XI. Ruination
The white room.
I'm strapped to a table.
I can see my reflection in the wall.
I struggle, but I can't move. I'm strapped down tight.
There's a man. He says my name. "Miss Watson," he calls me. I don't know him, but he knows my name. How does know my name?
A needle. Injecting something… into my arm! It hurts! Like fire in my veins!
My muscles… spasming, twitching… can't stop shaking. My stomach turns. Oh, God. I'm going to throw up…
Before I know it, I hear his voice again, pronouncing strange words. "Cellar door, Miss Watson. Cellar door. Pay attention, now."
I can't move my head. I'm being forced to look at the screen. Flashing lights, swirling colors.
"Cellar door, Miss Watson."
I see… a mask. I know that mask. White eyes, red cloth. It's Spider-Man! But why does he look so threatening? I know him. It's really Peter Parker under there. Peter would never hurt me…
Wait. It's not Spider-Man at all. It's a girl. When I look at the girl in the mirror, she raises her hand. And I find that I'm raising my hand too.
"Miss Watson…" It's that voice again. I don't want to hear it anymore; please, just go away. "Miss Watson!"
• • •
"MISS WATSON!"
Mary Jane shrieked and came to, practically jumping up out of her desk. The chemistry teacher, Mr. DePalma, was standing over Mary Jane, hands on his hips, glaring angrily.
"My class is not nap-time, Miss Watson. Pay attention, now."
"Yes sir," said MJ, small-voiced and embarrassed. All around her, the other students snickered. Flash Thompson put his hands up to his cheeks and mimed snoring while the teacher had his back turned. Only a few of her classmates—Peter and Gwen, Harry and Liz—looked on with a measure of sympathy.
"Now, can anybody else tell me the correct number of valence electrons? Anyone… anyone… anyone besides Mr. Parker or Miss Stacy?"
Nobody answered.
Mr. DePalma pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your first exam is in two days. You have to know this material! No matter what else might be going on—am I clear on that, Miss Watson? Mr. Osborn?—no matter how many dead relatives come back to life, how many super-villains you think you've seen, this exam will be on Friday, no make-ups! If the Green Goblin himself attacks the school tomorrow, the exam will still take place the day after tomorrow! Am I clear?"
The students all mumbled confirmation of their understanding before Mr. DePalma finally dismissed the class.
Out in the hallways, Mary Jane stopped Peter and Gwen. "The exam!" she said. "With all this other crazy going on, I haven't had any time—"
"None of us have," said Gwen.
"Yeah, but you don't really need it!" said MJ. "Peter, will you help me study?"
"Of course!" he said. "You don't even have to ask. Gwen, wanna give us a hand with that tonight?"
She shrugged. "Sure. I'll be hanging around there anyway; might as well."
Peter glanced over and saw that Harry had come up to them. "Hey, Harry. How've you been?"
"Oh… great, just great," he said. He sounded a bit distracted, but otherwise in good spirits. "I haven't gotten much of a chance to catch up with my dad since the Goblin attacked us, but… you know, I'm just really happy that he's back and okay." Harry turned to MJ and added, "I guess I could say the same thing about you, MJ! You had us all really scared for a while there!"
"Yeah, well… I'm okay," said MJ. "Nothing happened, as near as anyone can tell. Doctors looked me over at the police station that day. They said that I hadn't been hurt or anything. So… it's all good." Then she grinned and asked, "But, hey, I haven't gotten the chance to ask. The night of the party, when that girl showed up—"
"Who, you mean Felicia?"
"Yeah, her!" said MJ. "She kind of stole you away from all of us for a bit there. Is there anything going on with that?"
"No, not really," said Harry. "Felicia goes to this private all-girls' academy downtown. I only really know her from all the high-society get-togethers that we've been dragged to over the years. She's a friend, but I don't really run into her all that much."
"If you say so," said MJ, dropping the subject. "Want to join us after school at Pete's? We'll be studying our oh-so-scintillating chemistry for the exam…"
Harry shook his head. "I'd love to, really, but tonight I finally, finally get to sit down with my dad and really talk to him. We're gonna have dinner and just, you know, talk about everything that's happened."
"It sounds like that's long overdue," said Peter.
"It sure is," said Harry.
In that moment, the bell rang, and the gang had to split up and move onto their next classes.
• • •
That afternoon found Mary Jane seated at the Parkers' kitchen table, pouring over a chemistry book and working through problems with Peter's assistance. Gwen sat up on the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal and occasionally giving the answers to the problems. After the fourth such instance, with Gwen shouting out the answer before Peter had even gotten half-way through the math, MJ looked up in annoyance and said, "How are you getting these right—and doing them in your head?"
"I don't know," said Gwen with a shrug. "I just get it. Like riding a bicycle, or breathing."
"Lucky you," said Peter.
"What can I say?" said Gwen. "Chemistry is, like, the only subject I really like. I don't know, I think I must've read a whole bunch of it when I was really little or something, and it's just stuck with me."
