TWIN DEMONS by Georgia Kennedy
Author's Notes
Peter Jennings, the outstanding anchor for ABC news, passed away on August 7, 2005.
William Tecumseh Sherman was the Union general whose forces laid waste to Atlanta and much of Georgia during the "March to the Sea" campaign of 1864, near the end of the American Civil War. He once wrote that the "crueler (a war) was, the sooner it would be over." See Toby Rowland-Jones, Civil War Generals (Williamsburg Virginia, Bicast Publishing, 2000), pp. 28-29.
ConEd is short for Consolidated Edison, the utility company that provides electricity, gas, and steam services to New York City.
Belle and Manny Rosen were characters in The Poseidon Adventure. Copyright 2005 by 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., All Rights Reserved.
The Yiddish phrase kain ein hores translates into, "no evil eyes!" or "don't give me canaries." The expression itself is a warning not to bring bad luck upon oneself by talking too much.
In Chess, a gambit is defined as a sacrifice of a minor piece that a player makes in the hopes of gaining an advantage.
Parts of the conversation between Mary Jane and Aunt May are drawn from The Amazing Spider-Man, No. 38, "The Conversation" (February 2002).
In the novelization of the first Spider-Man film, Peter had been keeping diaries, in the form of letters to his parents. This element of the story never made it to the screen, but serves as background here. See Peter David, Spider-Man - The Official Novelization of the Film (New York, Random House Publishing Group, 2002), pp. 16-18, 27-28, 100-103, 310-11.
Disclaimer
This is a derivative work of fiction featuring characters copyrighted and trademarked by Marvel Characters, Inc. It is based upon: Spider-Man, copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Spider-Man 2, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Daredevil - Director's Cut, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved; and Hulk, copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, all rights reserved. The author is not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Characters, Inc., or any of the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on Fanfiction, for the benefit and enjoyment of its intended audience. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the author as a result of said posting. Any unauthorized copying or redistribution of this work might subject the party responsible for such unauthorized copying or redistribution to legal action by the owners of the aforementioned copyrights and trademarks.
XXI
GIRL TALK
The towering skyscrapers of Manhattan afforded Peter Parker the complete freedom to move at any speed and altitude he was capable of achieving. Once outside that environment, however, navigation became more cumbersome, as Peter knew from his many trips to Forest Hills. He usually dealt with this problem by riding his moped or taking the subway. But today, since time was of the essence, he took the scenic route, leaping across rooftops at a mere seventy five miles per hour, not even feeling Mary Jane's weight.
The two lovebirds landed in an alley very close to the apartment complex in which May Parker now lived. With Mary Jane acting as a lookout, Peter donned his street clothes in less than ten seconds. Discarding the remnants of the web sack in a trash can, they hurried out of the alley and found themselves directly across the street from the West Helmsley Village Tower.
Peter had never seen his aunt's new apartment. For reasons he could not quite figure out, she had repeatedly declined his offer to help her unpack and settle in. Although he gave Aunt May kudos for wanting to maintain her independence, it was his considered opinion that she could be very stubborn sometimes, much to his chagrin.
Mary Jane and Peter spoke not a word as they walked through the small, unadorned lobby and rode up the elevator. The complete absence of any kind of security set-up was a disturbing reminder of how little May Parker could afford. And the grimace on Peter's face spoke volumes to Mary Jane about his guilt over not being able to support his aunt the way he had always intended. But that's all going to change, he resolved, starting today.
"Let's see," Peter said as they stepped off the elevator and onto the seventh floor. Turning left, they found themselves in the main corridor. A small sign across from the elevator bank told them that they needed to turn left again. They walked slowly down the hallway. " . . . 702 . . . 706 . . . Here it is." They stopped in front of number 710.
"Just a minute," They heard Aunt May call out when Peter knocked at the door. Not wanting to spoil the surprise, he quickly covered Mary Jane's left hand.
The door opened a few seconds later.
"Hi, Aunt May!" Peter said excitedly as May Reilly Parker appeared in front of him, silhouetted by sunlight streaming in from her living room window, her salt-colored hair in it's usual tight bun.
