Chapter 10: Good Night And Good Morning.
His eyes were as red as the sky was dark; his tear ducts were as dry as the air was humid. His mind had wearied itself running a marathon of thoughts that sprinted between the betrayal of the heartbreaking witch and his retaliatory options— meaning, the how and where he planned the break-up. It was time for Henry Pym to castoff the self-pity, act like a man, and go home. Less tears to cry, more sweat to solve it, as the Pym family motto went.
On the way back to his home, the Ant-man forced himself to think about other things. When his mind opened up a different door, guilt forced himself in. Henry was a full grown man preoccupied only with a wayward lover when there, on the 59th Street Bridge's roadway, laid deformed dead bodies of policemen. What type of a tunnel vision, self-centered buffoon was he? How could his loss compare to that of the children who will be told that daddy will never come home again. No wonder he couldn't keep a female's inter- Damn it. That's not where his stupid mind should have been going.
But a mind attempting to focus away from a dilemma perhaps takes more side streets then one. The horrific images left behind on the floor of the bridge reminded Hank about … that picture.
THAT picture was a photo that Erica had given him after the press conference where talks of the Lava Men adventure moved to Hank's fiery denouncement of the Sons of the Serpent. There were two hung Negro males. Their fleshed-ripped gave evidence to a sport using a spiny whip. Had Henry still hung onto his faith he would have petitioned for a warm welcome to the Big Guy's presence for the two murder victims.
For weeks that image haunted him before he went to sleep. It was that picture that should have torpedoed him into action. But protective Big Sister always managed to pull the rug out from under him. Now with the possibility of the SOTS coming up north to meet him straight on, the novice had better learn how to conduct his own march. He'd better have a plan to take it to this new type of enemy, before they arrived here to spread their terror. And whining over a worthless lover was a distraction from getting that done.
In all, he used seventeen different winged carriers to make it to the Kurtzberg Building. The eighteenth ant came from his garden patio. She picked him up from atop the main lobby's canopy and together they flew upward.
The hum under Henry's mask was getting louder as his Apocritaic elevator neared his 4-story abode. This particular signal from his cybergentic circuits meant that someone had set the alarm to the penthouse. It was probably Jan. She wanted to know when he was coming home, no doubt. The angered Hank was determined not to give her even that courtesy.
Hank was one of those males who would lose his keys at the most inappropriate time. When things were good with Jan, she had always took delight in launching razor-sharp derision at him for that flaw. Sensing his quiet objections, Jan would further reprimand him— "Stop pouting like a baby, it was just playful teasing."
Henry's ego had look to circumvent his handicaps with secret safeguards. And secrecy was important or else the ridiculer would the target the safeguards.
Covertly, Henry built into his head devise a remote control cell that could slide a security bolt on a window or a door to an open position. The cell also caused the sensors of the alarm to temporarily deactivate around his chosen point of entry.
The ant and her rider made it to the ledge outside of his bedroom. The rest was easy. As soon as the six foot, one inch hero's foot hit the carpet, his mind unexpectedly drifted in a previously uncharted direction. Hank thought that there had to be a better method of traveling other than burdening ants. Maybe the thought was spurred on by the decision to separate from the future Ex- , as she was independent of insect transports.
Wings were an option, but not the type that he implanted on a certain unmentionable. He couldn't bring himself to trust someone else to perform such a delicate operation on him. What the hell— Hank was too tired to continue thinking. All he wanted was a quick shower and sleep.
Perhaps those terrible images on the 59th Street Bridge would come back, but Henry was resolved. One— as cold as it sounded— he couldn't help the dead. And two, the betrayer wasn't worth a sleepless night. She had reminded him of his beloved Maria, but that didn't mean that she had the equivalent worth of even 1/1000th of his late wife. His mind and emotions were the first things that he had to control to initiate the final cutting away from the toxic relationship.
When he took off his costume, he felt a bit lightheaded; that could make showering a dangerous proposition. Hank instantly diagnosed this as dehydration. With the day's many issues, he had forgotten to periodically drink liquids. Two glasses of orange juice and a ten minute sit-down would do the trick, for now.
On his way to the kitchen, Hank passed the living room. He was taken back when he saw the source of his embarrassment and pain sleeping on the sofa. He stopped in front of her.
