Back to GatefoldIssue #18 by Mike Exner III
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"ROSES ARE RED - Part Two - The Goblin & the Spider"
Previously in the Amazing Spider-Man: Spider-Man was confronted by Detective Russ Anderson and questioned about the Rose Goblin. Spidey, unable to help the detective with much more than a promise, parted ways with him and headed to the Bugle. After emotionally draining conversations with his friends, Peter donned the costume of Spider-Man again, just in time to be beaten and taken by the Rose Goblin. Meanwhile, Eugene, Randy and Jill enjoyed a night at the club. That is, until Eugene and Jill had a falling out, and Randy got an unexpected request from Gene.
The darkness was complete and absolute. But Peter Parker was used to darkness by now. How could he not be, when at every turn it seemed like he took another step deeper into the abyss? He couldn’t remember much of what had happened to him. How he’d arrived in this mind-numbing black was just a blur of images captured in his mind. He saw the Rose Goblin, terrifying in her insanity, glowering down at him from far away in his memories. He remembered the battle on top of the Daily Bugle. Remembered the way the Rose Goblin had beaten him and then screamed out maniacal peals of laughter that still seemed to ring in his head, even now.
Then he supposed the darkness had risen to swallow him, and that was where he was now.
But wasn’t this a different sort of darkness? He had been aware of nothing in the darkness that had preceded this blanket of night, but now things were different. For one thing, there was pain, a startling amount of pain that coursed throughout the entirety of his body. His head, shoulders, and wrists in particular were throbbing with the quickened pulse of his blood as it flowed through his veins.
For another thing, there were the sounds. A faint sound of water or some other liquid as it cast small droplets that spattered on something metallic beneath him. A faint sound of machinery humming and vibrating slightly throughout the entirety of wherever it was Peter Parker was being kept. He was slowly beginning to realize he was being kept somewhere. It was becoming as certain as that nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he was alive.
That nagging voice was fueled by the pain, it was fueled by the sounds, but what fueled it most of all were the smells. The smell of this place was the worst of all. It smelled like rusted iron, and the murky sort of swamp water that gave off a scent like rot and decay. But there was another smell, and this smell frightened Peter more than the thought of being captured. He could smell blood. Fresh blood. His blood. Suddenly Peter knew without a doubt what was making the dripping sound coming from beneath his feet.
“Wakey wakey, sleepy head,” said a voice from somewhere in front of Peter Parker. His eyes were open, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t see anyone. He strained them forward into the darkness, in the direction in which he’d thought the voice had come from. Nothing. Nothing but the black.
“Who are you?” Peter asked the darkness and he was shocked to find that his voice was raw and rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in years. “Where am I?”
“Are those we love so soon forgotten?” asked the voice in a mocking tone and Peter wanted to cry out, to scream and stab the darkness with his fists. He couldn’t move. He sent the mental commands to his limbs to get up and run, but nothing happened.
“Maybe this will help you, Peter my dear,” said the voice and Peter Parker stiffened. Part of it was hearing his name, but the other part was that suddenly there were hands on him. He couldn’t see them, but they were there, gripping his face. He tried to move his body, get away from them, but he was frozen. It was if his body had sprouted roots while he slept in the darkness, roots that were now firmly driven into the soil. But this soil wasn’t feeding him life. It was feeding him poison.
Then as the hands found purchase, the darkness was pulled away, and there was the light. It blinded Peter Parker completely, shimmering in his eyes. And when he closed them, it was still there, beating at his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, fighting the light, fearing it.
“Open your eyes, Peter,” commanded the voice and Peter refused by squeezing his eyes shut tighter than ever. He realized he was afraid at that moment and as the hands once again grip his face in a steely grip, he cried out.
“Stop being such a baby, Peter. It doesn’t suit you,” said another voice from somewhere within the place Peter was being kept and it was then that Peter’s eyes shot open. The light was nothing now. It couldn’t possibly hurt Peter now. The voice he had heard before was nothing either, and as if to prove that point, he heard the person who had grabbed his face gasp and then pull back as Peter’s eyes flew open.
The voice that had spoken chuckled. But it was a laugh without humor, one Peter Parker had heard so many times that it seemed as if it issued from his own lips. Peter heard the bearer of that voice, of that laugh, as he began walking towards Peter. Peter strained his eyes harder. Determined to see.
“Harry?” Peter said in the sandpapery voice that didn’t seem to want to go away and the footsteps paused, if only for a moment, and then continued. Peter’s eyesight was slowly beginning to clear now and he could see the room, see his captors, and see why he was unable to move.
The Rose Goblin and Harry Osborn stood, side by side and regarded Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man with cold, hate-filled eyes. Peter Parker stared right back at them, fear beginning to fill his own eyes. The chains that were wrapped around his arms were holding him three feet off of the ground in the middle of some sort of abandoned sewer complex under the streets of New York. Peter had been in enough of them to know it just by sight.
“Welcome to Hell,” said Harry Osborn with hate in his eyes and a maniacal glee stamped on his features. Peter shuddered violently and closed his eyes.
The knocking at the door was seriously bugging the piss out of Randy Robertson. He’d had a late night of clubbing and it wasn’t fair for someone to be banging on his door this early in the morning. He opened his eyes reluctantly and kicked the covers from his fully clothed body. He vaguely remembered coming home, Eugene tagging along with him, and also offering Eugene a place to crash on his couch. Not much was clear after that.
Randy glanced at the clock on his nightstand and dimly registered that it was two o’clock in the afternoon. He winced. He didn’t usually sleep in so late. He had to be at one of his jobs in about an hour. He’d need to check his schedule book to find out which one. The life of a broke New Yorker he thought dryly.
The knocking continued and to Randy it felt as if it was in time with the painful pounding in his head, the throbbing behind his eyeballs. Randy got up and moved towards his opened bedroom door. He stepped out into the living room and glanced at Pete’s bedroom. The bed was fully made, definitely not slept in. If Pete were the one knocking on the door because he’d lost his key, there would be hell to pay.
Randy gripped the knob and yanked the door open. And then as quickly as he could ran a hand through his dreads and picked the crust out of his eyes.
“Hey, Randy. I didn’t wake you up did I?”
Jill Stacey
She looked good. And Randy probably looked like a bum off the streets. He could have kicked himself for not checking through the peephole in the door before opening it.
“Naw, of course not, girl. I always wear the same clothes two days in a row, keeps the laundry down to a minimum,” said Randy, and was devastated to hear a bit of phlegm was sitting at the back of his throat, messing with his voice. He swallowed quickly.
“Sorry. I should have called first, but I thought you’d be up,” Jill said and looked over Randy’s shoulder and into the apartment, as if he wasn’t even there. “Is Peter here?”
“No, he never showed up,” Randy said, but in truth, he had no idea if that was true or not. Pete could have dropped by the apartment sometime during the night and then took off again, but Randy’s grandmother had always said to only tell what you knew, so that’s what he was doing.