"Peter!" May exclaimed happily as she reached out to embrace her nephew.
Then she saw who was with him.
"Hello, Aunt May," Mary Jane said with a soft smile, her hands behind her back.
May hesitated for barely a second. There was something in her dark brown eyes, an expression that seemed to reflect a clash between elation and heartbreak. But it had vanished so fast that it did not even register with Peter or M.J. Neither of them sensed anything amiss.
And that was exactly the way May Parker wanted it, at least for the moment. The glow on her face brightened as she gathered them in for a prolonged group hug. M.J. found her embrace to be strong and vibrant for someone so fragile-looking.
Aunt May released them and gave her nephew the quick once-over. "Thank goodness you don't have those dreadful bags under your eyes," she said. "Don't tell me that you've finally had a decent night's sleep."
"Finals are over," Peter replied. "I can get a little more rest now."
"Did your exams go well?"
"I'm sure I did okay," he nodded in his typical, aw-shucks fashion, knowing in his heart of hearts that he did far better than that.
Aunt May meanwhile, had turned to Mary Jane. "And you, M.J., you look positively radiant." In all the years she had known this now-strikingly beautiful young woman, she couldn't remember ever seeing her so happy.
"We've got some news for you," Peter said as he lightly draped his arm around his aunt's small frame.
"It better not be that Mary Jane is expecting," May replied impishly.
M.J. giggled, knowing that the old woman was only teasing.
Peter, on the other hand, nearly jumped back as his face turned bright red. "No . . . oh God, no. It's nothing like that." As he revealed the ring, he gave his fiancée a quick, what-did-I-tell-you look, which she merrily shrugged off.
Aunt May was practically weeping with joy as she hugged Mary Jane first, then Peter. "Only last week, I'd completely given up hope that this day would ever come," she said tearfully as she held Mary Jane's hand up close, admiring the fiery heart-shaped diamond. "It's absolutely beautiful."
And where did you get the money to pay for this, young man? Peter thought, anticipating the question that was sure to follow.
Much to his surprise, that question never came. Aunt May simply escorted the newly-engaged couple into her tiny, but well-kept apartment. Peter looked around, amazed that he could be so wrong about how quickly his aunt would settle into her new place. He had expected that all those unpacked boxes would be stacked in the middle of the living room. But there was not a box to be seen, nor a shred of packing foam. Instead, the furniture was arranged exactly the way it had been at their old house, right down to the twenty-year-old Sony television set, resting on its brown metal stand like a sentry in front of the worn, long-faded old sofa. And the little knick-knacks that May had collected over the years were all neatly in place. It was as if she had always been living here.
May had been watching her favorite television show, The View, while waiting for her guests to arrive. Barbara Walters and her cohorts were discussing the latest antics of Jessica and Nick when suddenly, ABC News cut away from them with an announcement heralding a special report.
"Sit down," Aunt May urged, gesturing toward the couch as Peter Jennings appeared. He was standing near the West Wing of the White House prepping the TV audience for an unscheduled presidential news conference. "You're just in time."
"For what?" Peter asked, wondering what was so important.
"It looks like the President's coming on," she replied. "I think he's going to say something about last Monday."
Neither Peter nor Mary Jane had any interest in politics, and neither of them was old enough to vote in the controversial presidential election of 2000. But they quickly took their seats. It had been widely reported that the narrowly averted terrorist attack in New York City had prompted the President to announce his choice for CIA director a week earlier than anticipated.
Just as the President was approaching the podium in the East Room of the White House, the television screen turned snowy. Aunt May immediately put down the tea kettle she had just picked up, stepped around the sofa, and adjusted the rabbit ears. The picture returned just as the President had mounted the rostrum and was getting ready to address the White House press corps. "There, that's better," she said as she returned to the task of serving tea.
Damn, Peter thought sadly, she doesn't even have cable anymore.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm gonna git right to it," the President intoned in his inimitable Texas twang. "Three days ago, a large Al Qaeda force had infiltrated the United States and had attempted to inflict grave loss of life and harm to property by setting off incendiary nuculer devices throughout the New York City subway system . . ."
