SPIDER-MAN: DARK WOUNDS
EVER CLOSER:
His cold, slimy hand held it's grip around my neck. It wasn't enough to cut off my breath, but enough to keep me moving. Those threatening, red, beady eyes laughing at me from under the damaged hood. His teeth had come together to form a gangly smile. Each one slightly barbed. Meant for intimidation. It was working. My phone lay twisted and lonesome on the concrete ten feet away. My eyes darted over to it, hoping for it to be closer. I swore under my breath as I realized it was too far to grasp once I freed myself from his possession. A gust of wind blew through the alley. My hair shifted to the side, the loose strands of fabric on his clothing rustled through the hair. A Daily Bugle newspaper tumbled across the ground, kicking up snow with it. I wrestled in his grip, hoping to find a way out. He responded with a tighter grasp.
"Please, Peter." He shook his head. "I'm not letting you go this easily."
"How did you find me?" His new grip on my neck made it slightly harder to breath. I regretted the resist already. The dead woman flashed across my mind. "That woman. You killed her to lure me here…didn't you."
"I know everything about you, Parker…" He pulled me in closer. His breath foaming out around my face. "And everyone you care about. I killed that woman to get you closer. If I wanted to I could have killed you right there on the sidewalk. But that wouldn't work with me."
I had heard enough. I my feet into his nose, sending him head-over-heels. His grip opened slightly, but not enough to get free. I wrapped my hand around his slightly protruding thumb and cracked it backwards. The Goblin hissed in pain and dropped me to the ground. He had backed up slightly, caressing his nose and thumb with his free-hand. I used the advantage to snap on my web-shooters and slip on my mask.
"If you know everything about me and the people I know, then you must know where Mister Osborn is." I was remaining optimistic that this bastard knew something, anything, about Harry.
He turned his head to the side to spit out some blood. The crimson residue shot from his lips and hit the alleyway with a subtle 'SPLAT!' "Oh, trust me. I know where Norman Osborn is." A grin took over his face. He was teasing with me. Playing with me.
I lurched at him, my fist connecting to his cheek bone. My next fist planted itself firmly in his neck. His breath shortened, stopped. Knowing I had victory in my view, I swung for his nose. He recovered instantaneously, grabbing my fist; freezing it in mid-air. Stunned, I looked at him for a hint of his next move. His fist was coming straight towards me. But things were going in slow-motion. The snow-flakes gently floating down from the night sky melted as they touched our bodies. The survivors piling up on the already accumulated snow. His fist struck my mouth, hand unlocking from around my fist. I was thrown backwards, the world rushing past my vision. The dumpster behind me stopped my movement, the handle smashing my back. The pain rocketed up my spine, making me light-headed. My body crumpled to the ground. My upper-body numb, brain ringing. The woman's crippled frame rested gently beside me. "Whe-where is he…?"
"Oh, don't you worry." His boot stomped on my hand as I pulled myself up. "I have him locked up safe-and-sound in my own personal box."
I caught his ankle with my free-hand and pulled it towards me. My other hand sliding cleanly out from under his foot. His balance was broken, his back nearly parallel with the ground. Keeping my grasp on his ankle and using my newly free-hand, I plunged my fist downwards into his chest. His body dropped straight down under the weight of my strike, spreading snow in various directions as he collided with the ground. I continued my rain of blows with a punch to the neck and a one-two combo to his face. I had forgotten about his legs. I was sent rolling along the ground by his feet cracking into my ribs. Before I could complete my second roll along the cement, my back made contact with the brick wall of the building next to the hospital. There was no room. I needed to get out of the alley. Still upside down, I stuck my feet to the wall and launched myself upwards. My out-stretched arms stopping my forward momentum before I cracked my skull against the wall. The Goblin sent his foot cracking through the wall where my body rested just mere moments ago. The bricks crumbled around his shin, pinning his leg in place. I used the time to scamper my way up the wall and onto the roof.