“I can’t believe it,” Jill said, focusing her eyes back on Randy again. Randy felt uncomfortable under those eyes. He wondered if he’d gotten all the crust out of his own eyes, Jill’s were flawless. He was pretty sure his hair was ok now, but his face felt puffy. He probably looked like crap. “Where could he be?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Jill,” Randy said and then, because he thought it might help. “Eugene came back with me last night.”
Jill narrowed her eyes at that slightly and Randy shuffled his feet uneasily. The events of last night were coming back to him clearly now. He remembered talking with Eugene about the scene at the club. He remembered hearing how Jill had left the club, close to tears. Jill didn’t seem close to tears now though. She seemed close to tracking Eugene down and knocking him out. And if she couldn’t find Eugene, Randy thought he’d probably be the next best thing.
Then her face cleared, as if by magic.
“Is he here?” she asked and Randy shook his head.
“No. I offered him the couch, but he said he needed to drop by his folks’ house and talk to his pops or something like that,” Randy said and Jill frowned.
“I need to talk to him about last night,” Jill said and this time Randy nodded as if he understood, which he didn’t.
“I’m going through some rough times, Randy. When Eugene blew up at me, I guess they all came to mind and I just couldn’t hold myself back,” Jill said and Randy’s brow etched with concern. Jill met his eyes with hers and then shook her head.
“No. It’s ok, really. I’m dealing with it. The reason I ran away was because I didn’t want Eugene to see me cry. I didn’t want to burden him with my troubles,” said Jill in a voice that seemed oddly without emotion. It freaked Randy out, but he answered her anyway.
“Jill, it’s not a burden on anyone. You can talk to Eugene. I’m sure he’d listen. And if he didn’t, you can always talk to Pete. Or me, if you need to,” Randy said and Jill smiled. Randy thought the smile was one of gratitude, and it was. But he could see something else behind the smile. Something that said: thanks, but no thanks. And maybe even: keep your distance.
“I’ll keep it in mind, Randy,” Jill said, and Randy knew that she wouldn’t. But what could he do? He liked her, but he barely knew her.
“If you see Peter, tell him to give me a call,” Jill said and Randy nodded his head. Seemingly satisfied with this, Jill turned and walked away. Randy watched her for a while, but then glanced at his watch and frowned. He closed the door. He was going to be late for work.
“You’re dead. You died in my arms,” said Peter Parker as he looked at Harry Osborn, Dead. Died in my arms, standing in front of him with the arms of the Rose Goblin wrapped around him.
“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” said Harry Osborn. To Peter, it was like hearing the voice of a ghost. “I always wanted to say that.”
“No. You’re not Harry Osborn. You can’t be,” said Peter and his voice was panicked, panicked and strained. The roughness in his voice had faded, but he liked the sound of his voice now even less.
“Shut your mouth, Peter. He is Harry. Harry come back from the dead, and you’re just jealous,” said the Rose Goblin and Peter focused on her. Her voice was different somehow. Different from the cool and confident, Rose Goblin that had attacked him all those times in the past. Different. Recognizable.
“Liz?” Peter said and the Rose Goblin took a step back, as if she were afraid of the sound of that name.
“It’s all right, honey. It doesn’t matter anymore,” said Harry as he reached back and took a firm hold of the Rose Goblin’s hand. “It’s time.”
Harry pulled the Rose Goblin towards him, and then turned to face her. He reached his hands up and touched her face gently, a lover’s touch. At first the Rose Goblin seemed to become more alarmed, and pulled away slightly. Harry stroked her face and whispered something to her that Peter couldn’t hear. It seemed to calm her, and she made no further struggles as Harry dipped his fingers beneath her mask.
He raised it, and Peter saw what he had expected to see. As the white skinned folds of the mask came together, and it was raised from her head. Liz Osborn, the wife of Harry Osborn peered out from underneath. Peter expected her eyes to be cold, filled with disgust and insanity like the eyes of her husband. But her eyes weren’t angry. They were scared.
She avoided the face of Peter Parker and kept her eyes trained on Harry. She clung to him like a child. Like he was the air she needed to breath.
“You sick bastard. What did you do to her?” said Peter and Harry Osborn chuckled again.
“I didn’t do anything to her, Peter. You did. You did this to her when you killed me,” said Harry and left Liz standing there. He strode over to Peter and struck him in the face. The blow was strong. Peter’s head rocked back and he swung limply in the chains. The grating whine the chains made as they swayed back and forth made his teeth hurt.
Harry grabbed Peter’s face in his hand and turned it downward. Peter looked deep into Harry’s eyes and Harry was smiling. The bastard was smiling.
“Come here, Liz. Come to me, my love,” Harry said then, and Peter knew. He knew right then that this couldn’t be Harry Osborn. Not his friend Harry. The man he’d shared an apartment with. The man who had died in his arms after their terrifying battle on top in the Osborn Charity Building.* This was not him.
( * In Marvel’s Spectacular Spider-Man #200 – Dino )
“You’re not Harry,” Peter said in little more than a whisper, but Harry reacted as if he’d been slapped. He looked up at Peter with wide eyes and then Liz was there, ripping and tearing at Peter’s face.
“You take that back, you monster!” screamed Liz at the top of her lungs. Peter’s world started to go dark again as she beat at him, and he was afraid he’d pass out again. He fought it. He had a moment to think that, if he didn’t, he might never wake up again.
“Stop it, Liz. Stop it now,” said a voice from behind them and the sound of it brought Peter snapping out of the well of darkness rushing to snatch him as if he’d been shot from a cannon. Peter looked up, and Liz whirled around, and there stood Harry. But it hadn’t been Harry’s voice had it? It had been…
“You can’t kill him, Liz. You’re not here to kill him. You’re here to make him suffer. As you suffer,” said the man that looked like Harry. It wasn’t Harry. Peter knew that now. He had seen it in the eyes when the piece of filth had hit him. Harry was dead. This was…
“Harry?” Liz said with utter confusion masking her face. She hadn’t placed the voice, she hadn’t figured it out, and Peter suddenly felt a tremendous swell of pity for her. This wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.
“No. I’m afraid not, my dear sweet Liz. Harry has been dead for quite some time. And he’s not coming back,” said the man with Harry’s face. Then the man reached up, and shed his skin like some demon out of myth. There was another face beneath it. The face of…
“Norman Osborn,” said Ben Urich as he looked at the photograph being held out in front of him. “I know who he is, detective. If anyone out of diapers in New York doesn’t recognize that face, I’d be shocked to hear of it.”
“The way I understand it, you’ve been assigned to the Rose Goblin,” stated Russ Anderson as he placed the picture back into an inside pocket of his trench coat. Ben Urich nodded his head slightly and Anderson continued. “Do you think there’s any possible connection between Osborn and the Rose Goblin?”
“Well, although it’s never been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, I’ve long believed that Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin,” Ben Urich said and it was Russ Anderson’s turn to nod his head. “Even though Osborn has managed to avoid prosecution, even after being unmasked as the Goblin in public. The Rose Goblin is a new stitch, but I wouldn’t doubt that Osborn is involved in some way.”