Peter smiled with bemusement at the President's seeming inability to correctly pronounce the word, "nuclear."
" . . . But fortunately, through the tireless efforts of the FBI, the NYPD, and some very brave and alert private citizens who stepped forward and put their lives on the line when time was running out, the plot was detected and stopped in its tracks. All of the alleged terror suspects have been taken into custody . . ."
Not even the modest and humble Peter Parker could hold back the enormous surge of pride that anyone in his position would feel at being personally acknowledged by the President of the United States. He understood that the President could not mention Spider-Man or Daredevil by name, and did not feel slighted in the least. In fact, he actually felt relieved that the nation's security needs coincided with his own.
He had no way of knowing that the President had insisted on including the laudatory language in his remarks, against the recommendations of his national security advisors.
" . . .Our enemies are the enemies of freedom. Their commitment to our destruction is unwavering, and their sophistication is growing . . ."
Aunt May had been standing behind the couch. Consequently, she did not see the huge smile breaking out on her nephew's face. But she did see Mary Jane and Peter holding hands while the President was speaking. And when the Commander-in-Chief remarked about "some very brave and alert private citizens," she saw M.J. grip Peter's hand a little tighter.
Had Peter or Mary Jane turned around, they would have seen in Aunt May's eyes that strange, incomprehensible look of pride and grief colliding with each other. Blinking back tears, she returned her attention to the press conference.
Standing next to the President was a four-star army general with a ramrod-straight back and a chest full of medals and ribbons. He sported a silver crew cut, thick black eyebrows, and an even thicker silver moustache. His aged, wrinkled face accentuated an appearance of battle-hardened toughness, like old leather boots that had been repeatedly exposed to nature's harshest elements and somehow managed to hold together.
Peter's eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the general. "M.J., do you know who that is?"
Mary Jane shrugged her shoulders. "No idea, love."
" . . . It is my honor and privilege to nominate General Thaddeus Ross for the post of Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. . ."
"You remember when Connors mentioned that he knew Dr. Ross at Columbia?"
"Is that her husband?" M.J. asked, still picturing Betty Ross to be much older than she actually was.
"It's her father." Peter knew of General Ross from having thoroughly read his daughter's biography nearly a dozen times. "This is the guy who chased Bruce Banner halfway across America," he informed Mary Jane, his voice tinged with awe.
And lived to tell about it, amazingly enough, M.J. thought, feeling a tad intimidated just watching General Ross on television. There was something about the man's appearance, maybe his narrow head and throwback hair style that briefly reminded her of J. Jonah Jameson. She quickly put that notion to rest, however. Where the tabloid publisher was all bluster, the general was all business. His stone-faced expression seemed to convey a warning that he did not tolerate fools, much less suffer them.
"He must eat rocks for breakfast, lunch, and dinner," M.J. commented uneasily.
" . . . Thunderbolt Ross has served our country with uncommon valor and distinction for the better part of four decades. He brings to the table a vast wealth of knowledge and experience in all phases of national security . . ."
To Aunt May, Ross looked like the second coming of General Sherman. "I'm sure he's a good man if the President picked him," she countered even as she wondered who in blazes Bruce Banner was.
General Ross took the podium, speaking with a baritone Texas accent far more pronounced than the President's. His voice sounded like the growl of an angry bear. "Thank you, Mr. President. I am deeply honored and humbled by the confidence and trust you have placed in me by asking me to lead this storied institution. The threats our nation faces from within and without are greater than at any time in our nation's history . . ."
As she watched Thunderbolt Ross accept his nomination, Mary Jane detected a trace of reticence in the general's body language. The now-seasoned actress could readily distinguish genuine reactions from practiced ones, and she could not help thinking that the general was less than enthusiastic about taking the job for which he had just been chosen.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Aunt May asked Peter. "Were you able to get any pictures of Spider-Man capturing the terrorists?" She sounded somewhat inquisitive.