The roof was covered in knee-high snow. The air-conditioning unit was half visible under the white blanket. The heat from the smoke stacks had melted away the snow around them. The snow crunched under my weight as I vaulted over the edge of the building onto the roof. I gave myself distance for The Goblin to appear. No need in being attacked from behind. Spider-sense or not. Using the time I had garnered, I whipped away the remaining snowflakes from my pitch-black lenses. The snow left streaks of water behind before evaporating into the air. I readied myself for The Goblin, my eyes trained on the wall I had scampered up. Nothing happened. I calmed, thanking God that he had left already.
My spider-sense fired up, ridding me of any reassurance.
I spun myself around, The Goblin's fist driving into my cheek bone and sending me across the rooftop. The snow was thick and softened my landing near the air-conditioning unit. Sitting up, I realized a gash had formed across my face. It ran from left cheek bone to right under my right eye. My mask was torn at the cut's position. Blood seeped from the severed flesh, the snow turning a delicate pink. I ignored the pain long enough to dodge The Goblin's next strike; a curb-stomp to my chest area. Slipping from his foot, I leapt up onto my feet. I assumed this gave me the opportunity for a hit or two. The Goblin was faster than my own mind. He spun his body, his fisting slicing through the heavy, winter air towards my nose. I ducked under it, ramming my shoulder up into his stomach to double him over. Instead, he backed up against the air-conditioner. He was stunned, dazed. I smashed his body up against the metal cube with a 'CLANG!' His knees buckled, head at my chest level. I didn't stop. Last time I thought he was beaten, he threw a car at me.
I clutched his hood and dangled him in front of him. I studied over his real face, the retracted hood shining light on the upper-half of his head. He looked eerily familiar to someone I knew. I couldn't tell who. But it sent shivers up my back. Still holding his hood, I retracted my arm and launched it forward. The Goblin's face collided with the air-conditioner, a large crack forming up the sturdy, aluminum. His body slumped to the floor, blood oozing from the wounds on his face. I backed up, chest barrelling up and relaxing as the chill air filled my lungs and left them in mist. My spider-sense went off again. I snapped my head side-to-side, The Goblin still resting silently by my feet. Nothing. I looked back down at The Goblin. His beaten and worn body filling me with pride. My heart sank to my stomach when I saw a lit pumpkin bomb in his closest hand. The eyes and mouth glowing a sickly green.
I threw my arms up in front of my face, back-pedaling as far as I could. I didn't get more than two steps before it went off. Green smoke foamed up around me, blinding me, chocking me. Through the fog and tears, I could barely make out The Goblin standing up, dusting the snow off of him. He turned and looked at me for a second. He foot kicked me in the lower-chest. My body cascading down into the alley, racing the snowflakes. Through the clearing smoke, I could barely make out the Goblin's face. Those smiling, red eyes. Deep green, scaly skin.
Mister Osborn's smile.
A shock of fear and disgust overcame me, running through my brain like electricity in water. I couldn't take my eyes off his face, all these terrible images running through my mind. The wind was knocked out of my body as I collapsed into the alleyway, the grey sweatshirt from before beside me. I began to cough and wheeze through burning lungs and a constricting chest. The last of the green smoke swirling away into the darkness of night. The Goblin's face gone from sight. It was still there in my memory. I remained on my back, battle scars intensifying, blood trickling down my left cheek. My chest began to open, lungs relaxing, breath even. My brain was still crippled with angst.
Norman Osborn WAS The Goblin.
I sat up, fingers massaging my temples. A massive headache ripping through my skull. Figuring I had spent far too long on this 'call to Ben', I picked myself up. My mask slid off my battered head. The right lens was cracked, both web-shooters still intact. I put all three, mask and both web-shooters, in my jacket pockets and headed back towards the entrance. I felt like I was forgetting something and turned around slowly, eyes scanning the environment for an idea. My phone lay half-covered in snow in the center of the cement. Feeling stupid, I walked over, surprised my legs weren't harmed.
"Crap." I sighed, examining the phone. The screen was cracked, half the keys missing. "So much for that call."
