Chapter Four

Harry Osborn couldn't understand what had happened. Up until a few weeks ago, he had been undergoing rehabilitation at Ravencroft Sanitarium. He'd been seeing a therapist several times a week, and underwent an extensive detox program to remove any lingering traces of the Green Goblin formula from his system. It had taken a long time, but he was finally starting to feel like his old self again, and things were looking up.

Then, one day, he was told that his therapist had suddenly decided that Harry was still a serious threat to society and beyond all hope of ever being cured of his dementia. He was quickly and unceremoniously transferred to Ryker's Island Prison, where he now spent his days in a small, dark, musty cell like some kind of caged animal.

The details of the time he'd spent under the influence of the Goblin formula was mostly a dreamlike haze by now. He understood that he had killed at least two men, Thomas Morrow and his assistant, and he had kidnapped Lex Luthor. Also, in his delusional state, Harry had somehow come to believe that his friend Peter Parker was actually Spider-Man. He then kidnapped Peter and the people closest to him, with the intent to kill them all in front of Peter's very eyes. Just the thought of what he had put his friend through sickened him.

And yet… something still called to him. Something deep in the recesses of his mind, like a faint but persistent echo. He didn't know if it was some remaining trace of the Goblin formula that still lingered in his veins, or something rooted deep within his own psyche, but sometimes, late at night, in the darkness of his cell, he could swear that he felt the Goblin inside of him, trying to take hold one last time.

Footsteps, coming down the corridor. Three men. "Keep moving, pal," he heard someone say.

Harry got to his feet and walked to the bars of his cell to see what was going on. Two guards were leading a prisoner to a new cell. The prisoner was a tall, bald, muscular African American man in orange prison garb, his hands cuffed in front of him. Harry thought that the man looked familiar, but couldn't immediately place him.

The guards shoved the man into the empty cell across from Harry's, removed his handcuffs and slammed the cell door shut, locking it.

"There, you got your own cell this time. Happy now, Kingpin?" one of the guards asked. The prisoner just sneered at the guards as they walked away, laughing to themselves.

"Kingpin?" Harry asked.

The prisoner chuckled to himself as he noticed who was in the cell across from him. "That you over there, Harry Osborn?"

By now, Harry had realized who the man was. "Wilson Fisk?"

Fisk nodded. "Well isn't this grand. You and I used to head up two of the biggest corporations in the world, and now we get to be neighbors in prison."

"I read about your arrest in the paper awhile back," Harry said. "They said you controlled most of the criminal underworld in the city."

"You believe everything you read, kid?" Fisk asked.

"Not everything. Certainly not in the Daily Bugle."

"The Bugle's a worthless rag I wouldn't line a birdcage with, and Jonah Jameson's a windbag who should have been put out to pasture years ago," Fisk said. "They had some interesting things to say about you in that paper too, if I recall. What was it you called yourself? The Green Goblin?"

Harry didn't answer Fisk's question. "You've been in here awhile," Harry said. "Why'd they move you to a new cell?"

"My previous cellmate committed suicide last night," Fisk said. "They're still cleaning it up."

"Ah, I see."

"Plus they've got this crazy notion that I might have had something to do with it," Fisk added. A disturbing smile crossed his lips.

Harry started to back away from the bars. "That's lovely. Well it was nice talking to you. I think I might try to get some sleep."

"Osborn," Fisk called after him. He looked down the hallway to make sure the guards were out of earshot. "I'm getting out of here. Soon. How would you like to come with me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I've still got some connections on the outside," Fisk said. "I've put together something of an escape plan. I'd like to take you and a few others with me."

"Why me?" Harry asked.

"Call it a business proposition," Fisk said. "I've met a few… interesting individuals in here, and I'd like to put together a little task force of sorts. I get you out of here, you join up with us and help me take care of a small problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Guy by the name of Matt Murdock," Fisk said. "A lawyer in Hell's Kitchen. He's been causing some trouble for me. I want him taken out."

"You need a whole hit squad to take care of some lawyer?" Osborn asked.

"You don't know this guy like I do," Fisk said. "I want to make sure the job's done right."

"Either way," Harry said, "you're wasting your time. I can't help you. I'm not the Green Goblin any more."

"But you could be, if you wanted to be," Fisk said.

Harry closed his eyes. He started to feel a little faint. He grabbed onto the bars of his cell to brace himself. "It's… not that easy," he said.

"What do you need, Osborn?" Fisk asked. "The costume? The glider? I can get ahold of Doctor Morrow's notes. I have guys who can rebuild it, even improve it."

"It's… not that…" Harry said. What was going on? He felt like he was going to pass out. Like he was losing control of his own body. Something inside was trying to get out. Was he going to throw up? No, it wasn't coming from his stomach… it felt like his veins were pumping acid. He rested his head against the bars. "I need… I need the Goblin formula," he said. It didn't even sound like his voice any more. He wasn't even sure that it was.

"You know where you can get it?" Fisk asked.

"M…Maybe…" He felt like there was a drumline performing in his head. The pounding was getting unbearable now. But, he was beginning to understand. The Goblin never really went away. He was always there, waiting patiently for his chance to come out to play again. And now that he saw his chance, he was screaming for Harry's attention.

"Osborn, you all right over there?" Fisk asked. "You're not looking so good."

"I'm fine," Harry snapped, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. "I'll accept your deal, Mister Fisk, but on one condition."

"And what might that be?"

"Before we go after your Matt Murdock…" Harry said, opening his eyes. "…we kill Spider-Man."