Peter also recognized a probing undertone in his aunt's question, which seemed a bit out of character for her. "Uh . . .no . . ." he replied neutrally. "Spider-Man didn't give me a heads up on this one. And by the time the story broke, the police had the whole building cordoned off. No one could get in or out." As an afterthought he added, "I don't think Spider-Man's going to let me take his picture anymore."
"Well, I'm very happy to hear that!" May exclaimed. But a momentary narrowing of her eyes gave M.J. the distinct impression that the old woman knew she had just been lied to and was merely going along with her nephew's line. It was hardly perceptible, however, and was quickly covered over by a heartfelt expression of gratitude and admiration that sent Peter soaring among the clouds. "I think that Spider-Man and his friend showed an awful lot of courage in doing what they did. Lord knows what would have happened if they weren't there to help." She picked up the telephone. "And I'll tell you something else," she said, a hint of disgust creeping into her voice. "I'm sick and tired of all those terrible lies Mr. Jameson's been spreading about Spider-Man. I'm canceling my subscription to the Daily Bugle right now."
Mary Jane could see how hard it was for Peter to maintain his air of impartiality. As she watched him struggle to keep from grinning, she couldn't help gloating inwardly herself about what a blow to her almost-father-in-law's reputation the President's endorsement of Spider-Man's actions must have been. Print THAT on your front page, you cheap scandalmonger, she thought contemptuously.
May suddenly lowered the phone. "Maybe I shouldn't cancel just yet," she said. "I wouldn't want to hurt your livelihood."
As always, Peter was profoundly touched by his aunt's boundless concern for his welfare, not that a single subscription would actually make a difference. "You can cancel if you want to, Aunt May," he told her. "I don't work for the Daily Bugle any more. I'm sure you know why."
"Oh dear, that's right," May said as she put the phone down, remembering who Mary Jane had walked away from to be with her nephew. "Does Mr. Jameson know?"
"I don't think so, at least not yet," he replied, not bothering to explain how M.J.'s ex had intervened in his behalf.
"What will you do now?" she inquired, deeply worried about her nephew being out of work again, just as he was settling into his relationship with Mary Jane.
But Peter was not the least bit concerned about that subject. "Funny you should ask," he eagerly replied, thrilled that he could finally give his aunt some long-overdue good news about his financial situation. He stood up, turned to face her, and put his hands gently on her shoulders. "Things have really started turning around for me, Aunt May," he told her proudly, his enthusiasm starting to bubble over. "I went to see Professor Connors in his office last Sunday. I thought he was going to flunk me, but instead, he took me on as an analyst in his consulting operation. Right after that, I got hired by a law firm as a forensics expert. And then, the day after I quit the Bugle, I had lunch with Ben Urich and he got me a photography gig with the New York Times, right on the spot."
"That's wonderful, Peter," Aunt May replied, glad that the world was finally starting to recognize the intelligence, talent, and work ethic that she and Ben had struggled for the last sixteen years to nurture. "Which one will you take?"
"All of them," Peter answered. "They're all freelance."
"Oh . . . I see . . ." Aunt May's tone suddenly dropped to lukewarm. She had been hoping that Peter would find something a little more stable, like the job her late husband held with ConEd for over thirty five years. "Wouldn't you be better off with a job that can give you a steady paycheck and benefits?"
For Peter, however, such a situation would be a liability rather than an asset. With having to respond to crises that could flare up at any time, he wouldn't last a week in a regular job, as his previous attempts to find that kind of work had amply demonstrated. Of course, he could never tell Aunt May his real reason for wanting a freelancing arrangement. But with a little of the baby blue eyes charm that melted his fiancée's heart, he attempted to extol the benefits of life as an independent contractor.
"These aren't low-paying jobs, like pizza delivery," he explained patiently. "I'll be working with really important people, doing things like tracking biotech trends for investment bankers, running DNA tests in high-profile court cases, and selling human interest photos that the Bugle wouldn't take. Plus, I can set my own hours. Trust me, I'll be making more money this way than I ever could in a single job."
"And what about school?" asked a still-skeptical Aunt May. "I don't mean to keep sticking pins in your balloon Peter, but how can you possibly handle all that work and still keep your grades up?"
