aeropostale shirt, a blue denim jacket, and blue denim jeans. Ready for the day, I emerged from my room and walked to the kitchen, where a bowl of cereal and some toast with butter and jam, as well as a glass of orange juice, were laid out for me. Grandfather was already eating his Cheerios. A rerun of an old M.A.S.H. episode played on the TV.
J. Jonah Jameson's eyes flicked from the TV to me as he slipped some cereal into his mouth. "You don't look so good," he observed casually, though I could sense the concern underneath the words. "Are you sure you don't need a therapist?"
"If we've had it once, we've had this conversation a million times," I grumbled, roughly kicking my chair out enough for me to sit in it. I plopped down hard on it. The chair creaked badly, like its legs would break, and I blinked rapidly. ...Maybe I needed to be careful with my own strength for a bit until I got used to it. "I don't need a therapist."
Despite the milk they sat in, my cereal tasted dry and lifeless.
"...If you're sure," my grandfather sighed, tapping his spoon against his bowl before taking another scoop of cereal. "How'd the interview yesterday go?"
"The interview went alright," I said, shrugging. "Osborn's office was super cool. He had his own U.I. and everything. It was neat getting to talk to him, too. I think my paper's gonna be great."
"That's good." My grandfather looked pleased as he ate. "You're a fantastic writer, Jack. Some day, you're going to inherit the Daily Bugle, and you'll do great things with it, I'm sure."
I felt guilty, because I didn't want to tell him that I'd rather prefer not having my identity connected to a paper that got sued for libel by Tony Stark. At least, not any more connected than I already was. "Sure, grandpa," I mumbled noncommittally. "I'm sure it'll be fun." I went quiet a little, gazing down at my cereal. "...Sorry I make you worry for me all the time," I added quietly.
Grandpa blinked, looking thrown off. "Wha… JJ, why…? Of course I would worry, I —!" The phone rang at that moment, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say. I blinked, staring at him in total lack of understanding, and he sighed. "Sorry, gotta take this call." He picked up the phone, answering it. "Yeah, hello, what is it, Robbie? Sorry, what?" Interest flared in his eyes. "The Hulk's on the news again? He did what!?"
I tuned the conversation out, finishing my meal and my orange juice before returning to my room. I printed out the outline of the suit I'd been working on, stuffed it in one of my binders, and slipped the binder back in my bookbag before heading out to the elevator. Grandfather was still on the phone talking to his employee, Robbie Robertson, as I left, and he gave me a single nod goodbye.
Nothing much of interest happened on the way to school, though my senses did kinda freak out a bit when a painter's paint bucket fell near me.
School was another matter.
Though doubt still nagged at me, I couldn't deny the excitement that potentially being a superhero brought. I kept sketching supersuit designs throughout class. Still, though, even after I settled on a design, I would still need a way to actually make the suit. This in mind, I started thinking of how to do that, and an answer came… pretty much by accident, really.
When lunch came about, I sat next to Nick with my tray full of three chicken tenders, french fries, a bowl of applesauce, and a glass of apple juice. I noticed him staring somewhere, and followed his gaze to the school beauty, Leanne Hahn. She was a grade above us, and was super pretty with her pristine ebony skin, hazel eyes, and dreadlocks.
I rose an eyebrow at Nick, amused. "Got a crush you haven't been telling me about, bro?"
"Aw, shut up, man," he laughed, rolling his eyes and shoving me lightly. But something about the laugh didn't quite sound fully there, and I blinked as I saw him gazing at the wall oddly. "Everyone and their brother has a crush on Leanne."
"Not hard to see why," I said with a shrug. I popped a french fry in my mouth. "She dresses better than you, at least."
Nick shoved me again. "Jerk," he said without any heat, though he still didn't seem to quite be meeting my eyes.
"Bitch," I replied, fondly. Hey, we were both Supernatural fans; what can I say? "Hey, is there anything—?"
I got cut off by a feminine voice. "Speaking of Leanne, did you know she's making her homecoming dress this year?" a girl next to Nick said, leaning forward. "She showed it to me, and it looks beautiful. Her mom's a fashion designer, and apparently they've been sewing together since she could pick up and thread a needle."
I paused, blinking. "I… huh. No, I didn't know that."
With that information in my head, I started thinking—I could ask her to make it for me! But, wait, then she'd know my secret identity, and that could be troublesome for both of us. In that case, I could just have her teach me how to sew, and make my own suit.
Leanne Hahn, while being the school beauty, was a bit of an odd case. She didn't fit the average dynamic of what you'd imagine from the popular girl whose mom is a fashion designer. Although her family had a lot of wealth, she wasn't preppy and was more down to earth. Hell, she seemed to reject her family's lifestyle almost altogether, preferring more of a punk, rebellious look. She liked to wear this ratty green jacket, even during the summer, and preferred black shirts and ripped-knee jeans. She had her hair dyed with blonde highlights.