I pulled myself out into the sidewalk, foot crushing a lone newspaper page. The street had cleared for the most part. Only a handful of people on foot. A gust of wind stung my face where the gash was. I realized I would need a cover-up for that. I turned back towards the corner of the brick wall. Eyeing the area, I saw that no one was close enough to see what I was doing. I punched the corner, a single brick cracking in half while still holding its place. I was going on the 'clumsy Parker' story; didn't know where I was walking and smacked into a brick wall. I figured it would suffice for now. I couldn't be bothered with crappy excuses now.
Especially not after finding Norman Osborn.
xXx
The automatic doors beeped quite loudly as I stepped into the sterile, white hospital lobby. A stark contrast from that of the grime and filth in the street just a door's width away. Gwen looked up at me from her coffee cup. Her eyes focused on the cut across my face first. She choked down the coffee in her mouth in order to speak. I smiled reassuringly.
"Jesus Christ, Peter!" she gasped, placing the coffee and purse down on the front desk and running towards me. Her index finger traced the laceration gingerly. "What happened?"
"I was walk-" I hissed as her finger nicked a sore post.
She snapped her hand back to her chest, eyes widening in regret. "Oh! I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to!" She was talking fast, obviously very apologetic for the tinge of pain.
I smiled at her apology. "No, don't worry. I walked into a busted brick in the wall." Doing my best embarrassed face, I scratched the back of my head, looking away from her face. "I dropped my phone, too…" I held out the broken piece of plastic and technology in my right hand. That would convince her. I wouldn't break my phone on purpose. I DIDN'T drop my phone on purpose.
"Awww!" She puckered her lips and titled her head. Her eyes flashed open wide with innocence.
Puppy dog face. She was screwing with me.
"Do you at least have my coffee?"
She pointed to her bag on the desk. There were two styrofoam cups side-by-side next to it. One had a faint lipstick mark along the hole in the cap. "Is coffee known to heal wounds?" She smiled. "And cellphones?"
xXx
Me and Gwen were headed toward her house in the upper, richer section of Harlem. It resembled that of a suburb with the sound and smell of the city. The buildings, for the most part, were connected. The majority of them built only two or three stories tall of brick or masonry. Their identity was held mainly by the wooden porches erected in front of each home. They had become a stable of upper Harlem, especially near Manhattan. The sidewalks were cleaner than most of Manhattan, streets less empty. I looked up at the street sign beside the intersection. We were approaching Lenox Avenue. Gwen lived on Asher Row. That was two blocks away.
"What'd you get on Mr. Trainer's test on Thursday?" Gwen adjusted the black hairband holding her golden blonde mane away from her face.
"Do you always wear that?" I smiled, just realizing it was a near necessity for her.
"I love this hairband." She beamed, fixing it again to reinforce her point. I laughed lightly at her, shaking my head. We trudged on through the snow-sprinkled sidewalks and brick-built houses of the nineteen-thirties.
I looked over at her out of curiosity and noticed her eyes were remaining very still. Like she was thinking. "Something wrong?" I pressured, taking my right hand out of my jacket pocket to scrape the loose hair from my eyes.
"I'm worried about you." She sighed, eyes dropping to the ground.
I was stunned by the response. "If it's the scar, I told you I just walked into a wall. I don't think anyone's died by walking into a wall…"
"No, no." She shook her head. "It's not that….It's Flash."
God dammit. "Flash? Why? Those rumors aren't true, you know-"
"What rumors?"
"I dunno." I shrugged, looking away from Gwen. "Kong tells me that he has been saying shit since I kicked his ass last week."
"That's what I'm talking about, Peter." She pointed a lone finger at my face, eyes wide.
"What? Kicking his ass?" We turned the corner of Lenox and onto Asher Row. Gwen's house was at the far end of the block.
"Peter, ever since you came back to school you've been…itching for a fight."
"No." I defended.
"Yes!" She was growing tired of this conversation already. I was, too. "It's like you've been wishing for this your whole life and only now you have the chance. Like that burglar inspired you somehow."
"It's more complicated that you think." I sighed, angrily, realizing that without revealing my spider-powers I was destined to lose this argument.
"Yeah. OK." The sarcasm was painfully obvious.
"Look, I don't know what to tell you!" I shrieked out of desperation, my eyes pleading with her's.
She looked into mine, studying my face. "Tell me the truth."