Peter had an answer for that too. "I've got a huge incentive," he responded.
Aunt May gave him a confused look.
"I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you," Peter said, getting ready to deliver what he hoped would be the pièce de résistance. "When I saw Dr. Connors, he told me that I should skip my last two years of college and get started with graduate study right away. As his research assistant I can get published in a scientific journal. And, he promised that if I do really well, he'll write me a letter of recommendation to Columbia Medical School."
By his reckoning, Aunt May should have been elated at this news. It was what she and Uncle Ben wanted for him, and what he wanted for himself. Unfortunately, she did not appear to be moved, either by his arguments or his boyish charms. She glanced over toward Mary Jane, who was quietly sipping her tea and observing the exchange. M.J. said nothing, but Peter could see from the look in her eyes that she too harbored concerns about the workload he would be taking on, in addition to his already burdensome responsibilities.
But Peter would not give up. It was vitally important that they both understand where he was coming from. "Look, Aunt May," he implored as he gently placed his hands on the old woman's shoulders. "I know I've messed up in the past, but that was only because I didn't have what I needed the most . . . a special person to share my life with. Now I do." He reached out toward Mary Jane, who smiled and promptly extended her hand. "With M.J. by my side, things will be different, I swear. In the first year alone, I can easily pull down fifty grand, probably more. I'll finally be able to start supporting you like I should've been doing all along." He looked at her earnestly. "The bottom line is, I'll be getting great experience and you'll never have to worry about money again. I just need you to believe in me. Please, Aunt May . . . Please."
Aunt May finally smiled as she reciprocated her nephew's shoulder-touching gesture. "Of course I believe in you, Peter," she said lovingly. "It's not that I doubt your abilities. I know you have it in you to succeed at anything you put your mind to. It's just that . . ."
"Just what?"
"Well, for one thing, I hope you're not doing this because you think you'll have to take care of me," she told him with that brand of loving sternness that was uniquely her.
Peter started to protest. "But don't you need . . . ?"
She promptly cut him off. "Between Social Security and your uncle Ben's pension, I'm doing just fine." The sharpness in her tone told him in no uncertain terms that there should be no more discussions about her finances. "You just worry about yourself and Mary Jane, okay?"
Peter knew it would be futile to press his argument any further. "Okay," he reluctantly conceded.
But Aunt May had not yet finished playing devil's advocate. "Peter," she said, softening her skepticism around the edges somewhat. "I know how much you want to do the right thing, but I still think that working three jobs and going to school full time is a bit too much, even for you. For goodness sakes, with everything you've already got on your plate, how do you . . . how will you make time for your future wife?"
It was his aunt's slip of the tongue that gave Peter pause. Both he and Mary Jane clearly noticed the way Aunt May had gone out of her way to correct herself. Does she suspect anything? Peter asked himself. But, as with John in the bar, he held his anxieties in check, maintaining an outward appearance of being unfazed. "It's not gonna be easy, Aunt May, I'll admit that," he reiterated. "But, it's not like M.J.'ll be sitting home waiting for me. She has a modeling contract with a huge international cosmetics company. Not only that, but Earnest has been sold-out for months. It's only a matter of time before she hits it really, really big on Broadway . . ."
"Oh stop it, Peter," Mary Jane gently chided, showing mild embarrassment on the outside, but inwardly reveling in her boyfriend's praises.
Aunt May responded with a word of caution, her outlook tempered by decades of experience in having to cope with life's ups and downs. "Do you remember our good friends, Belle and Manny Rosen, who we used to play bridge with?"
Peter nodded, wondering what brought about the sudden change of subject.
"Whenever we talked about the good things that were happening in our lives, they would always tell us not to give ourselves any 'kain ein hores,'" May explained. "Do you know what that means?"
Peter had heard the expression often enough that he now knew precisely what his aunt's point was. "Sorry God," he joked, glancing heavenward. "I take back what I said about M.J."
Mary Jane lightheartedly elbowed him in the ribs as her face twisted into a mock frown.
