FAITH IN HUMANITY
THE THIRD AFTERMATH

June 26th 2004:

It was two-and-a-half hours since Christine Steinhauer had got off the aeroplane. She had walked from the airport to her destination, the sun shining down on her, a newspaper dated from two days ago tucked into her bag. She had stopped only once on the way, to buy some flowers, and then she had entered the graveyard.

The grave was easy to find. Easier than she had expected. The funeral, she had learned, had taken place only a day ago, and it was covered in flowers and tributes. She put her own small offering down at the front, and then stood back and looked at Harry Osborn's grave. She thought she should say something, although she didn't know what, or what good it would do.

"It's me," she finally said. "Christine."

As soon as the words left her mouth she felt foolish beyond all imaginings, and turned around, her head hung. And then she noticed something she hadn't noticed before- a woman, sitting on a nearby bench, looking at her.

Silence.

"Hello?" Christine tried.

The woman stood up quickly. She wasn't really dressed for a graveyard- she was wearing a yellow t-shirt and jeans, and no black whatsoever. There was a notebook in her hands. She was blushing.

"Hello," she answered. "Sorry. Didn't mean-" She turned to go.

"Wait," Christine said. She shook her head. "You don't have to leave because of me. Stay if you want to."

The woman, still blushing, took her seat again. "Sorry," she said. "I just- I didn't mean- I feel out of place here."

"Why?" Christine found herself asking. Unconciously, she began cleaning up the gravestone- brushing leaves out of the way, tidying the flowers up. She had to do something with herself; just standing still seemed impossible.

"I didn't really know him," the woman said hesitantly, pointing to the grave. "Not properly. I only ever met him once. And I feel like I'm intruding, or something."

"You're not," Christine said with a sigh.

"People have been here taking photographs, and...you know, annoying people," the woman continued. "I didn't want to do the same thing."

"You're not," Christine said again. She found herself going to the bench, and sitting down alongside her. "What's your name?"

"Ursula. What's yours?"

"Christine."

Christine looked around the graveyard. Her mind switched back, just for a second, to the graveyard her husband was buried in. She had far too many graveyards to visit, and this was just one more.

"I knew him," she said sadly. "Worked for him, you see."

"At his company?"

"No. I was his housekeeper." She gave a vague, thin smile. "Sort of a friend, too. Maybe."

Ursula said nothing for a few seconds, just turned her notebook over in her hands. "I'm...friends with his friends," she finally said. "They were really upset. I didn't go to the funeral, though. Although I suppose they wouldn't have minded."

Christine couldn't think of an answer to that, other than a nod, and the two of them sat in silence for a while. Then Christine said, in a flat, low voice, unable to keep it inside any longer-

"It was his father, then."

"What?"

"The first Green Goblin. It was his father. And that's how come all this happened."

"Oh. Yes," Ursula said. "It was in the news."

"Yeah. I read it."

They were silent, and Christine felt a wave of utter misery, and guilt, pass through her. She was alone, she was hopeless, she had only just recieved answers to her countless questions, she had not kept an eye on Emily's son- and now one more person was dead. Sacrifice all around and she was drowning, so it seemed. She blinked furiously, but it didn't work. She wiped the tears angrily away.

"Harry did something very brave, I think." Ursula spoke up suddenly. She shot Christine an anxious look. "Here, um...I have a tissue." She dug about in her pockets, found one and handed it over. Christine held it uselessly to her eyes.

That thing in the house, Christine, oh, it was only your guilt, she thought wearily. Just the thing that preys on Bad Parents...

She realised, to her mild surprise, that she had left the bench and sunk to the ground by the gravestone, sitting amongst the flowers and the notes. She remained there, not caring that Ursula was still watching her, barely even noticing the other woman until she spoke again.

"Um," Ursula said, in a voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid of waking someone sleeping, "I thought I'd say...it was all his choice, I think. He...wanted to put things right. In the end it was all up to him."

Christine looked up at her.

"I think," Ursula said again. She hung her head. "I don't really know. I don't really know exactly what happened. But I saw him fight. And I don't think he died on his own, either." She looked up, nervously, and Christine looked back. Slowly, she stood up. She still didn't know what to say; all the words were getting stuck in her mind.

"Who are you?" she finally settled on. "You seem to know an awful lot."

Ursula shifted uncomfortably. "No," she said. "No more than anyone else. And no more than you," she suddenly said. "I mean, you knew him better than I did."

"Yes," Christine said. She went back to the bench and sat down, hunched over like an old woman. "Spider-Man was with him when he died, you think?"

"Yeah."

"I don't understand."

"Me neither," Ursula said, a little too quickly, and with a sigh. "I...I should probably go." She stood up, and stood by the grave, staring down- looking at it for one last moment before getting on with her life, Christine assumed. She wondered if the other woman had left a note there herself, and what it had said-I didn't know you, but I wish I had, and I'm sorry?- but suddenly Ursula stared at a particular spot, froze for a second in surprise, reached down, and picked something up. She turned to Christine.

"Look at this," she said.

Christine walked over, and looked. Ursula was holding up a note. It was written on a thin piece of notebook paper, and had only three words on it, written carefully in capitals:

THANK YOU.
-SPIDER-MAN

"It was here," Ursula explained. "On the grave, with all this other stuff." She gave it to Christine, and Christine turned it round and round and looked at it, half-hoping that there would be another message scrawled there that only she could see; but there was nothing.

"I see," she finally said, and carefully put it back. She and Ursula stood in silence. In the background the city went on- sirens wailed and tyres screeched- and Christine wondered if Spider-Man was out there somewhere, and what he was thinking and if he was grieveing.

"I suppose I'll never know," she finally said, "what really went on. Will I?"

"You might," Ursula said hesitantly, and her hands went to her notebook, which was tucked under her arm. "I. Um." She put her hand on Christine's shoulder- warily, maybe, but Christine was glad of the contact. "I should go now. Got things to do."

"Okay," Christine said. She offered a small smile- Ursula returned it, and then withdrew her hand and walked away. Christine didn't turn around to watch her, but after a while she heard the graveyard gate creak and then close. She was all alone.

She didn't know what else to say or do- she was still caught in the grey area between anger and despair. She turned her eyes away from the grave, because it felt like it was starting to gaze back at her-

-and then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something. Another grave, a little further back.

EMILY OSBORN, it said. BELOVED MOTHER AND WIFE.

Christine approached it warily, staring down at it, almost afraid that it would vanish. She found herself reaching a hand out to touch it- it was real. Real stone. A real grave.

"Hello, Emily," she said.

The grave was well-kept, almost completely free of leaves or moss. Someone had been taking care of it.

"I came back," Christine said slowly. "I hope...I hope I got it right. I'm not sure I did. I don't know if I helped, or what. But I think I understand, a bit," she whispered. "There was the Goblin, and it wanted Harry, and it didn't get him."

Nothing happened. Christine backed away again. She stood still for five or six seconds, thinking, and then she figured she'd probably said all she needed to. "Bye," she said quietly, and stepped back into the silence of the world.

After a few seconds, she started walking. She walked past the rows and rows of graves and reached the gate- a young man in a green sweater was entering through it, clutching two bunches of flowers. He held it open for her with his free hand.

"Thank you," she murmured. She walked down the road, memories echoing in her mind-

-I've lost a lot. And I want it back so bad. What do I do Harry what do I do?-

-and then she returned to her hotel room and sat down on the bed. She cried for a bit, although she was well aware she was crying for everything- her husband, her mother, her son, herself. Finally, once she felt it was over, she wiped her eyes. She went to the window and stared out, gritted her teeth, and after a few minutes, started packing.