The Spectacular Spider-Man
Issue #2 – Tangled, Part Two written by Zak Chambers
Boiling water sloshed over the edge of its container, scalding a man's hand. He pulled his appendage back quickly, sucking in a breath as he did so. The pain shot up his arm, causing his nerves to shudder.
"Crap," he muttered as he turned on the cold water in the kitchen sink and ran his hand under it. "Teach me to not pay attention. Nice if I had some forewarning here."
Despite the irritation he continued on with his work, wiping his hand off on a towel slung over his shoulder. He grasped a long blade with his other hand and stabbed it into a shiny tomato, slicing down. After mincing the tomato he sprinkled it on top of a bowel of salad and set it to the side, determined to concentrate more on the boiling chicken that had assaulted him.
Peter Parker whistled along happily with the clock radio attached to the underside of his kitchen cabinets. It was rare that he had the opportunity to make dinner for his wife since his life as a freelance photographer kept him on call at the strangest hours. His employer, J. Jonah Jameson, had no qualms about waking him up at three in the morning if it meant getting a snapshot of the city's most notorious vigilante.
Photos of those nature were Parker's stock in trade. He had captured the infamous Spider-Man on film more than anyone else in the business, and it had gained him a minor reputation. Which was fine with him. His wife, the actress on the verge of being a huge star, would be able to have enough fame for both of them once her career took off again. He was content being a good husband and father.
No sooner had the thought of his daughter crossed his mind than she decided it was time to wake up. Her cries caught his attention the split second after they had begun, given his practice at picking her wails out between the television and alarm clock. It was almost like a second sense.
He turned the burner down on the stovetop and wiped his hands off before running into the living room. "Awake all ready, May?" Peter said as he bent over behind the couch and reached into the crib. "Mommy will be home soon. We'll all have dinner together, how about that, princess? Huh?"
Baby May responded with a burp as Peter patted her on the back. He chuckled at her uncouth answer to his questioning until another sound caught his attention. Something outside. It sounded like a muffled car backfiring, which in Manhattan was nothing to write home about. He glanced through the window and thought he saw something slip off the edge of the roof across the street, moving just beyond his line of sight.
( Seem familiar? Read last issue to see what went down!)
He squinted and took a step forward but the phone jumped to life with a loud ringing, matching that of his infant daughter. He crossed through the living room in three giant steps, balancing May with one arm while he picked up the receiver with his free hand.
"Parker residence," he said.
"Peter!"
"Mary Jane?" Her voice sounded different. Worried. And that made him worried. Was she panting? "What's wrong? Where are you?"
His wife took a second to swallow before answering. "The local precinct," she answered. "Peter… Peter I need you. You need to come down here. I was… I was almost raped tonight."
He was shocked, unsure of what to say. "Are you okay? Where? When? What happened? Are you all right?" The words flew out of his mouth so fast that he couldn't guarantee that they were comprehensible.
"I'm fine now. I'm safe here at the police station. Oh god, Peter. It was so horrible. I just… God, Peter. And then that Spider-Man showed up for some reason. I was scared for my life! But just… Come down here and get me. Bring my baby girl. I want to come home."
"Of course, of course. I'll be right there. Just hang tight, Mary Jane. I'm on my way. I love you."
She returned the sentiment and hung up the phone, but Peter held his receiver for a long while after the call disconnected. He had lived in New York City for most of his life but had never met someone who had gone through such an ordeal, let alone been so close to them. His mind started racing as the worry built once more. Even though Mary Jane had told him she was fine now he still felt the trauma in her voice.
May stirred in his arm, reminding him that he needed to move quickly. He ran into the main bedroom and grabbed a set of heavier clothes for May to keep her warm. Less than five minutes later he was running out of the lobby of his building and looking for a cab to hail.
The local police precinct was ten blocks away; not a long drive by an NYC cabbie's standards. It gave him the time he needed to collect his thoughts, though, which mainly consisted of Spider-Man's involvement.
He had never held a full conversation with the wallcrawler but he had followed his exploits enough to know that he wasn't the menace that Jonah made him out to be. Mary Jane distrusted the vigilante, as did his aunt. Both of them would go on about the recklessness of a masked man swinging through the city whenever they saw Peter's latest photo in the paper. His wife respected the fact that Spider-Man was indirectly responsible for their rent money each month but she still held a certain distaste for the webbed renegade.
His own opinions about the vigilante had never really matter, until now. Now, when his wife had called him crying about being attacked. What did Spider-Man have to do with it? Why was he there?
"This your stop, buddy?" the cabbie asked after pulling up to the curb.