“But you don’t have any proof,” said Russ Anderson. Ben Urich crossed his fingers beneath his chin and smiled wearily. It was the smile of a man worn out by the endless battles he’d fought over the years. Battles like that could take a lot out of a man, even when those battles were only fought on the printed page.
“I couldn’t have said it any better myself, detective. But I’ve been assigned a lot of stories in my day. And I haven’t given up once,” Ben Urich said and Russ Anderson reached into his coat again.
“I’d like you to give me a call the second you come up with anything you might feel is pertinent to this case,” said Russ Anderson and held out his card for Urich to take. Urich looked at it blankly and Anderson dropped it on his desk.
“And what would there be in it for me if I shared this pertinent information I might have with you, detective?” said Urich, and Russ Anderson sighed.
“I’m proposing an exchange of information, Mr. Urich. You tell me everything there is to know about the Rose Goblin and her possible connection to Osborn. I’ll tell you everything I know,” Detective Anderson said as Ben Urich regarded him from behind his spectacles. “Anything we dig up, we freely share.”
“That doesn’t sound like good police sense to me,” said Ben Urich as he leaned back in his chair. Anderson frowned and looked down at the newsman steadily, for a long moment neither of them stirred, and then Ben Urich nodded his head.
“I’ll cooperate with you, detective. To the very best of my ability,” said Ben Urich and reached out a hand. Russ Anderson took it.
“There’s another person you may want to speak with, though I’m not sure where he is at the moment,” said Ben Urich and began to resume typing whatever it was he had been working on when Anderson had approached him.
“Who might that be?” Detective Anderson asked. He had been working on this case for far too long, and it was a puzzle, like most. Only, instead of having pieces to arrange in the proper order to solve it, Anderson found he had to search for the pieces of this puzzle. Urich could be one. Osborn almost assuredly was one, as was Spider-Man. If Urich had another under his hat, Anderson would pounce on it like a starving man whose search for food had finally ended.
“Peter Parker,” Ben said. “Good kid, photographer for the Bugle. Don’t let him know I sent you. Just tell him you found he took…”
“Most of the pictures of Spider-Man for the Daily Bugle over the years,” Anderson finished and Ben raised his eyes from what he was typing and stared at Anderson. Anderson didn’t want to smile, but he found it hard to resist. “I’ve done my research, but thanks for the tip. The Parker kid is next on my list. Talk to you, Urich.”
“Yeah, you too,” said Ben Urich as Detective Russ Anderson turned to walk away. The cop seemed on the level, but Ben wasn’t about to hand over all his information to him like some cub reporter, wet behind the ears. He doubted Anderson would be sharing so freely either.
“Urich! Quit daydreaming and get to work!” shouted Jonah from his office and Ben Urich smiled. Then he began to type.
“No. No! I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. It can’t be true,” screamed Liz Osborn, dressed in the attire of the Rose Goblin. Peter Parker watched the destruction of the woman who had been the wife of his best friend right before his eyes, and could do nothing to save her.
“Come now, sweet Liz. You didn’t think that I had you dress like a blood-covered goblin and had you randomly attack Mr. Parker over there because I was actually your husband and that I actually loved you, did you?” asked Osborn and Peter Parker winced at the tone. The effect on Liz Osborn however, was somewhat more dramatic.
“I-I never attacked Pe…” started Liz, but she was violently cut off by Osborn, whose voice was marked with rage, intelligence and good humor at the same time. The voice, Peter realized soberly, of a lunatic.
“Silence,” Osborn said and Liz immediately quieted. Peter looked at her and could see that a part of her was still hoping this was some kind of awful trick. Perhaps she was thinking that it was a ploy executed by the hated Spider-Man himself. Whatever the case, Peter Parker could see that Liz Osborn had lost all touch with reality and was on the verge of burning alive in her confusion and pain.
But Osborn wanted to stoke the flames higher.
“I used you Liz, used you and enjoyed myself as I did it. Think of all the times you kissed loving Harry when he came back from the dead. Think how relieved you were. Think of the first time you let him back into your bed.” Osborn said and then Liz began to scream. It was an ear-splitting shriek that Peter thought would drive him mad. He looked at Osborn and saw that the maniac was smiling at the sound of it. As if the screams of his victim were some sort of fine music that he had been deprived of for too long.
“I used a bit of brain-washing and mind control to guide you along the way, of course, but it took a surprisingly little amount of effort to get you to dress like a demon and to convince you I was your husband. I was quite pleased with the result,” Osborn continued and Peter realized the maniac wasn’t even looking at her. He was looking dead into the eyes of Spider-Man.
“It can’t be true,” Liz said as her scream finally died away. Osborn rolled his eyes as if this were boring him and Peter would have been satisfied to wrap his fingers around the bastard’s neck and squeeze until his head popped off.
“Not that sawed-off old tale again,” said Osborn and walked over to Liz. He crouched down, taking her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. “You said that already, Lizzie. You know what I always told Harry in the good old days? Face up to it, boy. Be a man.”
He let go of Liz’s chin and her head dropped back down. The look in her eyes was unlike anything Peter had ever seen before.
“Of course,” Osborn continued. “Harry never let his father-in-law screw him.”
No, just his father thought Peter, and then all hell broke loose.
Eugene Slodnik walked down the streets of Manhattan with his eyes firmly planted on the sidewalk. Ever since he’d blown up at Jill, he’d felt horrible about himself.* When he’d seen the tears rise in her eyes, he wasn’t sure what to do. She had made his decision simple when she ran out of the club. Eugene stayed at the club for a while with Randy, but he hadn’t danced. He’d even tagged along when Randy was ready to go. But when Randy offered him a place on the couch, Eugene had declined.
( * Happened last issue – Dino )
It would have been the smart thing to do. After all, Eugene was about to do whatever it took to convince Peter and Randy that he was the ideal roommate to board with, except beg, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t beg, but Eugene wasn’t in the habit of doing the smart thing that often anymore. When it came to doing the smart thing, Eugene was batting a big old zero.
So he had walked for a long time, and then he had decided to do what he’d told Randy he was going to do in the first place. Go see his dad. His dad wouldn’t be too pleased that Gene was harassing him at four o’clock in the morning, but he had been demanding his son come around ever since he heard about the stuff that had happened in Indiana. He was just doing as his old man said.
So he’d knocked at the door, and he’d smiled when his father walked down the stairs, adjusting his robe and running fingers through his hair at the same time. His father had smiled too, the second he opened the door, and Eugene knew things were going to be all right, right at that very second.
Genie? What are you doing here? His father had asked and Eugene couldn’t hold back the tears. He’d spilled his guts to his father after that. They’d talked for a long time. He talked about the horror of fighting his roommate Barry back at the University.* He talked about Jill and what he had done. He talked about being virtually homeless.
( * As seen in the M2K Amazing Spider-Man 2001 Annual and Marvel Fanfare #10 – Dino )
He even talked about Spider-Man, remembering to leave out the part where Spidey had revealed his secret identity to Eugene, although that was a good memory.* And then his father had done a wondrous thing. He’d pointed out all the friends Eugene had talked about. Peter, and Randy and Jill. He’d pointed out that he still had a partial scholarship to Empire State University to attend school. He pointed out that even if his new friends didn’t let him stay in their place, he’d always have a home under his father’s roof.