"Truth is…" I'm Spider-Man. Surprise! "I'm tired of Flash. I just…felt like beating him."
"How about something that I don't already know?"
"You're gonna be a pain in the ass about this, aren't you?" I growled.
"Yes I am!" She barked.
"Oh, great. NOW you're angry." Every fiber in my being told me not to piss her off more. Yet, I couldn't help but continue.
"Peter…" She took a deep breath of air, stopping in front of one of the houses. Black roof, brick pattern, rickety, wood porch. Same as every other house. The mailbox had the name 'Stacy' stamped onto it's side. It was Gwen's house. I hadn't even noticed we were here. "I'm asking you, pleading you, to tell me the truth. Not as your friend, as your girlfriend." Her eyes twinkled, begging for an answer.
Tell her. "I-" Come on. "Well…" Do it! "I can't…" Pussy.
She dropped her head, an exasperating breath of air flowing from her lips. "Good night, Peter."
I remained silent, watching her climb the stairs to the front door. My heart was heavy, depressed. I couldn't stand to see her so hurt. The lock on the door snapped back, the door creaking open as Gwen stepped inside. She turned towards me closing the door gently. With only a few inches of space between the door molding and the lock, she looked at me again. The pain gushing from her pale blue eyes. I wanted to say something so bad.
I couldn't.
The door locked into place. The silence of the street only further weighing my heart down. Taking one last breath of air, I turned back toward the curb. Ben's apartment was too far away to walk. I needed a cab. A shriek stabbed the air, alerting the pigeons sitting peacefully on the house next to Gwen's. It was Gwen. I circled around toward the house. Sweat dripping from forehead and onto my fresh cut. I leapt the six steps and onto the porch. Not taking any chances, I kicked out the door, lock breaking. The living room was lit by a single lamp in the center of the room. A single couch beside it, facing the fireplace on my left. . Magazines lay scattered across the light, wood coffee table. The wood floor was recently polished while the stairs on the far right showed their age. Two doors were placed on the far end of the room. The one on the left was the bathroom. The left hid the kitchen. Gwen sat curled up in a ball against the wall next to the kitchen door. My brain relaxed as I saw Gwen was OK. The Goblin hadn't gotten to her.
I ran over to her sobbing frame. Body shaking with tremors. I fell to my right knee, placing my hands on her shoulders. "Gwen. Gwen! What's wrong?"
She lifted her left arm, pointing to the kitchen door. Her tears prevented any words from leaving her mouth. The mascara was running down her face. Her cheeks lined with black tears. I stood up from Gwen slowly and approached the door. A wooden plank creaking under my weight as I advanced toward the kitchen. About a foot from the door, the smell hit me. The smell of burnt food and empty bowels. . I knew what had happened. It was obvious. I just didn't want to face the truth. Not seeing it didn't make it true. I tapped the door open, the hinges squeaking with age. My eyes soaked up the sight. A middle-aged, averagely-built man was positioned in the center of the kitchen, directly under the ceiling fan light. His shadow dominated a large portion of the white, tile floor. His feet suspended inches from the ground, pants dangling from his hips, exposing his boxers. The missing belt wrapped around his neck and ceiling fan, holding him from the ground. A growing pool of blood crawled in many directions from inside his shadow. The food in the stove was burnt and ruined. Smoke pouring out into the kitchen. Fire alarm was ripped from the wall. His shirt was ripped open, blood staining the edges. Carved into his chest was a symbol. One I had seen before, but it was sloppy, messy. Only upon further viewing did I recognize it. A pumpkin. A jack-o-lantern. Blood seeped from the design and down his legs. The excess dripping down onto the floor.
George Stacy, dead by the Goblin, hung in his own kitchen with his belt.
I backed out of the kitchen, the feeling of bile rising in my chest. The sight was bad enough, but the smell made it worse. I twisted my head around towards Gwen. She hadn't moved. Paralyzed by fear and shock. I couldn't blame her. The only reason I wasn't in the same position was because my brain was too busy with its own problems. How much time until The Goblin comes after Gwen?
How much time until Mister Osborn comes after Gwen?