"Think you're gonna be a chemist when you finish school?" asked MJ offhandedly.
"Maybe," said Gwen. "If I'm not discovered by a record label first. You've never heard me sing death-metal before."
"Gwen, you might just be the world's weirdest genius," said Peter.
"Hey, do not call me a genius," said Gwen. "A genius is someone like you, kind of smart at everything. I'm really smart at one thing: that makes me a savant."
"Can we all just agree that you're both a couple of head-cases and get back to studying?" asked MJ, amused.
Over in the living room, the phone rang. They heard Aunt May answer it; a short conversation followed. In the middle of that conversation, May gasped loudly and cried, "Oh, no!" The three students looked up from what they were doing, wondering looks on their faces. A moment later, Aunt May came into the room, still holding the cordless phone in one hand. She looked stricken. "Gwen, honey…" she said. "I don't know how to tell you this…"
Gwen jumped off the countertop. "Tell me what?"
"It's… it's about your father… I… I—he—"
Gwen rushed over to May and grabbed her by the arms. "What about my father?"
For a long while, May still couldn't bring herself to say it aloud, to speak the words that would bring this young girl so much pain. She couldn't bring herself to tell Gwen that, earlier that day, George Stacy had been shot and killed.
• • •
Gwen sat on the Parkers' couch, still stunned into silence. Her cheeks were stained heavily from tears, but by now she'd already swallowed back the sobs and sniffles. So… this was her life now. Her father was no longer in it, no longer alive to call her by her full name, "Gwendolyn", in that serious tone of his, or laugh with her over a dumb joke, or tell her something sternly for her own good. And all because of some random kook with a gun. Not even a super-villain or a terrorist or any kind of mass catastrophe. Just a guy with a gun who wanted to kill cops for no good reason.
She'd gotten most of the story over the phone. The rest of the details had come when a sergeant from Captain Stacy's precinct came by the Parker home to give Gwen her father's badge. The criminology conference in Atlantic City had been attacked by a lone gunman, an escaped mental patient by the name of Cletus Kasady, who had somehow gotten his hands on an AK-47 and decided to shoot up the conference. Kasady had managed to slay twelve people and wound several more before he'd been shot twice, tackled, and disarmed… and yet—the injustice wasn't lost on Gwen—Kasady had survived the return fire and the beating he'd doubtlessly received from men who had no love for cop-killers. He was still alive. And probably headed for the nuthouse again, not a jail-cell, which only served to really piss Gwen Stacy off.
Pissed off: that was a perfectly accurate description of Gwen's state of mind right now. Every other emotion was completely disconnected. It had to be, or she wouldn't be keeping it even vaguely together right now.
Anger had become the rock at the center of her being.
• • •
"Oh, Gwen, I just… I don't have any words," said May. "When Ben was taken from us, shot by that burglar, I know I wouldn't have wanted to hear anything then. So I won't try."
"Thanks," said Gwen. "You get it, at least."
May nodded. They were still in the living room. It was later in the evening now. "Do you… are you able to get in touch with your mother?"
Gwen shrugged. "Maybe. Can't hurt to try, I guess."
"Okay," said May. "Do you feel like eating something?"
Gwen shot May a look that bottled up quite a mixture of messages, ranging from "No, how dare you even ask," to "not really, but thanks for trying," to "I could really, really use a mom right now."
"No, suppose not," said May. After that, words weren't needed. She moved over to the couch and took Gwen into a maternal embrace. That seemed to be a trigger that set off the waterworks. Gwen sobbed again and let it come pouring out.
"Bastard killed my daddy," she cried.
• • •
Over in the kitchen, Pete and MJ had long ago given up on studying. Peter had considered George Stacy a friend and an ally. Mary Jane was holding onto Peter, offering him what comfort she could in this situation, when suddenly her cell phone rang.
She broke away from the hug, wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and answered the phone.
"Who is it?" asked Peter. "Your parents?"
Mary Jane heard a deep voice on the line. "Miss Watson?"
"Yes?"
"Cellar door." Then the connection was cut.
Mary Jane hung up the phone and said to Peter, "I have to leave."
Figuring that her father had just called to order her home, Peter nodded. "See you tomorrow at school?"
Mary Jane didn't say anything. She didn't nod her head, or move to kiss her boyfriend goodbye. She just turned and marched, soldier-like, out the back door.
"Huh," said Peter to himself. "Weird." Then he turned and went into the living room to see if there was anything he could get for Gwen.
• • •
At roughly that same time, in Manhattan, Norman Osborn had just finished a painfully dull conversation with his gullible sap of a son. They were in a penthouse that the Osborns kept in the city so that Norman could be closer to his company's main offices, and so that Harry could go to the same public high school as his plebeian little friends. With that out of the way, Harry had gone off to his room to study, and now Norman could attend to business.
He placed a phone-call to Dr. Warren and asked, "Status report?"
"I've just activated the subject. She'll arrive at the rendezvous point momentarily."