( * As portrayed in Amazing Spider-Man #13 – Dino )
Eugene listened to his father for nearly two hours, and had felt better, a lot better. Then his father got up, patted his son on the shoulder and told him he had to go to work. Eugene nodded, smiling now, and got up to give his father a hug. They’d stayed that way for a while. When they let go, Eugene’s father went upstairs to get ready for work and when the man came back down, Eugene was gone. But he knew his son would be ok.
Now Eugene walked, eyes trained on the pavement, deep in thought. He never looked up, and even if he had, he probably wouldn’t have seen the figure with the flaming skull peering down at him. All for the best, for if he had, it would have meant the end of his life.
Hell consisted of the scream that exuded from the lungs of Liz Osborn as she slammed her fists into the ground and beat at her own body. Peter Parker looked down at the woman and was shocked and horrified to discover that, instead of directing her rage and frustration at the man that had caused her all this pain, Liz Osborn was directing it at herself.
“Liz. Stop this,” said Peter Parker from his helpless position and Liz did stop. She stopped and looked up at Peter with eyes so full of pain that Peter couldn’t even meet her gaze. He lowered them, and perhaps taking it as a sign that he saw something monstrous there, Liz took a pumpkin bomb from the pouch at her side and threw it at her feet.
“Liz! No!” yelled Peter, but it was far too late. The pumpkin bomb didn’t explode however, as Peter feared it might. Instead a sickly green gas sprouted up from the broken shards of it and Liz Osborn dropped to her knees and began to suck the gas in.
Suddenly, the hands of Norman Osborn were on the chains surrounding Peter Parker and they pulled Peter free of the hooks the chains were linked onto and away from the dying form of Liz Osborn.
“No. We have to save her,” shouted Peter, but he could see that it was already too late. Liz Osborn began to bleed from her nose and from her ears. She looked up at Peter, and then Norman with the tortured eyes of a woman about to die and then did the most horrible thing Peter could imagine. She smiled. Her teeth were covered in blood.
“Foolish girl. Got what she deserved,” said Osborn and for Peter, it was the very last straw. He moved and the chains moved with him for as long as they could until they snapped from the strain his muscles put upon them. Norman Osborn looked down at the man he knew as Peter Parker in shock. Only this wasn’t Peter Parker anymore. This was Spider-Man.
“I don’t know why you saved me, Osborn. But I promise you, you’re going to regret it,” he said and then lunged. Osborn raised his arms to shield himself but it was as if they weren’t there. Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man waded into Norman Osborn like an angel set loose upon the wicked from the shining gates of Heaven.
The collision sent Osborn flying through the air and he collided with a sickening crunch against the brick-lined wall of the sewer. Osborn fell to the ground in a heap. Spider-Man didn’t care.
He leapt onto Osborn and picked him up, taking satisfaction in the fact that he was still alive. He reared back a fist to strike and then light flashed into his eyes. A stabbing pain hit his shoulder and he dropped Osborn on the ground, leaping back with all the speed of his spider-reflexes.
He examined his wound, a burn mark in his left shoulder with a morbid curiosity. The flesh was still sizzling. Osborn began to laugh.
“I saved you, Peter, for the same reason I did all of this. For the same reason I do everything. I saved you because your suffering is not over yet,” Osborn screeched and then erupted into laughter again. None of it mattered.
“Your suffering is just beginning,” said Spider-Man as he lunged again. Osborn watched him come and easily dodged out of the way, pressing a small button concealed on the floor as he did. Panels in the wall slid away and spikes ejected from the depressions. Spider-Man was barely able to move his body so that only his feet and hands rested on the wall. His body was uncomfortably angled, but the spikes hadn’t pierced him.
“Bravo,” said Osborn and then punched Spider-Man in his face. Spidey’s spider-sense had warned him, but the blow still connected strongly. Spider-Man was hurled from the wall and onto the floor. His spider-sense was ringing more powerfully than ever.
“I grow weary of this, Peter. Time for you to finally die at the hands of the Green Goblin,” said Norman and pressed another button on the floor. The panels of brick beneath Spider-Man slid away with a speed that Spidey couldn’t believe or comprehend in his drugged state of mind. Below him, a vat of some sort of substance awaited, sizzling and popping menacingly.
Spider-Man fired his web-shooters, connecting with Osborn himself, who was surprised and shocked by the action. Spider-Man heaved with all his strength, and Osborn was pulled to the lip of the deathtrap. Spider-Man was cast deeply into it, nearly falling into it head first. At the last moment he twisted his body, and only one booted-foot scraped the surface. Immediately however, the boot began to melt.
Spider-Man looked up at Osborn, who was hanging onto the edge of the pit. He knew Osborn could easily pull himself up and probably snap the webbing holding Peter above the acid before Spidey could react. Peter wasn’t sure why he’d fired his webbing at Osborn. He just wanted to hurt the man. He just wanted him to hurt.
“It seems we’re stuck in a predicament here, my boy,” said Osborn and Peter gritted his teeth.
“I’m not your boy,” Spider-Man replied. Osborn ignored him as if he hadn’t said anything, and continued.
“On the one hand, I could pull us up and save my own life. Perhaps even give you a chance to save your own,” Osborn said and chuckled. “On the other hand, I could let go. And kill us both.”
“Just pull us up, Osborn. You’re insane but you’re not stupid. This game isn’t over yet. You still need the Spider,” said Peter, only half hoping that Norman would believe him.
“No!” screamed Osborn and the echo of that voice rang heavily in Spider-Man’s ears. “You’re the one who needs the Goblin. I need nothing.”
Peter was about to reply, when suddenly his spider-sense went off. Only it didn’t just tingle, it screamed inside his head. Spider-Man felt the line he was clinging to slacken, just a bit. In what seemed like slow motion, he looked up and saw Osborn release the side of the cavity into which they had fallen. In even slower-motion, Spider-man used his reflexes to fire a web-line at the side of the pit. He pulled on it with all his strength, but still his shoulder brushed the searing acid below him. He had no idea how he had made it to the side, with such little room for error. Then the screams began and he just thanked God he had.
He looked into the acid and saw the Green Goblin. Not Osborn, Osborn was gone. He had slipped on the mask of the Green Goblin as he fell and was screaming and laughing at the same time. Peter watched the horrifying sight of Norman Osborn burning alive for the briefest of moments and then fired a web-line. It connected with Osborn, and for a single second, Spider-Man thought he could save him. Then the web-line sizzled and burst into flames. Osborn let out one last scream. Then it was over.
Spider-Man crawled out of the abyss. His shoulder was still burning and he took off his shirt. The wound on his shoulder was raw from both the laser-blast and the acid. Peter was sure his spider-powers would heal it, but it would take time, and there would always be a scar.