"Hey," he quipped. "You heard Aunt May. No more kain ein hores."
They're so perfect together, May sighed silently as she watched the lovers engage in their playful banter, even as she struggled to keep a lid on the inner turmoil she was feeling. If there was one talent that May Reilly Parker had in abundance, it was the ability to hide her anxieties behind a curtain of joviality.
But not indefinitely.
Taking a deep breath so as not to sound too abrupt, she said, "Peter, I need you to do something for me."
"Of course, Aunt May. What is it?"
She opened her purse and handed Peter a grocery list, her spare key, and eighty dollars in cash. "You arrived so fast that I didn't even have the chance to go to the store," she explained. Moving rather quickly, she retrieved her shopping cart from the hall closet, a rickety two-wheeler that Peter used to call the "old lady cart," when he was little. "Why don't you be a dear and pick up these things for me at Safeway." She nodded her head in Mary Jane's direction. "And don't rush. M.J. and I need a little time for some long-overdue girl talk, alright?"
Peter looked over the list before taking the cart. It was quite long. "Okay, Aunt May. Sure." He had been trying to figure out how to tell his aunt that he and Mary Jane would be moving in together, and was not altogether unhappy about getting a reprieve. "I'll probably be gone for at least an hour," he told his fiancée.
"Just don't get lost, okay Tiger?" she said mellifluously as she got up off the couch and glided into his arms for a lengthy kiss.
"Ahem!" Aunt May glared at her nephew after nearly fifteen seconds had passed. "You'll have plenty of time for that later."
"Oh, sorry Aunt May," Peter said, as he hastily separated himself from Mary Jane and grabbed the cart.
Just as he started to roll it toward the door, May called out, "not that you actually need that cart . . ."
Peter did not say a word. He merely raised his hand in acknowledgment. But Mary Jane was beginning to suspect that Aunt May knew something that Peter didn't necessarily want her to know. She watched the old woman impatiently follow her nephew with her eyes until the door closed behind him.
As soon they were alone, May sat down next to Mary Jane on the couch, in the spot that Peter had just vacated. "You know, M.J.," she began. " I cannot even begin to tell you how proud I am of Peter, and how happy I am that the two of you are finally together. But at the same time . . ." Her voice trailed off as she slowly turned away from Mary Jane and gazed out of the living room window, in the direction of Coney Island.
"What, Aunt May?"
May shook her head. "I don't know . . . It's funny, how you think you know someone you've been so close to for so many years, but then, it turns out that you don't really know them at all . . ." Her voice was quivering. "Tell me something, M.J.," she asked, still staring out the window, her anxieties no longer subtly concealed. In fact, they were no longer concealed at all. "What made you call off your wedding?"
Mary Jane felt her heart start to pound as she began to perceive some very familiar feelings emanate from Aunt May — feelings of having one's whole world suddenly turn upside down — feelings of anger and disappointment — feelings that Mary Jane Watson had experienced many times throughout the course of her association with Peter Parker. "I wasn't in love with the man I was about to marry," she answered evenly.
M.J. was acutely aware that Aunt May was probing her. If their conversation were a game of chess, May would have just put her in check. She was trying a gambit, hoping that if she told part of the truth, May would spare her from having to reveal the rest of it.
Unfortunately, the gambit failed.
"It's a little bit late to find that out on your wedding day, isn't it?" Aunt May pointed out, clearly not satisfied with M.J.'s response. She was looking more and more forlorn, even in profile. "When I heard about the terrorist attack, I called Peter to make sure he was all right," she continued as her hands started to tremble. "I hoped and prayed that he would answer the phone . . . But he didn't . . ." She was an inch or two away from losing it. "And then the two of you show up here, engaged, not even a week after your mother tells me that you're going to marry that astronaut . . ."
It was obvious now that Aunt May had been steadily sifting through the clues that Peter had been leaving behind, accidentally or otherwise, and that his lightning-fast engagement to Mary Jane was the clue that gave away the store. M.J. could only watch helplessly as her meticulously crafted game plan for preserving Peter's secret went out the window.