"Good," said Norman. "Are there any signs of… compromise?"
"None that I've observed," answered Miles. "The programming seems quite stable. All should go according to plan."
"Why, if this works, Miles, I might just decide to retain your services as a hypnotist for another purpose. You'd be handsomely compensated, of course."
"Whatever do you mean, Norman?"
"Well, you've managed to turn one of my son's little school-friends into a super-soldier. Who's to say you couldn't turn my son into someone I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen with in public?"
"I'll, um, consider your offer," said Miles.
"Glad to hear it." Norman hung up the phone and then ascended a spiral staircase up to his study. Walking over to the wall behind his desk, he opened the liquor cabinet, poured himself a drink, and then depressed a hidden catch in the back of the cabinet. The whole façade slid away, revealing a hidden chamber containing rows of weapons—grenades, blades, missiles—and sealed tubes of green liquid. 00Z. Here also was the Green Goblin's glider and armor and mask, all the pieces on their own individual pedestals, and a man-sized isolation chamber, airtight, designed for vapor-inhalation treatments.
Norman smiled evilly to himself. It was time for the Green Goblin—the real Green Goblin—to make a comeback.
• • •
At midnight that night, Peter crept slowly for the basement. There was a very good chance that either Gwen or Aunt May or both of them would still be lying in bed awake—Gwen because of fresh wounds, and May because of old memories. Peter certainly felt as if this misfortune that had befallen Gwen struck altogether too close to home; and if he didn't have an alter ego and a responsibility to fulfill, he would probably be suffering from some insomnia himself right now.
As it was, a little action would be a good way to distance himself from this latest tragedy, to get his mind off of things.
Soon after changing into his costume and making sure his web-shooters were filled, he was leaping over rooftops and then swinging from taller buildings, crossing the Queensborough Bridge, and then heading through Manhattan and into Hell's Kitchen. He met the Black Cat on the rooftop of an old office-building, across the way from an abandoned warehouse where the super-mercenary auction was supposed to take place.
"Spider," said Cat. "Nice timing. Tombstone and Doc Ock are already inside, along with assorted goons; and look who's just getting here."
"Well, well," said Spidey. "Hammerhead… and the Enforcers. I didn't think they were working for Tombstone anymore."
"They're not," said Cat. "You can bet your last nickel, they're here to represent the Kingpin."
Down on the ground, Hammerhead waited outside the warehouse while Ox went in first, followed by Fancy Dan, then Montana. Once the Enforcers had given the all-clear, Hammerhead looked around furtively; then he too disappeared inside.
"It's a regular bad-guy jamboree down there," said Spider-Man. "What say we crash this party?"
Before he could move to dive off the rooftop, though, Black Cat put a hand on his chest. "Wait. Call it a feeling, but… well, daddy always used to say, never rush in until you're sure you've finished casing the joint."
"'Daddy used to say'?" repeated Spidey. "Don't tell me that your little cat-burglar shtick is a family business."
"Oh, Spider," said Cat, running a finger under Spidey's masked chin. "If I told you too much about myself, you wouldn't find me so mysterious and alluring anymore, and then where would we be?"
"In a healthy, well-adjusted friendship where hopefully one of us isn't a criminal?"
Cat smirked. "Funny guy." Then she glanced down at the street, where an unmarked van had just pulled up to the warehouse. "Hello… now we're talking." She and Spider-Man both crouched down and watched, while the back of the van opened up, and out came two costumed individuals. One was familiar to Peter from the other night: the red-suited Scarlet Spider. The other one was… well, different. He resembled the Green Goblin, in that he wore a monstrous green rubber mask with long ears and fangs, but there was no sign of purple armor or Halloween-themed weapons. Instead, this individual was green from head to toe, the costume accented by fur and claws, altogether bestial in appearance. Whatever he was, he stalked out of the van like a prowling animal, following behind as Scarlet Spider led the way into the warehouse.
"Look at that," said Cat. "A little spider-woman. Is there something you need to tell me, lover?"
"She's the prize they're auctioning off," said Spidey. "Which means that the creep in the furry green suit is probably the auctioneer. Jeez, whoever he is, he almost makes the Green Goblin look normal."
"Well then," said Cat, "all the party guests have arrived. And here we are, two lone costumed heroes—"
"Correction," said Spidey, "one hero and one part-time nutcase."
"Let's just say two good guys, versus a room full of bad guys. What's the plan?"
"Doc Ock all by his lonesome would be bad enough," said Spidey. "Then again, it's not like they're all friends or anything. Why don't we swing in, pick a side, and make like double-crossing henchmen?"
"That just might work," mused Cat. "Not bad. Shall we barge in through the front door, or sneak in through one of those upper windows?"
"Eh, I'm more of a window guy. You?"
"Same here. Spider, you and I are going to make such a great team. We really must do this more often." The Black Cat threw her grappling hook across the street, onto the roof of a far building, and swung down.
"Let's not and still say we didn't," said Spidey, shooting a web and following her.