A low moaning came from his right and Peter turned in that direction. All that remained was the still body of Liz Osborn. Peter watched it for a long moment. It stayed motionless. Peter lowered his head and then heard it again, the low moaning sound. He rushed over to Liz Osborn and turned her onto her back. He felt for her pulse. Nothing at first, but then the faintest of beats leapt to his fingertips. He picked her up in his arms. The tiniest glimmer of hope leaping in his heart as he did so. He looked back at the pit into which Osborn had fallen. Then he fired a web-line, and began climbing for daylight.
Not long after Spider-Man had scurried out of sight, a shifting of crimson and white broke the darkness that enfolded the sewer. A form stepped from the shadows, a form with a white goblin-face and a cloak of red surrounding her body. She stepped to the lip of the chasm into which her beloved had fallen. He had told her not to interfere with the final battle, the final struggle between Goblin and Spider. But the battle was over now, and the Goblin was dead and the Spider remained. However, there was still another Goblin left to fight the war. There was still another Goblin left to make the Spider pay.
The Rose Goblin dropped a flower into the pit, and then began to laugh.
Next Issue: Spider-Man has faced quite possibly the most daunting battle of his life and survived. But what happens when an enemy comes that threatens not only the web-slinger, but all the people of New York City as well? Be here next issue as ”For the Death of our Brother” begins.
The darkness was complete and absolute. But Peter Parker was used to darkness by now. How could he not be, when at every turn it seemed like he took another step deeper into the abyss? He couldn’t remember much of what had happened to him. How he’d arrived in this mind-numbing black was just a blur of images captured in his mind. He saw the Rose Goblin, terrifying in her insanity, glowering down at him from far away in his memories. He remembered the battle on top of the Daily Bugle. Remembered the way the Rose Goblin had beaten him and then screamed out maniacal peals of laughter that still seemed to ring in his head, even now.
Then he supposed the darkness had risen to swallow him, and that was where he was now.
But wasn’t this a different sort of darkness? He had been aware of nothing in the darkness that had preceded this blanket of night, but now things were different. For one thing, there was pain, a startling amount of pain that coursed throughout the entirety of his body. His head, shoulders, and wrists in particular were throbbing with the quickened pulse of his blood as it flowed through his veins.
For another thing, there were the sounds. A faint sound of water or some other liquid as it cast small droplets that spattered on something metallic beneath him. A faint sound of machinery humming and vibrating slightly throughout the entirety of wherever it was Peter Parker was being kept. He was slowly beginning to realize he was being kept somewhere. It was becoming as certain as that nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he was alive.
That nagging voice was fueled by the pain, it was fueled by the sounds, but what fueled it most of all were the smells. The smell of this place was the worst of all. It smelled like rusted iron, and the murky sort of swamp water that gave off a scent like rot and decay. But there was another smell, and this smell frightened Peter more than the thought of being captured. He could smell blood. Fresh blood. His blood. Suddenly Peter knew without a doubt what was making the dripping sound coming from beneath his feet.
“Wakey wakey, sleepy head,” said a voice from somewhere in front of Peter Parker. His eyes were open, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t see anyone. He strained them forward into the darkness, in the direction in which he’d thought the voice had come from. Nothing. Nothing but the black.
“Who are you?” Peter asked the darkness and he was shocked to find that his voice was raw and rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in years. “Where am I?”
“Are those we love so soon forgotten?” asked the voice in a mocking tone and Peter wanted to cry out, to scream and stab the darkness with his fists. He couldn’t move. He sent the mental commands to his limbs to get up and run, but nothing happened.
“Maybe this will help you, Peter my dear,” said the voice and Peter Parker stiffened. Part of it was hearing his name, but the other part was that suddenly there were hands on him. He couldn’t see them, but they were there, gripping his face. He tried to move his body, get away from them, but he was frozen. It was if his body had sprouted roots while he slept in the darkness, roots that were now firmly driven into the soil. But this soil wasn’t feeding him life. It was feeding him poison.
Then as the hands found purchase, the darkness was pulled away, and there was the light. It blinded Peter Parker completely, shimmering in his eyes. And when he closed them, it was still there, beating at his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, fighting the light, fearing it.
“Open your eyes, Peter,” commanded the voice and Peter refused by squeezing his eyes shut tighter than ever. He realized he was afraid at that moment and as the hands once again grip his face in a steely grip, he cried out.
“Stop being such a baby, Peter. It doesn’t suit you,” said another voice from somewhere within the place Peter was being kept and it was then that Peter’s eyes shot open. The light was nothing now. It couldn’t possibly hurt Peter now. The voice he had heard before was nothing either, and as if to prove that point, he heard the person who had grabbed his face gasp and then pull back as Peter’s eyes flew open.
The voice that had spoken chuckled. But it was a laugh without humor, one Peter Parker had heard so many times that it seemed as if it issued from his own lips. Peter heard the bearer of that voice, of that laugh, as he began walking towards Peter. Peter strained his eyes harder. Determined to see.
“Harry?” Peter said in the sandpapery voice that didn’t seem to want to go away and the footsteps paused, if only for a moment, and then continued. Peter’s eyesight was slowly beginning to clear now and he could see the room, see his captors, and see why he was unable to move.
The Rose Goblin and Harry Osborn stood, side by side and regarded Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man with cold, hate-filled eyes. Peter Parker stared right back at them, fear beginning to fill his own eyes. The chains that were wrapped around his arms were holding him three feet off of the ground in the middle of some sort of abandoned sewer complex under the streets of New York. Peter had been in enough of them to know it just by sight.
“Welcome to Hell,” said Harry Osborn with hate in his eyes and a maniacal glee stamped on his features. Peter shuddered violently and closed his eyes.
The knocking at the door was seriously bugging the piss out of Randy Robertson. He’d had a late night of clubbing and it wasn’t fair for someone to be banging on his door this early in the morning. He opened his eyes reluctantly and kicked the covers from his fully clothed body. He vaguely remembered coming home, Eugene tagging along with him, and also offering Eugene a place to crash on his couch. Not much was clear after that.
Randy glanced at the clock on his nightstand and dimly registered that it was two o’clock in the afternoon. He winced. He didn’t usually sleep in so late. He had to be at one of his jobs in about an hour. He’d need to check his schedule book to find out which one. The life of a broke New Yorker he thought dryly.
The knocking continued and to Randy it felt as if it was in time with the painful pounding in his head, the throbbing behind his eyeballs. Randy got up and moved towards his opened bedroom door. He stepped out into the living room and glanced at Pete’s bedroom. The bed was fully made, definitely not slept in. If Pete were the one knocking on the door because he’d lost his key, there would be hell to pay.
Randy gripped the knob and yanked the door open. And then as quickly as he could ran a hand through his dreads and picked the crust out of his eyes.
“Hey, Randy. I didn’t wake you up did I?”
Jill Stacey
She looked good. And Randy probably looked like a bum off the streets. He could have kicked himself for not checking through the peephole in the door before opening it.
“Naw, of course not, girl. I always wear the same clothes two days in a row, keeps the laundry down to a minimum,” said Randy, and was devastated to hear a bit of phlegm was sitting at the back of his throat, messing with his voice. He swallowed quickly.