Peter threw money over the cab driver's shoulder and told him to keep the change. He didn't want to waste time dabbling with coins when his wife needed him possibly more than ever. He leapt out onto the sidewalk and bolted up the stairs leading into the police station and burst through the main door, which drew more than a couple looks from nearby officers.
The precinct was largely homage to the days long gone by. With a city budget to consider, the old wooden moldings that had been installed upon the building's original founding were still in place, along with the stained and warped desks, chairs, and doors. There were a few scattered officers moving through the lobby, each wearing a newer uniform that stood out against the musty walls. Those that paid attention to his arrival quickly dismissed him once they noticed the infant clutched in his arms.
"My wife," he told the officer sitting behind the front desk. "I'm here to see my wife. Where can I find her?"
The officer behind the desk looked to be in his fifties. He didn't pull his eyes away from the stack of papers he was thumbing through when Peter had approached. "When was she booked?" he replied.
"No. She wasn't arrested. She was assaulted. An hour ago I think. Please, just tell me where I can see her and—"
"Peter!"
He turned at the sound of his name to see his wife standing just outside the doorway of a side office. Tears immediately began to fall from her eyes when she saw Peter and their daughter bound across the room and grab her. She coughed down the sobs begging to be released from her throat, allowing just a moment of restitute between them.
"Are you okay?" was the first thing that came out of his mouth upon reaching her.
"Fine, I'm fine," she replied after choking down the sobs. "May…how's my girl? Mommy's here, sweety."
"What happened?"
"Oh, Peter. It was horrible. I was coming home from the audition and coming through Central Park, and these two…thugs grabbed me!"
"It's okay, it's okay," Peter said. He held her tightly in his arms, allowing enough room for May to snuggle between their chests. Mary Jane sobbed gently against his shoulder, her tears instantly absorbed by the cotton mesh that comprised his Oxford shirt.
"And then Spider-Man showed up!" she continued. "God, Peter. That menace came after me as soon as he was done wrestling with the creeps that grabbed me. He's a sick freak!"
"He chased you?"
"Yes! He followed me out to the street and if it hadn't been for… Oh, Peter, I don't know what's happening to me. Take me home. I want to go home."
He nodded his head gently as he led Mary Jane over to a bench in the lobby. He answered the elder officer's questions and assured him that she would return for a formal statement once she had calmed down before he took his family outside and hailed a cab. The crisp night air awaited them, numbing the general air of uneasiness that hovered around the small family. Peter guided his wife down the precinct steps to the curb where he quickly found them a ride home.
Something in the back of his mind was bothering. He couldn't quite place the sensation, and he tried to push it aside. The more he shoved, however, the more the sensation grew. At first he attributed the feeling as mild hysteria over what was happening to his wife, compounded by his natural agitated state. In fact, the more he pondered on the eerie perturbation, the more his thoughts could focus on nothing else. It had begun just as soon as his wife had mentioned Spider-Man.
When they arrived home, the sense of tingling in the back of his head was all he could think about.
"Parker, you're fired!"
Peter fought the need to roll his eyes as the publisher of the Daily Bugle, the New York newspaper that he derived most of his paychecks from, flapped his arms about widely while he continued to rant about what an incompetent staffer Peter was. The fact that Peter was nothing more than a freelancer seemed to have slipped Jonah's mind again as the publisher's signature behavior was showing in spades.
"Until you reveal your contacts I'm not shelling out one penny for these pictures of Spider-Man," Jonah said. "Why, in my day—"
"We'll take them, Peter," Joseph Robertson said, a statement that shocked Jonah into silence. 'Robbie' was the yin to Jonah's yang. He typically stood in the background while Jonah ranted about whatever it was that he deemed noticeable in his editorials. Robbie nodded to Peter as he stooped over Jonah's desk and picked up the stack of photographs, saying, "I'll work out the spread now. Nice to see you again, Peter."
Jonah looked ready to explode as his face began turning red. Robertson, editor in chief for the Bugle, ignored the look of irritation and left the office swifter than Jonah's vengeance could follow, leaving Peter alone with the publisher.
In his years of freelance work Peter had leaned to lean on Robbie and avoid Jonah. Ever since he had first grabbed a quick snapshot of Spider-Man when he was seventeen Peter Parker knew he wanted to be in the newspaper business. The energy of a world class publication had hooked him instantly. Jonah's thin wallet had done much to keep him from becoming full time, but most of the staff regarded him as their fellow employee all the same.