Wanda Maximoff couldn't sleep. The reception that she and her brother had received after thwarting the airplane's hijacker still resounded in her head. It was thrilling, to say the least. For the first time in a long time, the outsiders hadn't looked upon Pietro and Wanda as dangerous beings. For the first time in years, the duo weren't tense in their presence and ready to strike back at the earliest provocation.
That was a glimpse of an easier life, she thought with a sigh. It was a life of encouragement, unity, and cheers. We all enjoyed a sort of kinship, even if it was short-lived.
How could that have been? Well, for one, the Homo Sapiens did not know that the pair were Homo Superiors. Still, Wanda questioned would the differences in their DNA have mattered? They were cheered for taking down a common threat. Maybe looking out for the mutual good was all that was necessary for outsiders to accept mutants.
Magneto had said that the path to war between the two worlds was carved out in destiny. War and the following servitude of non-mutant to their superiors were essential for mutant-kind's survival on this savage planet. Wanda wasn't a stranger to the bigotry that Magneto had described. She also understood that being 25 years her senior, he had suffered these persecutions more years than Wanda had been alive.
Terrible experiences that could not, or would not be forgotten would bury from view the similarities that could be used as a foundation for reconciliation. It was easy for her to say, of course, since she hadn't seen all the horrible evils that the older mutants had endured. Still, if the options were to march into war or extending a very guarded handshake, Wanda knew which choice led to fewer burials on both sides.
On a vain thought, Wanda couldn't forget the thrill of being championed. The moon light stretching in through her window had sufficiently illuminated her room. She looked up at the bed room ceiling. It became a screen and her mind was a projector replaying the celebration and offers to dine with so many grateful strangers. …. The images of camaraderie with non-mutants were entertaining company. They kept her from missing the sleep that, while looking for her, had gotten lost somewhere in the night.
In the adjoining room, Pietro frowned as he dug the right side of his face into his pillow. Why was he thinking about those … vile creatures? Their embraces and back-patting meant nothing. They were what they were, and they won't change.
This was going to be a looong night. It was bad enough that Wanda's brother had to deal with their kind during the day. Now at night, encircling visions of their deceitful praises—praises that were meant to bring his guard down— were haunting and they chased away the preferred embrace of sleep. Pietro scrunched his eyelids together trying to forget about those … detestable creatures.
The sun would rise within the hour. The muscular, animal-trait enhanced Kraven, the hunter had finished his second night of leaps from rooftop to rooftop. Like any great hunter, he had to learn the terrain, the theatre where the hunt would take place. He now stood on to the top of towering, Plaza Hotel.
Kraven gave a sentimental look at the greenery of Central Park, just across the street, and then he turned. He opened the roof door that he had jammed hours ago. The stairs brought his gazelle-quick feet to the desired floor. Stepping into his shared suite, his incredible Congo Grass Owl hearing picked up the snore of his lazy co-conspirator in the other room.
Let the Chameleon sleep. Thus far his information gathering had been most useful. There will be time after the hunt when he can shake the weakling off like a bull elephant shakes off a speck of dirt.
Yolanda Vanko found herself in a chilly blackened cave. Just yards away, a spotlight was forcefully cutting its way down through the darkness to touch the ground of dirt and gravel. She immediately ran towards it. Accompanying the light closely was a climbable portion of the cave's earthen wall. Standing under its warmth, the light summoned her. The nearby wall that led straight up promised her a climb towards the inviting puffy clouds, warm clean air and safety.
The need of ascension increased in urgency when she heard the disturbance of graveled ground at the darker end of the cave.
The sudden chopping noise screamed out the running of a menace coming up behind her. Though the cave was void of light, she somehow knew who it was. Her hands and feet desperately dug into areas on the cave wall to enable her to climb up. The on-comer finally left out an exposing, bone-chilling snarl. His human voice morphed into an animal's growl, demanding her blood.
Her desperation fueled her speedy scramble upward. Halfway up, she could hear her assassin begin the climb also.
Defying the law of physics, the late-climbing menace was just seconds behind her. Yolanda's rate of ascension was good, but the murderous pants under her were becoming louder.