“Sorry. I should have called first, but I thought you’d be up,” Jill said and looked over Randy’s shoulder and into the apartment, as if he wasn’t even there. “Is Peter here?”
“No, he never showed up,” Randy said, but in truth, he had no idea if that was true or not. Pete could have dropped by the apartment sometime during the night and then took off again, but Randy’s grandmother had always said to only tell what you knew, so that’s what he was doing.
“I can’t believe it,” Jill said, focusing her eyes back on Randy again. Randy felt uncomfortable under those eyes. He wondered if he’d gotten all the crust out of his own eyes, Jill’s were flawless. He was pretty sure his hair was ok now, but his face felt puffy. He probably looked like crap. “Where could he be?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Jill,” Randy said and then, because he thought it might help. “Eugene came back with me last night.”
Jill narrowed her eyes at that slightly and Randy shuffled his feet uneasily. The events of last night were coming back to him clearly now. He remembered talking with Eugene about the scene at the club. He remembered hearing how Jill had left the club, close to tears. Jill didn’t seem close to tears now though. She seemed close to tracking Eugene down and knocking him out. And if she couldn’t find Eugene, Randy thought he’d probably be the next best thing.
Then her face cleared, as if by magic.
“Is he here?” she asked and Randy shook his head.
“No. I offered him the couch, but he said he needed to drop by his folks’ house and talk to his pops or something like that,” Randy said and Jill frowned.
“I need to talk to him about last night,” Jill said and this time Randy nodded as if he understood, which he didn’t.
“I’m going through some rough times, Randy. When Eugene blew up at me, I guess they all came to mind and I just couldn’t hold myself back,” Jill said and Randy’s brow etched with concern. Jill met his eyes with hers and then shook her head.
“No. It’s ok, really. I’m dealing with it. The reason I ran away was because I didn’t want Eugene to see me cry. I didn’t want to burden him with my troubles,” said Jill in a voice that seemed oddly without emotion. It freaked Randy out, but he answered her anyway.
“Jill, it’s not a burden on anyone. You can talk to Eugene. I’m sure he’d listen. And if he didn’t, you can always talk to Pete. Or me, if you need to,” Randy said and Jill smiled. Randy thought the smile was one of gratitude, and it was. But he could see something else behind the smile. Something that said: thanks, but no thanks. And maybe even: keep your distance.
“I’ll keep it in mind, Randy,” Jill said, and Randy knew that she wouldn’t. But what could he do? He liked her, but he barely knew her.
“If you see Peter, tell him to give me a call,” Jill said and Randy nodded his head. Seemingly satisfied with this, Jill turned and walked away. Randy watched her for a while, but then glanced at his watch and frowned. He closed the door. He was going to be late for work.
“You’re dead. You died in my arms,” said Peter Parker as he looked at Harry Osborn, Dead. Died in my arms, standing in front of him with the arms of the Rose Goblin wrapped around him.
“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” said Harry Osborn. To Peter, it was like hearing the voice of a ghost. “I always wanted to say that.”
“No. You’re not Harry Osborn. You can’t be,” said Peter and his voice was panicked, panicked and strained. The roughness in his voice had faded, but he liked the sound of his voice now even less.
“Shut your mouth, Peter. He is Harry. Harry come back from the dead, and you’re just jealous,” said the Rose Goblin and Peter focused on her. Her voice was different somehow. Different from the cool and confident, Rose Goblin that had attacked him all those times in the past. Different. Recognizable.
“Liz?” Peter said and the Rose Goblin took a step back, as if she were afraid of the sound of that name.
“It’s all right, honey. It doesn’t matter anymore,” said Harry as he reached back and took a firm hold of the Rose Goblin’s hand. “It’s time.”
Harry pulled the Rose Goblin towards him, and then turned to face her. He reached his hands up and touched her face gently, a lover’s touch. At first the Rose Goblin seemed to become more alarmed, and pulled away slightly. Harry stroked her face and whispered something to her that Peter couldn’t hear. It seemed to calm her, and she made no further struggles as Harry dipped his fingers beneath her mask.
He raised it, and Peter saw what he had expected to see. As the white skinned folds of the mask came together, and it was raised from her head. Liz Osborn, the wife of Harry Osborn peered out from underneath. Peter expected her eyes to be cold, filled with disgust and insanity like the eyes of her husband. But her eyes weren’t angry. They were scared.
She avoided the face of Peter Parker and kept her eyes trained on Harry. She clung to him like a child. Like he was the air she needed to breath.
“You sick bastard. What did you do to her?” said Peter and Harry Osborn chuckled again.
“I didn’t do anything to her, Peter. You did. You did this to her when you killed me,” said Harry and left Liz standing there. He strode over to Peter and struck him in the face. The blow was strong. Peter’s head rocked back and he swung limply in the chains. The grating whine the chains made as they swayed back and forth made his teeth hurt.
Harry grabbed Peter’s face in his hand and turned it downward. Peter looked deep into Harry’s eyes and Harry was smiling. The bastard was smiling.
“Come here, Liz. Come to me, my love,” Harry said then, and Peter knew. He knew right then that this couldn’t be Harry Osborn. Not his friend Harry. The man he’d shared an apartment with. The man who had died in his arms after their terrifying battle on top in the Osborn Charity Building.* This was not him.
( * In Marvel’s Spectacular Spider-Man #200 – Dino )
“You’re not Harry,” Peter said in little more than a whisper, but Harry reacted as if he’d been slapped. He looked up at Peter with wide eyes and then Liz was there, ripping and tearing at Peter’s face.
“You take that back, you monster!” screamed Liz at the top of her lungs. Peter’s world started to go dark again as she beat at him, and he was afraid he’d pass out again. He fought it. He had a moment to think that, if he didn’t, he might never wake up again.
“Stop it, Liz. Stop it now,” said a voice from behind them and the sound of it brought Peter snapping out of the well of darkness rushing to snatch him as if he’d been shot from a cannon. Peter looked up, and Liz whirled around, and there stood Harry. But it hadn’t been Harry’s voice had it? It had been…
“You can’t kill him, Liz. You’re not here to kill him. You’re here to make him suffer. As you suffer,” said the man that looked like Harry. It wasn’t Harry. Peter knew that now. He had seen it in the eyes when the piece of filth had hit him. Harry was dead. This was…
“Harry?” Liz said with utter confusion masking her face. She hadn’t placed the voice, she hadn’t figured it out, and Peter suddenly felt a tremendous swell of pity for her. This wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.
“No. I’m afraid not, my dear sweet Liz. Harry has been dead for quite some time. And he’s not coming back,” said the man with Harry’s face. Then the man reached up, and shed his skin like some demon out of myth. There was another face beneath it. The face of…
“Norman Osborn,” said Ben Urich as he looked at the photograph being held out in front of him. “I know who he is, detective. If anyone out of diapers in New York doesn’t recognize that face, I’d be shocked to hear of it.”
“The way I understand it, you’ve been assigned to the Rose Goblin,” stated Russ Anderson as he placed the picture back into an inside pocket of his trench coat. Ben Urich nodded his head slightly and Anderson continued. “Do you think there’s any possible connection between Osborn and the Rose Goblin?”