Jonah's office seemed to be designed to keep all focus on him for all who dared enter. Like a throne room, his expensive chair and desk, garnished with various awards and recognitions that the Daily Bugle had received under his watch as if to imply the credit for success was all his doing, was raised a few inches off the floor. One had to look slightly higher than normal when addressing the publisher even when Jonah was seated.
"As I was saying," Jonah began again as he paced behind his desk, "in my time you revealed your sources to your publisher! So how is it you get all these shots of that menace, hmm? Spill it, Parker! Are you in cahoots with the wallcrawler or not?"
"Cahoots?" Peter opened his mouth to reply further but found no words would come forth. The tingling sensation began to buzz again in the back of his head, distracting him. What was happening?
"Are you going to give me an answer?" Jonah demanded after a long moment.
"I…"
The tingling was beginning to overwhelm him. He shook his head to try and clear his mind, but could only concentrate on the disarming sensation in the back of his head. He had felt it yesterday when bringing Mary Jane home from the police station but ignored it, thinking it was nothing more than stress getting to him. Now it was ruining his ability to communicate. He figured that swinging in to the office to sell some old snapshots of Spidey to go along with the story that the Bugle was sure to publish about what happened with his wife would be a good move.
He thought of Spider-Man again and suddenly felt a sense of déjà vu, which mixed uncomfortably with the tingling sensation still raging in his mind.
"Parker! Are you even paying attention to me? That's the problem with today's youth. You're all off in Dreamland instead of keeping yourselves grounded in the present. When I say jump your only answer should be—"
"S'cuse me," someone interrupted. The buzzing in the back of Peter's head died down as he focused on the newcomer, a familiar man that he respected more than just about anyone else on staff. "Sorry to bust in, Mr. Jameson," Ben Urich said, "but I just got a hit on the wire about Spider-Man tangling with some freak uptown. Mind if I steal Pete for my photographer? I'm headed there now."
The shade of red on Jonah's face died down minutely. Urich, one of their few reporters that had earned more than a handful of the awards on Jonah's desk, didn't necessarily throw his weight around the office. But he wasn't as subtle as Jonah would have liked him to be. "Take him," the publisher stated. "It's like talking to a brick wall anyway. And, Parker! Get me decent shots this time!"
"Ignore that bag of wind," Ben said as he walked with Peter to the elevators. The torrent of chaos that was the newsroom bullpen whirled around them as they weaved between desks to take their leave. "Ol' J.J. knows better than he lets on. He wouldn't risk losing you to a rival, not for what you're able to do."
Peter nodded but still couldn't shake the feeling still lurking underneath his conscious thoughts. Something felt wrong. "If he didn't scare me off when I was a kid he won't be able to do it now," Peter finally said when the elevator door dinged open.
Ben reached into the deep pockets of his trench coat and woefully pulled out a bit-sized piece of chewing gum. "I just might have to take up smoking again to crush my craving for this nicotine gum," the ace reporter said. "Helpful my ass. Say, Pete. You okay? You look…well, bad."
"Gee, thanks, Ben."
"Hey, call it my superior powers of deduction, but you look like you went a few rounds with Daredevil. Not sleeping?"
Peter shot Ben a look as the reporter chewed away on his drug-releasing gum. For some reason he suddenly felt paranoid around Ben, as if the reporter were digging into him for information. He didn't like being the subject of anything Ben Urich investigated…
Peter closed his eyes, pushing away the paranoid thoughts. Ben was his friend. He wouldn't be snooping in his life. Why would he? Peter didn't have anything to hide. Did he? He couldn't help but think of how easy it would be to concentrate if the annoying tingling would just stop.
"Pete?"
"Yeah, sorry," he replied. "Just… I'm fine. The baby is keeping me up. That's all."
"Whatever you say, Pete."
They hailed a cab once they exited the building and headed for the uptown location that Ben had noted. The cabbie whisked them away in a flash, jutting in and out of traffic like a renegade driving to lose the police. The directions Ben gave spilled out of his mouth in a garble, but the cabbie picked on them just the same. Living in a place like NYC, they learned to pick up bits and pieces as needed while filtering out the rest.
"Where exactly are we headed?" Peter asked after the cab took them a few blocks at breakneck speeds.
"Where all the big fights take place," Ben replied. "The Garden."
Madison Square Garden came into view as the cab roared around another street corner, taking careful heed of pedestrians all the while. A crowd had gathered by the time they hopped out of the cab along with a dozen squad cars. New York's Finest had all ready erected a barrier to keep the ground back with practiced precision. The city was home to some of the most ruthless villains to ever grace the world and at one point or another they would make their presence known at The Garden.