Yolanda was only an arm reach away from the surface. Just then a strong animalistic hand gripped her left ankle. She could rise no further.
She turned back and she could see him. Milos Masaryk was wearing his tower-horn Unicorn helmet. His mouth resembled that of a ravenous bear. His wicked smile showed the sharp teeth that would soon be her undoing. He pulled her back down to himself. Yolanda turned towards the sunny blue sky, towards her salvation. She screamed, "NOOO!"
Yolanda would not give up and die. She purposely allowed her upper body to slide back down towards the snarling demon. This was necessary in order to bend the knee of her free leg. Then, with all her might, she kicked down into the face of the predator. The killer's grip loosened. The young woman again faced the liberating sky. Her right hand reached a small hole and she pulled herself up. Then she screamed. A sharp pain ripped through her calf.
She reasoned, Masaryk's accursed Unicorn ray— no, my father's Unicorn ray. It was used to stop her. Yolanda's scream increased, mirroring the heightening of the pain. She wondered, if she looked back would she find anything resembling her leg?
Yolanda did look back, but her eyes found bed sheets wrapped around her leg. The horrifying darkness was chased away by protective morning light. Her scream was then wrapped in embarrassment as she discovered that the pain that she felt was not caused by a destructive light beam, but from the muscle cramp that Americans called a "Charley Horse." It must have resulted from the air conditioning and her quick leg movement to kick away the phantom menace. Well, disregarding common sense eating also contributed. Taking Jan's recent badgering to heart, Yolanda attempted to go on a crash diet. Her brilliant mind ignored the fact that a lack of potassium and calcium would result in these muscle cramps. Her brilliant mind now also scolded her for being influenced by that Van Dyne creature… How stupid of her.
Yolanda hissed as that was only way to stop her screams. She pulled away the covers. Soon the sense of embarrassment took a back seat to the relentless pain that froze her foot in a pointed toes position.
Yolanda's mother, Olesya, had taught her about the value of wood in relieving this pain. She spun her rear on the mattress quickly and placed her toes on the bed's head board. As the pain decreased, she was able to place more of her foot's surface on the wood until the heel-to-headboard contact signaled the end of the muscle-freeze.
She closed her eyes and laughed— partially in relief that the terror she had experienced seconds ago wasn't real. Her laugh also reflected the embarrassment over foolishly yelling like she had. Hopefully, her cry hadn't reached Henry's room, only three doors away.
Yolanda sat up to massage the pain from her sore calve, but she was only causing herself more pain. She lay flat on the bed again, covering her lingering giggles with her hands.
Miss Yanko turned to her window. The sight that had become a morning ritual greeted her. A block away, a tall building announced the rising of the sun with orange-yellow light on its side. On her back, waiting for the soreness to pass, Yolanda thought about her dream. She knew what fueled it.
Days ago, one of the informers that Henry inherited from Erica picked up an underworld buzz. The KGB was renewing their hunt for a living relative of the late Anton Vanko. The likelihood for success was almost comical as Tony Stark, Henry Pym and U.S. intelligence were days ahead and miles in front of them. In addition, secret agents were looking for American hoodlums who could lead them to her father's former guard. Once he was brought out of hiding, the soon-to-be- obsolete Unicorn would be assigned to act upon any verifiable lead.
Many in her old world said that vivid dreams were premonitions of things to come. In her own experiences, very few turned out to be harbingers of the future. Still, what if this dream is one of those "very few"?
Oh, such ridiculousness, he chided. She had better things to do than entertain those silly thoughts. She jumped out of bed, and put on her robe. Ignoring her aching calve, she rushed to the elevator. Her destination— Lab E— was just one floor below her. To her surprise, with each step, the pain decreased.
Inside of the laboratory, she found her big project a few yards in front of her. Yolanda turned away from the main reason she came there. Yolanda turned to the table on her right where a much smaller, but ultimately more profitable venture sat. Perhaps Dr. Pym wasn't fully ready to act when he talked about entering the private market with his inventions. Certainly, Yolanda didn't like the idea that his time invested in Giant-Man would suffer. She still wanted to share adventures with him.
Still, the two talked about a joint venture into a business. As a starter, they worked together on a revolutionary, small alarm clock. "Digital" he called it.