“Well, although it’s never been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, I’ve long believed that Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin,” Ben Urich said and it was Russ Anderson’s turn to nod his head. “Even though Osborn has managed to avoid prosecution, even after being unmasked as the Goblin in public. The Rose Goblin is a new stitch, but I wouldn’t doubt that Osborn is involved in some way.”
“But you don’t have any proof,” said Russ Anderson. Ben Urich crossed his fingers beneath his chin and smiled wearily. It was the smile of a man worn out by the endless battles he’d fought over the years. Battles like that could take a lot out of a man, even when those battles were only fought on the printed page.
“I couldn’t have said it any better myself, detective. But I’ve been assigned a lot of stories in my day. And I haven’t given up once,” Ben Urich said and Russ Anderson reached into his coat again.
“I’d like you to give me a call the second you come up with anything you might feel is pertinent to this case,” said Russ Anderson and held out his card for Urich to take. Urich looked at it blankly and Anderson dropped it on his desk.
“And what would there be in it for me if I shared this pertinent information I might have with you, detective?” said Urich, and Russ Anderson sighed.
“I’m proposing an exchange of information, Mr. Urich. You tell me everything there is to know about the Rose Goblin and her possible connection to Osborn. I’ll tell you everything I know,” Detective Anderson said as Ben Urich regarded him from behind his spectacles. “Anything we dig up, we freely share.”
“That doesn’t sound like good police sense to me,” said Ben Urich as he leaned back in his chair. Anderson frowned and looked down at the newsman steadily, for a long moment neither of them stirred, and then Ben Urich nodded his head.
“I’ll cooperate with you, detective. To the very best of my ability,” said Ben Urich and reached out a hand. Russ Anderson took it.
“There’s another person you may want to speak with, though I’m not sure where he is at the moment,” said Ben Urich and began to resume typing whatever it was he had been working on when Anderson had approached him.
“Who might that be?” Detective Anderson asked. He had been working on this case for far too long, and it was a puzzle, like most. Only, instead of having pieces to arrange in the proper order to solve it, Anderson found he had to search for the pieces of this puzzle. Urich could be one. Osborn almost assuredly was one, as was Spider-Man. If Urich had another under his hat, Anderson would pounce on it like a starving man whose search for food had finally ended.
“Peter Parker,” Ben said. “Good kid, photographer for the Bugle. Don’t let him know I sent you. Just tell him you found he took…”
“Most of the pictures of Spider-Man for the Daily Bugle over the years,” Anderson finished and Ben raised his eyes from what he was typing and stared at Anderson. Anderson didn’t want to smile, but he found it hard to resist. “I’ve done my research, but thanks for the tip. The Parker kid is next on my list. Talk to you, Urich.”
“Yeah, you too,” said Ben Urich as Detective Russ Anderson turned to walk away. The cop seemed on the level, but Ben wasn’t about to hand over all his information to him like some cub reporter, wet behind the ears. He doubted Anderson would be sharing so freely either.
“Urich! Quit daydreaming and get to work!” shouted Jonah from his office and Ben Urich smiled. Then he began to type.
“No. No! I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. It can’t be true,” screamed Liz Osborn, dressed in the attire of the Rose Goblin. Peter Parker watched the destruction of the woman who had been the wife of his best friend right before his eyes, and could do nothing to save her.
“Come now, sweet Liz. You didn’t think that I had you dress like a blood-covered goblin and had you randomly attack Mr. Parker over there because I was actually your husband and that I actually loved you, did you?” asked Osborn and Peter Parker winced at the tone. The effect on Liz Osborn however, was somewhat more dramatic.
“I-I never attacked Pe…” started Liz, but she was violently cut off by Osborn, whose voice was marked with rage, intelligence and good humor at the same time. The voice, Peter realized soberly, of a lunatic.
“Silence,” Osborn said and Liz immediately quieted. Peter looked at her and could see that a part of her was still hoping this was some kind of awful trick. Perhaps she was thinking that it was a ploy executed by the hated Spider-Man himself. Whatever the case, Peter Parker could see that Liz Osborn had lost all touch with reality and was on the verge of burning alive in her confusion and pain.
But Osborn wanted to stoke the flames higher.
“I used you Liz, used you and enjoyed myself as I did it. Think of all the times you kissed loving Harry when he came back from the dead. Think how relieved you were. Think of the first time you let him back into your bed.” Osborn said and then Liz began to scream. It was an ear-splitting shriek that Peter thought would drive him mad. He looked at Osborn and saw that the maniac was smiling at the sound of it. As if the screams of his victim were some sort of fine music that he had been deprived of for too long.
“I used a bit of brain-washing and mind control to guide you along the way, of course, but it took a surprisingly little amount of effort to get you to dress like a demon and to convince you I was your husband. I was quite pleased with the result,” Osborn continued and Peter realized the maniac wasn’t even looking at her. He was looking dead into the eyes of Spider-Man.
“It can’t be true,” Liz said as her scream finally died away. Osborn rolled his eyes as if this were boring him and Peter would have been satisfied to wrap his fingers around the bastard’s neck and squeeze until his head popped off.
“Not that sawed-off old tale again,” said Osborn and walked over to Liz. He crouched down, taking her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. “You said that already, Lizzie. You know what I always told Harry in the good old days? Face up to it, boy. Be a man.”
He let go of Liz’s chin and her head dropped back down. The look in her eyes was unlike anything Peter had ever seen before.
“Of course,” Osborn continued. “Harry never let his father-in-law screw him.”
No, just his father thought Peter, and then all hell broke loose.
Eugene Slodnik walked down the streets of Manhattan with his eyes firmly planted on the sidewalk. Ever since he’d blown up at Jill, he’d felt horrible about himself.* When he’d seen the tears rise in her eyes, he wasn’t sure what to do. She had made his decision simple when she ran out of the club. Eugene stayed at the club for a while with Randy, but he hadn’t danced. He’d even tagged along when Randy was ready to go. But when Randy offered him a place on the couch, Eugene had declined.
( * Happened last issue – Dino )
It would have been the smart thing to do. After all, Eugene was about to do whatever it took to convince Peter and Randy that he was the ideal roommate to board with, except beg, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t beg, but Eugene wasn’t in the habit of doing the smart thing that often anymore. When it came to doing the smart thing, Eugene was batting a big old zero.
So he had walked for a long time, and then he had decided to do what he’d told Randy he was going to do in the first place. Go see his dad. His dad wouldn’t be too pleased that Gene was harassing him at four o’clock in the morning, but he had been demanding his son come around ever since he heard about the stuff that had happened in Indiana. He was just doing as his old man said.
So he’d knocked at the door, and he’d smiled when his father walked down the stairs, adjusting his robe and running fingers through his hair at the same time. His father had smiled too, the second he opened the door, and Eugene knew things were going to be all right, right at that very second.