And yet, it did not come as a complete surprise. If John, who didn't know Peter from Adam, could figure it all out . . .
"Please, Mary Jane. I've got to know the truth," Aunt May begged, still unable to look Mary Jane directly in the eye. "It was Peter who saved your life down at that pier and all those other times, wasn't it?" Her whole body was beginning to shake.
Check mate. Mary Jane felt like the rope in a tug of war between her loyalty to Peter and his aunt's desperate need to come to grips with this enormous revelation. She couldn't insult the old woman's intelligence and dignity by lying to her, especially now, when she was so distraught . . . I'm so sorry, Peter. Forgive me . . . "Yes," she murmured. "It was."
"And that's when you found out that he was Spi . . .who he really is?" She could not even put the names of her nephew and the webslinger together in the same sentence.
Mary Jane nodded her head affirmatively as she reached for Aunt May's hand. But the old woman was too upset to reciprocate. She hunched forward, buried her face in her hands and started sobbing as all of the anxiety and sorrow and hurt and anger that had been building inside her for days came to a head.
"How could he do this to me?" May Parker wailed pitifully as the reasons for her nephew's trials and tribulations over the last two years became clear to her. "No wonder he couldn't hold down a job. He's always out there trying to get himself killed! How could he lie to me all these years . . .?"
Mary Jane saw how hard it was for Aunt May to reconcile herself to the truth. She gently put her arm around the sobbing woman's shoulders, trying to think of any words of comfort that she might offer. Unfortunately, her mind was not cooperating.
"Ben and I raised Peter as our own son when his parents died," Aunt May continued, fighting her way through another bout of tears. "Not once did I ever let that responsibility break me, although there were times when I thought it might. I took care of him when he was sick. I felt his pain when he came home crying because the bullies at school were picking on him. And I never let him forget what a special boy he is. Doesn't any of that count for some measure of trust?" She pulled a Kleenex from a box on the coffee table and blew her nose.
Mary Jane leaned over and gave May a gentle hug. "I know exactly what you're going through, Aunt May," she said soothingly. "Believe me, I know."
"How can you?" May wept. "You're not a mother . . ."
"That's true," M.J. readily agreed, "But I know how it feels to be hurt by somebody you love . . . and not just once either." She took May's wrinkly hand in her soft, supple ones. "The only reason I accepted John's marriage proposal was because I was pissed off at Peter for all the mind games I thought he was playing on me, all the times he stood me up, all the broken promises. I said things to him and about him that I still regret, hurtful things that I never would have said if I had known what was going on."
Aunt May finally turned toward Mary Jane. She had stopped crying, but her eyes were still red.
"But it was all because he loves me," Mary Jane went on, starting to get a little emotional herself. "And if it were left up to him, he would have let me go ahead and marry John . . . so that I would be . . . safe . . . I was the one that had to . . .to . . ." She could not continue. Choking back a sob, she too reached for a Kleenex. "Don't you see, Aunt May?" she said softly as she wiped her eyes. "Everything Peter did, he did because he loves you. And more than anything in the world, he wants to protect you . . ."
It was at that very moment that May Parker finally realized the magnitude and depth of Mary Jane's sacrifice. She had willingly walked away from guaranteed wealth and privilege to give Peter what he needed to survive: her absolute and undying love. As far as May was concerned, Mary Jane was a kindred soul, a sister who had earned the right to be initiated into the world's most exclusive sorority, right alongside her.
May abruptly got up from the couch. Expressions of comprehension followed by determination played across her face as she decided to embark upon a course of action that she had been contemplating, with the utmost reluctance, for the past couple of days. "I think I understand it all now," the old woman said cryptically. "Come with me." She gestured for Mary Jane to follow her to the bedroom.
It's so small, M.J. sadly observed when they arrived. The tiny room was indeed a stark contrast from the master bedroom that she and Peter would shortly be moving into. But it at least it was large enough to accommodate the king-sized bed she had once shared with her late husband.
May opened the plain-looking beige shades to let in some sunlight. Then she opened her closet. "Would you bring me that little red and black valise on the top shelf, dear?" she asked.