It was a 3-inch high, black, hard plastic contraption that was as long and wide as the length from the palm of her hand to half the length of her finger. The two inch-high numbers that boldly stated the time was proof that it could maintain itself overnight without batteries. Yolanda couldn't help but jump and applaud like a child at a circus.
Besides its carry-along size, the independent sustainability was a great purchase incentive— that was good enough to cover mistakes from the typical packing-frenzy behavior before embarking on trips.
AM/FM radio capability and Hank's "Doze" timer were checked yesterday. Test four had to address the essential. Yolanda put in the two AAA-sized batteries and set the alarm for 7:55 AM.
At 8 AM the TV program, Captain Kangaroo was on CBS-TV. The pre-school children's show gave her some ideals that she could employ when she performed her voluntary duties at the Happy Valley Day Care Center. Unfortunately, she always remembered to tune in when the show was half over.
Starting this day, Monday June 22, things were going to be different. Yolanda smiled expectantly as she put the clock in her robe's pocket.
Then the brilliant young woman turned around to approach her first prize. She faced the glass encasing that looked more like a giant, six foot tall test tube turned upside down. Inside of it was the nearly completed Unicorn armor that she designed for herself.
If there was one good thing about living with Janet Van Dyne, it was the residue benefits that came from her aspiration. The older female was intent on taking the fashion world by storm under the company name Dyne Designs. Jan had a few mannequins that she worked on.
When Jan discarded an older plastic model, Yolanda snatched it up. Now in her laboratory, the mannequin showed off the new helmet and body armor of her version of the Unicorn. Yolanda's left cheek rolled up in a sign of dissatisfaction over the armor's original metal alloy color.
But beyond her critique, there was an inner assurance. If Masaryk thought that he was going after an easy victim, she'd show him the error of his assumption. He had her father's first helmet design. Yolanda had the latest, improved head gear to go along with the full armor. Soon she would also have the full body arsenal. Masaryk was going to be one very sorry Commie.
She was brought out of her thoughts by the lingering smell of fresh paint in the air. Instinctively, the young woman turned to the wall on her left.
She didn't tell Henry that she had tried on the armor Sunday morning while he was at the Avengers Mansion. She had activated the repulsion devise on her boots and glided some four feet above the floor. At first she moved in an upright standing position with hesitancy. But after a little while, the brilliant Yolanda traveled masterfully in an oval pattern around the room. As she gained confidence, she began to increase her speed.
Unfortunately, in the last go-around, Yolanda failed to negotiate a turn and bounced off of a wall. The otherwise loud impact was muffled by the insolated walls, but there was no doubt as to where one could find her impact point. On the plus side, the armor proved to be protective— Yolanda hadn't a hint of a bruise.
The two 57-year-old sisters, Brygitka and Delfina, who were house cleaners and cooks, were off Sundays. Thank goodness— she didn't have to explain to anyone why she raced to the hardware store for spackle and paint.
Hank had a robotic "maintenance man" that he called RES-Q… Repair Essential Servicer- Quadrupedal (it had four wheels). It looked like the traditional Christian cross on wheels when stripped of equipment. Yolanda swept away pieces of plaster, while Rescue vacuumed and wiped tell-tale powdery debris from nearby chairs and tables. Early Sunday afternoon, Yolanda attached two "arms" to RES-Q— one had a spackle applicator and the second had a flat "hand" to evenly spread out the spackle. Yolanda had left the programmed RES-Q to repair the wall as she looked for the sandpaper-roller "hand."
Waiting for the spackle to dry, Yolanda couldn't help but jot down on paper the improvements that she could add to Hank's cleaning robot, her rescuer. After it sandpapered smooth, RES-Q spray painted the whole wall so that the new paint wouldn't stand out.
Yolanda had showered and then returned to admire the repair job. That was the moment when Henry called her to go to the park and receive Ant-Man and that …. Wasp in her purse.
Now, Monday morning she again sought the help of her metal pal. RES-Q's right arm was now a large spray painter that had several chambers on its forearm for color paint.
After days of paper sketching, Yolanda knew the colors that she needed – gold, blue and black. A panel from the ceiling parted and a big metal claw descended to lift the glass encasing. RES-Q began to color the sterile metal costume.