Despite this, she still had a really pretty face, and her sassy, no-nonsense personality oddly seemed to draw people in. Even all of her purposefully flawed clothes came together to make an interestingly attractive creation. Though admittedly, despite the fact that I could recognize her good fashion sense and good looks, I was one of the few dudes in the school not attracted to her.
That's probably why I got a few odd looks when I walked up to her after classes ended, as she headed out towards the doors.
"Hey, Leanne," I said, jogging up to her from behind.
She paused and glanced over her shoulder, pigtails flicking around. "Oh, uh, hey. Jackie, right?"
I cringed internally. "Uh, yeah, but… just call me JJ, please." I coughed, scratching my cheek. This felt… awkward to ask a girl. "Hey, uh, I heard that you can sew?"
Leanne blinked at the statement, nodding and furrowing her brow. "Uh, well… yeah, I can, not that I enjoy it." ...Yeah, that made sense with what I knew of her. "It's too girly for my tastes. Why are ya askin'?"
I hesitated, feeling my cheeks warm up a bit. "Um… because I… wanted to ask you if you could teach me?"
Whatever Leanne had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been that answer. She stared at me like a fish out of water, blinking rapidly before coughing into her palm. "Oh! Oh, God. Sorry. I bet I just made that super awkward, huh?" she rambled, shifting about from foot to foot. "Er, yeah, sure, I could do that. I mean… I don't know how good of a teacher I'll be, but sure, yeah! 'S cool that you're not bogged down by stupid gender roles, and—know what, I'll just stop talking now."
"Uh…" Thrown off by how unexpectedly awkward Leanne was, I nodded slowly. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine. Sooo… here, let's exchange numbers so we can set up a time for me to get some lessons from you." I took off my backpack and pulled out a binder with paper in it, and tore off a little piece. I pulled a Sharpie pen from my pocket and scribbled my phone number on it, then gave her the binder and pen.
"Oh—Yeah! Definitely!" Nodding, Leanne scrawled her number down in stiff, non-loopy writing. "Well, gotta go. I'm seeing a horror movie with a friend soon. See ya."
"See ya!" I agreed, taking my things back and slipping them into the backpack. "Have fun, and thanks. That's a huge help."
"Hey, no problem." She waved casually as she returned heading out of Midtown High. Finished with that, I rushed over to the locker room next to the soccer field for soccer practice.
Once soccer practice was over, I took a shower in the locker room and headed out into the city. I wandered around, looking for any signs of trouble going on. From a street perspective, it was hard to find anything, though.
While I walked around, I happened to come across Nick studying on a rock in Central Park.
"Hey, Nick," I greeted with a little wave.
Nick glanced up at me, smiling—but like how his laugh wasn't altogether there earlier, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey," he said, nodding and flicking his eyes back to the book. I read the cover, raising a brow; never knew Nick was a Percy Jackson fan.
"Everything okay?" I asked, knitting my eyebrows. Nick swallowed.
"I—yeah. Everything's okay," he mumbled, finger rubbing along the bottom of the spine of his book.
"Nick, you're a terrible liar. You've been acting odd all day."
My best friend swallowed, then nodded slowly. "O… Okay…" he said softly. He glanced at the book again, maybe to see which page he was on, and then closed his book. "Listen, I'm only telling you this because you're my best friend. You gotta promise not to tell anyone, okay?"
"Okay," I said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. Okay."
"It's…" Nick sighed, staring despondently at the ground. "It's my older brother. He's an engineer, and he used to own his own business in Hell's Kitchen. But it got destroyed during the Incident, by the Hulk. He's been… really messed up since then. He hasn't talked to any of us in a while, and he's been making some… bad choices. I'm just… last night, since it was his birthday, I went to his apartment… It was totally trashed, dude. And there was blood on the wall, and he was… nowhere to be found. I reported it to the police, of course… but I'm worried something bad happened to him. Something really bad."
Concern washed over me, and I sat against the rock, silent for a minute. "Dude, that sucks," I said at last. "I'm sorry, man. I hope he's okay." I remembered meeting Nick's older brother, Charlie, when I hung out at Nick's for Christmas two years ago. He was a pretty cool guy, and had some massive brains on him.
"Thanks," Nick mumbled. "Like I said, don't tell anyone. You've met him—he's a good guy. I don't want… I don't want anyone thinking he's in some kind of street gang, or something. Because he's not."
"It's okay, I won't tell anyone," I promised, throwing him a soft smile.
"...Thanks, JJ," he said, smiling back.
Walking away through Central Park, I worried over Charlie a lot. I remembered him pretty clearly; once, my old Playstation 3 had broken down, and he'd fixed it for me in ten minutes flat with just the few parts we had laying around in the Jameson apartment.
Dude was an absolute genius when it came to electronics. He'd gotten offers from both Stark Industries and Oscorp, but had turned down both of them because he preferred owning his own place. Plus, he didn't want to join those "corrupt assholes tearing our city apart with their competition."
I hoped everything was okay.