There were two. "Which one?" Mary Jane asked.
"The one on the left."
The small suitcase felt surprisingly heavy as Mary Jane heaved it off the shelf.
"Just put it right down here, on the bed please."
May opened the zipper. Inside the valise were a bunch of spiral notebooks. Some were red, others were green, blue, purple, and yellow. They were numbered one through twenty nine. The twenty-ninth notebook was black. Unlike the others, it had no dates on the front cover.
"These are Peter's diaries," May explained. "He left them with me at the old place when he moved out of the loft he shared with Harry. I threw them in the trash by mistake when I was packing for the move, but Henry Jackson, little boy who was helping me, pulled them back, thank goodness."
Mary Jane looked surprised. It never occurred to her that Peter would keep a journal.
"When Peter first came to us, he had a very hard time accepting that his parents wouldn't be coming back," May continued. "To help him cope, Ben encouraged him to write letters to his mom and dad, letting them know how he was getting along."
"How long was he writing those letters?" Mary Jane asked, curious.
"From when he was four until shortly after Thanksgiving, two years ago," May answered somberly. "Ben and I took turns taking dictation until Peter was old enough to write by himself . . . when he was six, I think."
As May began to pull the notebooks out of the small suitcase and lay them across the bed in chronological order, it suddenly dawned on Mary Jane what the old woman had in mind. "Aunt May," she asked slowly. "Are you suggesting that we . . . read them?"
May made it clear that she had no illusions about what she was contemplating. "I know what you're thinking, M.J." she said regretfully. "And you're right. This is wrong . . . terribly wrong. It goes against everything I believe in . . . but . . ." Her voice broke again. "I don't know what else to do. He hasn't left us any choice."
Aunt May's blunt, emotional response forced Mary Jane to acknowledge that she felt the same way. Invading Peter's privacy in this fashion was, without a doubt, reprehensible. She knew how mortified she would feel if she had kept a diary and Peter had read it without her knowledge or permission. But she quickly overcame her reservations, knowing that if she and Aunt May were ever going to come to terms with Peter's dual identity, they would first have to understand the fear and guilt that fueled Spider-Man's existence. And what better place to look for the source of that fear and guilt than Peter's own words?
For Mary Jane, however, there was a much more immediate sense of urgency, now that she and Peter would be living together. She had seen for herself the awful manifestations of his somnambulistic nightmares. Finding and countering the malevolent thoughts that were driving those nightmares was of the utmost importance. Otherwise, he would surely have another episode like the one he had the night before. And the next time, he might seriously injure himself, or her, or others without even being aware of it. Even Peter would have to agree that such safety considerations outweighed whatever privacy concerns that he would have about his diaries. For that reason, M.J. was inclined to believe that he would forgive their act of tresspass.
But that did not make the act any easier to carry out. Sitting side-by-side on the edge of the bed, the two women hugged each other tightly, steeling themselves for the sin they were about to commit.
"I think we'll need to go straight to confession after this," Mary Jane said in an effort to ease the tension, once again taking May's hands in her own as a gesture of solidarity.
"Every day, for at least a month," May added with a brief smile. "And that's after we tell him."
M.J. laughed softly, happy to see that Aunt May could still maintain a sense of humor despite the seriousness of their situation.
May picked up the blue notebook dated June 1990 - March 1991. She was just dying to show Mary Jane the entry in which six-year-old Peter, with the help of his aunt, had first expressed his feelings for the pretty little redhead who had just moved in next door: Dear Mommy and Daddy . . . Sau my first angel today. Shes got very bootifal red hare. I think I luv her. Tell God I said thank yoo . . . Yur sun . . . Peter. The old woman started to open the journal, but abruptly changed her mind, not wanting to intrude on her nephew's private thoughts any more than she had to . . . If Peter ever decides he wants her to see it, he'll show it to her himself . . . Instead, she reached for number twenty nine. "I think we need to look in this one" she told M.J.
Laying the undated black notebook across their laps, they slowly, tentatively, began their journey into the emotional labyrinth that was the mind of their loved one.