The helmet and the chest plate began to glow in golden splendor. The color enhanced the appearance of the Unicorn horn that extended inches ahead of the helmet's forehead. Though it was smaller than the original version, it still could launch a lethal thermal blast.
A black background brought an intimidating look to the golden horse head on the upper chest. The horse's mouth was tucked close to its thick neck to proudly display the horn.
Hmm, she wondered. Those eye slits on the head gear… it was similar to Iron Man's horizontal eye openings. Would it look more intimidating if instead of two, she had one long aperture like the X-Men's Cyclops?
While Yolanda stared at the head gear, she strangely felt as if it had a personality; it was an entirely different being from herself. The entire armor looked like it would move at any minute. It creeped her out a bit, but she couldn't stop looking at it. As a matter of fact the only thing that could take her mind off of the armor was that familiar sensation that told her that she forgot her usual stop after getting out of bed … the bathroom.
It was certainly too early for four-year-old Paige Guthrie, but momma had taken her to the potty room to avoid an accident. Lucinda debated if she should carry her daughter back to the bedroom. But when Paige was sitting on the bowl, she seemed wake enough to make it back without falling. In the hall, Momma rested her hands on the girl's shoulders, just in case.
Paige's little bare feet tapped their way along the wooden hallway floor. She stopped in front of her room.
"No, no honey," Momma said from behind the girl. The woman gently turned the little shoulders away from her bedroom door. "You were sleeping in the big room, remember?"
With her eyes still closed, Paige smiled and nodded her head. As she passed the window, the early orange-yellow sun rays hitting her little cheek stirred her memory. Her small shoulders swirled away from Lucinda Guthrie's hands and she whisked pass her mother.
"Jus' a min-id, Momma."
Paige opened the door of her bedroom to look inside. Poppa was still sleeping. His snoring meant everything was okay. With a smile on her face, Paige returned to her mother's guiding hands. Each step brought her eyelids closer together until she was crawling onto her space on the bed.
She looked at her brother's open mouth and suddenly she had enough strength to fight back sleep. "Momma," Paige managed in a drowsy tone. "Make him go too."
"Paige dear, come on. Momma has to water the fields now."
"Make him. Why ah should pee an' he do-own?"
"Quiiiiiet," the boy sleepily moaned.
"Geds up an' pee," Paige yawned in a stronger voice.
"Maaaa," Sam tailed off. The curly haired girl felt her anger rise and she pushed sleep away to arm's length. She rested her hands on the pillow, on the left and right of Sam's head. Frowning, she leaned her head down towards him.
"Paige Ann, please," Lucinda Rae fussed. She pulled her determined daughter away from her brother's pillow and back to her own.
Momma turned to get her dress from the closet. Paige slid across the bed so that her lips were again close to her brother's ear.
She whispered, "Geds up o-in Ah'll dells Marda Jean dad yah-in wubbed ha soda can on yah'll p'ivades befo' givin' id da ha.'"
Samuel's eyes exploded open. He sat up. From between blades of rusty-brown hair, his eyes searched Paige's face.
How could she do that to her own flesh and blood? Martha Jean was his honey and at the irrepressible hormonal high tide, he did what at the time came natural.
If a boy is interested and the girl says she's also interested, something happens inside of the boy. But if within ten seconds after her confession, she says "Eww," when he puckers up, it throws a guy's insides out of whack.
The only thing he could think of to save face was to say that he was imagining drinking a soda pop at that time when she thought that he wanted a kiss. One thing led to another and soon he was going to the store to buy soda for the both of them.
Just before he came to her door, he did something horrible. At nine-years-old, the build-up of confounding tension that stemmed from subliminal sexual attraction and the embarrassment of Martha's rejection was released the only manner available to the perplexed juvenile mind. No one was supposed to have seen it. NO ONE.
Momma interrupted the staring match when she asked if something was wrong.
Sam responded, "Naw, naw. Ah jus' rememberin' dat I promised mah-self ta help ya, Ma."
His feet hit the floor and he ran into the hall, saying, "Dress here, Ma. Ah'm usin' da bathroom."
Paige leaned back onto her pillow. She closed her eyes while flashing a triumphant smile.