The large television screen that was embedded in the sky displayed a startling image, capturing the attention of the audience below. The camera, wherever it was hiding at, showed a close-up shot of a dangling and obviously beaten Spider-Man, complete with ripped costume.
Below the screen, hanging from his own weblines, was the wallcrawler himself. Spider-Man hung with arms outstretched above The Garden's entrance, each appendage held out by a line of webbing. The gray signature material was wrapped around his wrists, making sure that he was held still for the world to see like a crucified caricature of his typical presence. His head hung down, marking him as either dead or unconscious.
"Gathered spectators!" a reverberating voice roared from somewhere overhead. "For too long have you suffered under the watchful and terrifying eye of the one called Spider-Man! Tonight, before an audience of his peers, and thrust into the limelight for the first time, the menace of New York will at long last be unmasked!"
"Oh my God," Peter mumbled quietly. "That's Mysterio."
Peter fidgeted with his 35mm camera as he watched the green and purple figure of Mysterio descend from the clouds. He squeezed off a few shots from where he stood behind the crowd before he shoved his way deeper into the mass, angling for the best shot possible.
"Always the showman," Ben said as he followed Peter into the crowd. "That nutcase is more dangerous than all the rest if you ask me. He casts these illusions; makes you see whatever he wants."
"You think this is an illusion now?" Peter asked between being elbowed by other onlookers.
"Hard to tell. Could be. Illusion or not, it's news."
As Peter snapped off shot after shot he was hard pressed to disagree. Part of him wanted to fire off negative remarks along with the rest of the crowd, which the police were looking to judge as a soon-to-be mob. The other half of Peter Parker was apprehensive, partially due to what had happened to his wife, and partially because of…what was it? He was having trouble thinking again. His thoughts were fogged down by the buzzing in the back of his head, masking what should otherwise be a simple act.
Mysterio swept in on top of a pile of fluffy clouds, slicing through the sky like a comet. Within a moment of his arrival, pausing for dramatic effect of course, the villain was floating beside the hanging vigilante. "You shall all bear witness as the accursed Spider is placed into the court of public opinion," he continued to address the crowd. "His crimes are well documented. His punishment must fit those crimes!"
Peter finally worked his way to the front of the crowd and up to the barrier, stopping just beside a towering street light. An officer held a hand out to stop him, but Peter was as close as he wanted to be. Using his camera, he zoomed in on the lifeless Spider-Man, hanging like a piñata, centering the black emblem on his chest in the lens. As he clicked the aperture open on the camera, something else clicked as well.
The tingling grew, flooding his mind with a sense of dread and danger.
He felt Ben at his side, screaming at him something unintelligible.
The police officers in front of him rushed forward, waving their arms for some reason.
The noise of the crowd had started to die off, resting in a general murmur of awe and wonder.
Peter realized he was breathing heavily. He didn't know why. He noticed his camera wasn't in his hands anymore and wondered what had happened to it. Thinking he may have dropped it in all the excitement, he looked down, hoping that the lens hadn't cracked. Cash was hard to come by and replacing yet another camera was something he couldn't afford.
Instead of seeing his feet firmly planted on the ground, he saw the top of Ben Urich's head. Peter squinted, confused. He looked around and spotted his camera, which had somehow gotten out of his hands and was lying just beneath Mysterio in broken heap.
He suddenly realized how it had gotten there: he had thrown. He had thrown his camera directly as Mysterio, and judging from the crack in the villain's helmet, he had been on target. The green and purple supervillain was facing him, his fingers opening and closing in clenched fists.
Had he really just thrown his camera? Why? What was wrong with him? The buzzing, the tingling, it just wouldn't stop.
"Pete!" he heard Ben call up to him. "What the holy hell are you doing up there?"
He looked down again and finally understood. He wasn't standing on the ground beside Ben any longer. He was fifteen above Ben, above the police officer, above the entire gathered crowd. He was clinging to the side of the street light through the soles of his shoes. He looked at his left hand and found it gently touching the lamppost, adhering to it effortlessly.
"What the hell…?"
Peter Parker, the typical New Yorker with an unreliable job, bills, and a family, had just assaulted a known supervillain and then leapt into the air, sticking to the side of a street light like it was his second nature.
"Oh my God…" Peter said while he watched in a mix of confusion and horror as Mysterio charged through the air directly for him.
Next Issue – "Tangled" wraps up in an explosive story that explains just what the heck is happening to both Spidey and Pete! Don't miss the stunning conclusion that will make you look at the wallcrawler differently.