Shaking my head, I bit my lip. What could I do? Well… I could try to figure out what had happened to Charlie on my own. Lord knew the police in this city were corrupt as hell and paid off by tons of different groups. I didn't trust them one bit.
Goal set, I headed off to Charlie's apartment.
Charlie lived in an apartment building off the corner of West 43rd and 11th Avenue. His old electronics shop, Hardman Tech, was a couple blocks down, on West 41st between 11th and 10th Avenues.
The building itself was an eight-story brownstone, nestled between McCarne's Pub and Eatery and a Western Union branch specifically geared towards things like money orders and other international monetary transactions. The only reason I knew its location at all was because Nick had brought me to the previously mentioned pub for lunch once, and had said that's why he knew about the pub. If I remembered correctly, Charlie's apartment faced 43rd and had a window you could access via a fire escape.
As I stared across the street at the apartment building in question, a parking complex rose up behind me to the left, towards the Hudson, and directly behind me was a brick wall. Not many people walked around here, but I guessed there were security cameras on the apartment building, and I didn't want to be seen heading in. Thusly, before I quite reached the apartment building, I turned around and ducked around the nearest corner, hiding behind a dumpster. I slung my backpack off and stuffed it under the dumpster. I quickly took off my clothes, shoved them in the bag, and before anyone could see my naked, I took a deep breath and transformed into a bird.
Recalling how it felt to fly instinctively, I jumped off the ground and flapped my wings, catching a draft. Propelled into the air, I flew up towards the apartment, still marvelling at how I could actually fly. I noticed that the window looking out on 43rd had a massive, jagged hole in it, and glided through it. I turned into a cat and landed on all fours on the head of a torn-up couch.
Nick was right. Charlie's apartment was an absolute mess. Black and yellow caution tape sealed off the door, and a bookshelf had fallen down, books, games, and game stations spilled everywhere. A broken glass of what smelled like wine lay over the scuffed-up carpet between the couch and shattered TV. An ugly splatter of red blood covered part of the north wall, standing out against the light grey paint. A chair, its back barely hanging onto the rest of it, lay crumpled on the wooden floor near the fire escape, and a smearing of dried blood covered a portion of the fire escape railing, too.
What the hell had happened here?
Growing increasingly worried for Charlie Hardman's health, I carefully stepped around the mess, searching for any evidence of a reason. All logic dictated there had been a fight here. A really dangerous one, by the way part of the wall of the kitchen had been torn open, revealing the hall on the other side. But who'd been trying to kill Charlie, and why?
Feeling sick in my stomach, I headed through the kitchen to the other side, where a door slumped partially off its hinges, some blood staining its edge. Through the door was a bedroom. The sheets on the bed were all torn to hell, with what looked like bullet holes peppering them. Dear God, someone really had been trying to kill Charlie.
Swallowing, I glanced around with my cat eyes, searching desperately for anything out of the ordinary. Besides all the broken shit and blood, I mean.
That's when my eyes happened to land on the wall.
It was a small thing, a barely noticeable thing, but a knife stuck out of the wall, just above the counter of a bureau and mirror. And it looked like a piece of cloth had been stabbed into the knife. Leaping up onto the counter, I carefully reached out and tilted the cloth up so I could see it more clearly.
The cloth was all black and almost scaly-patterned, with white highlights forming the scale designs. And in the center of the piece of cloth was a bright orange, almost spray paint design of a head with snake hair.
What the hell? Ooookay. This was weird.
Even weirder was the knife itself. It looked… pretty wicked, not like a normal knife at all. It had a blade formed of black metal, and a button on the handle. Pressing the button gave me a bit of a fright, because the blade suddenly glowed with bright orange power on each side. Whoa! This blade looked super high-tech! And kind of… alien.
Furrowing my brow, I took a mental picture of it and the design of the cloth, filing both away back in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, making sure I could recall the design, and once I felt confident enough in my ability to do so, I quickly made my way back out into the living room. However, as I did, I saw some motion out of the corner of my eye, which made me jump.
Shit! Whoever did it is back!
I scrambled away, body instinctively turning… but seeing that it was just a couple of police ducking under the tape made me breathe out in relief. They may have been corrupt dickheads, but at least they were safer to my health than whoever did this to Charlie Hardman.
"Huh, weird that there's a cat here," one of the cops, a rather overweight guy with a big old beer belly, muttered to his partner.
"Yeah, but not as weird as Hardman getting involved with Tartarus," the other cop, a more Asian-looking guy, sighed, shaking his head. "You sure we got all evidence of their involvement?"
"Buncha crazy bastards," the first guy muttered, cracking his back. "Yeah, yeah, though they certainly didn't make it easy on us. Leaving a bunch of their weapons around, who the hell do they think they are?"
Tartarus… whoa. Some kind of secret villain group, maybe? Mulling it over, I bit my lip. What had Charlie gotten himself into?
With a lot to chew on, I leaped out of the window, turned into a bird, and flew back towards my stuff. This was getting pretty crazy...