They were just tall enough to reach Yolanda Vanko's shoulder. Twin sisters (and housekeepers) Brygitka Adamski and Delfina Gilbert entertained everyone with their verbal sparring. But there would be no lighthearted banter between them this morning.
Hank gave the sisters extra pocket money so that each morning they could buy coffee and the newspapers. They were free to read the papers before placing them on the morning table for Henry to browse.
Today the papers lead with the bridge battle and the intervention of a suicide attempt. But around page three, the pictures and articles turned to the amorous hug between the Wasp and Captain America.
Had a revelation not been thrown into their faces nearly a year back, they would probably be devouring the gossip piece like every other person.
One morning, when Dr. Pym still had his Manhattan penthouse, the sisters had the displeasure of walking in on a formal-dressed, but inebriated Janet Van Dyne. She had stayed out all night without Henry Pym and had fluffed off his angry outburst.
He retreated to his laboratory to find solace in an experiment. She disappeared only to come back in her Wasp outfit. Seeing her condition, the sisters just looked at each other with blank expressions. The drunken woman had dipped into her closet to get a Halloween costume, they figured.
But when Miss Van Dyne showed off her shrinking ability they could hardly keep their eyes in their sockets.
She was REALLY the Wasp. That meant that Dr. Pym had to be….
After buzzing around their heads, Jan regained her normal height and revealed another startling gem. She let loose with her lengthy repertoire of humiliating Polish jokes. When the alcohol finally subdued her, Jan sprawled herself onto the kitchen table.
Her last words before closing her eyes were, "Henry can eat me when he's ready."
Delfina called Dr. Pym out of his lab. He carried Jan to her room and locked her door. Henry apologized to the women. The women protested that he had done nothing wrong, but Hank drowned them out:
"I should have been man enough to be here and stop her drunken act before it began."
The two women agreed to keep the identities of the Wasp and Ant-man a secret. Delfina and Brygitka enjoyed their work and they would never leave it voluntarily. And they knew that conversational leaks could cost them one, or all, of their lives.
Nothing so vulgar had reoccurred since then, but Brygitka was the sister who held a grudge for eternity. Still, Jan had been civil to the older women, so Delfina tried not to be influenced by Brygitka's resentment.
Both sisters were mothers to daughters, and after this shared experienced they looked upon Hank as an unofficially adopted son. And for his sake things had run smoothly over the surface, …. until this day.
The obvious zeal within the pages of the newspapers was like the striking of a thorny whip to the two old women who loved Henry Pym. They sat quietly in the kitchen after placing the papers on the familiar spot on the table. They dared not to give the papers a second look, nor did they speak. How could they? They could never have spoken above the shouting of shock and grief that assailed their minds.
This was the highlight of her day, since Jan Van Dyne was a late sleeper. With just-brushed breath, Yolanda Vanko paraded through the living room as she headed for the kitchen. The sofa pillows were strangely gathered to one side, so she rearranged them.
With her white blouse, she wore her calves-high black capris pants. While other girls her age went for something "real cool," Yolanda liked the casual-classy look. Of course that meant looking through Life Magazine and seeing what Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly wore while vacationing. She patted her pants to make sure that the digital alarm clock was in her pocket (with so many ideas and inventions swirling in her head, it was normal to be forgetful, at times).
She was readying herself for the teasing that her two older gal-pals would launch when they saw that the pants belt looked like a man's oversized tie. The silk white and blue belt went around her body then flopped down halfway towards her left knee. (Hey, it looked great on Grace Kelly.) She prepared herself to counter their jabs with the claim that of the three friends, she was the only one brave enough to steal "the tie" from Wilt Chamberlain.
She happily expected to see her cheerleader at the breakfast nook waiting for her, as was his custom. But Henry wasn't in his seat. Darn—she wanted to see his reaction to her outfit. She also expected a lively conversation from the two sisters. She instead got long faces.
Yolanda asked, "What's the matter?"
Reference: Sisters Brygitka Adamski and Delfina Gilbert are original characters written for this story.
The "tower-horn" of the 1st Unicorn design (mentioned in Yolanda's dream). Web Search: Tales_of_Suspense_Vol_1_56