Genie? What are you doing here? His father had asked and Eugene couldn’t hold back the tears. He’d spilled his guts to his father after that. They’d talked for a long time. He talked about the horror of fighting his roommate Barry back at the University.* He talked about Jill and what he had done. He talked about being virtually homeless.
( * As seen in the M2K Amazing Spider-Man 2001 Annual and Marvel Fanfare #10 – Dino )
He even talked about Spider-Man, remembering to leave out the part where Spidey had revealed his secret identity to Eugene, although that was a good memory.* And then his father had done a wondrous thing. He’d pointed out all the friends Eugene had talked about. Peter, and Randy and Jill. He’d pointed out that he still had a partial scholarship to Empire State University to attend school. He pointed out that even if his new friends didn’t let him stay in their place, he’d always have a home under his father’s roof.
( * As portrayed in Amazing Spider-Man #13 – Dino )
Eugene listened to his father for nearly two hours, and had felt better, a lot better. Then his father got up, patted his son on the shoulder and told him he had to go to work. Eugene nodded, smiling now, and got up to give his father a hug. They’d stayed that way for a while. When they let go, Eugene’s father went upstairs to get ready for work and when the man came back down, Eugene was gone. But he knew his son would be ok.
Now Eugene walked, eyes trained on the pavement, deep in thought. He never looked up, and even if he had, he probably wouldn’t have seen the figure with the flaming skull peering down at him. All for the best, for if he had, it would have meant the end of his life.
Hell consisted of the scream that exuded from the lungs of Liz Osborn as she slammed her fists into the ground and beat at her own body. Peter Parker looked down at the woman and was shocked and horrified to discover that, instead of directing her rage and frustration at the man that had caused her all this pain, Liz Osborn was directing it at herself.
“Liz. Stop this,” said Peter Parker from his helpless position and Liz did stop. She stopped and looked up at Peter with eyes so full of pain that Peter couldn’t even meet her gaze. He lowered them, and perhaps taking it as a sign that he saw something monstrous there, Liz took a pumpkin bomb from the pouch at her side and threw it at her feet.
“Liz! No!” yelled Peter, but it was far too late. The pumpkin bomb didn’t explode however, as Peter feared it might. Instead a sickly green gas sprouted up from the broken shards of it and Liz Osborn dropped to her knees and began to suck the gas in.
Suddenly, the hands of Norman Osborn were on the chains surrounding Peter Parker and they pulled Peter free of the hooks the chains were linked onto and away from the dying form of Liz Osborn.
“No. We have to save her,” shouted Peter, but he could see that it was already too late. Liz Osborn began to bleed from her nose and from her ears. She looked up at Peter, and then Norman with the tortured eyes of a woman about to die and then did the most horrible thing Peter could imagine. She smiled. Her teeth were covered in blood.
“Foolish girl. Got what she deserved,” said Osborn and for Peter, it was the very last straw. He moved and the chains moved with him for as long as they could until they snapped from the strain his muscles put upon them. Norman Osborn looked down at the man he knew as Peter Parker in shock. Only this wasn’t Peter Parker anymore. This was Spider-Man.
“I don’t know why you saved me, Osborn. But I promise you, you’re going to regret it,” he said and then lunged. Osborn raised his arms to shield himself but it was as if they weren’t there. Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man waded into Norman Osborn like an angel set loose upon the wicked from the shining gates of Heaven.
The collision sent Osborn flying through the air and he collided with a sickening crunch against the brick-lined wall of the sewer. Osborn fell to the ground in a heap. Spider-Man didn’t care.
He leapt onto Osborn and picked him up, taking satisfaction in the fact that he was still alive. He reared back a fist to strike and then light flashed into his eyes. A stabbing pain hit his shoulder and he dropped Osborn on the ground, leaping back with all the speed of his spider-reflexes.
He examined his wound, a burn mark in his left shoulder with a morbid curiosity. The flesh was still sizzling. Osborn began to laugh.
“I saved you, Peter, for the same reason I did all of this. For the same reason I do everything. I saved you because your suffering is not over yet,” Osborn screeched and then erupted into laughter again. None of it mattered.
“Your suffering is just beginning,” said Spider-Man as he lunged again. Osborn watched him come and easily dodged out of the way, pressing a small button concealed on the floor as he did. Panels in the wall slid away and spikes ejected from the depressions. Spider-Man was barely able to move his body so that only his feet and hands rested on the wall. His body was uncomfortably angled, but the spikes hadn’t pierced him.
“Bravo,” said Osborn and then punched Spider-Man in his face. Spidey’s spider-sense had warned him, but the blow still connected strongly. Spider-Man was hurled from the wall and onto the floor. His spider-sense was ringing more powerfully than ever.
“I grow weary of this, Peter. Time for you to finally die at the hands of the Green Goblin,” said Norman and pressed another button on the floor. The panels of brick beneath Spider-Man slid away with a speed that Spidey couldn’t believe or comprehend in his drugged state of mind. Below him, a vat of some sort of substance awaited, sizzling and popping menacingly.
Spider-Man fired his web-shooters, connecting with Osborn himself, who was surprised and shocked by the action. Spider-Man heaved with all his strength, and Osborn was pulled to the lip of the deathtrap. Spider-Man was cast deeply into it, nearly falling into it head first. At the last moment he twisted his body, and only one booted-foot scraped the surface. Immediately however, the boot began to melt.
Spider-Man looked up at Osborn, who was hanging onto the edge of the pit. He knew Osborn could easily pull himself up and probably snap the webbing holding Peter above the acid before Spidey could react. Peter wasn’t sure why he’d fired his webbing at Osborn. He just wanted to hurt the man. He just wanted him to hurt.
“It seems we’re stuck in a predicament here, my boy,” said Osborn and Peter gritted his teeth.
“I’m not your boy,” Spider-Man replied. Osborn ignored him as if he hadn’t said anything, and continued.
“On the one hand, I could pull us up and save my own life. Perhaps even give you a chance to save your own,” Osborn said and chuckled. “On the other hand, I could let go. And kill us both.”
“Just pull us up, Osborn. You’re insane but you’re not stupid. This game isn’t over yet. You still need the Spider,” said Peter, only half hoping that Norman would believe him.
“No!” screamed Osborn and the echo of that voice rang heavily in Spider-Man’s ears. “You’re the one who needs the Goblin. I need nothing.”
Peter was about to reply, when suddenly his spider-sense went off. Only it didn’t just tingle, it screamed inside his head. Spider-Man felt the line he was clinging to slacken, just a bit. In what seemed like slow motion, he looked up and saw Osborn release the side of the cavity into which they had fallen. In even slower-motion, Spider-man used his reflexes to fire a web-line at the side of the pit. He pulled on it with all his strength, but still his shoulder brushed the searing acid below him. He had no idea how he had made it to the side, with such little room for error. Then the screams began and he just thanked God he had.
He looked into the acid and saw the Green Goblin. Not Osborn, Osborn was gone. He had slipped on the mask of the Green Goblin as he fell and was screaming and laughing at the same time. Peter watched the horrifying sight of Norman Osborn burning alive for the briefest of moments and then fired a web-line. It connected with Osborn, and for a single second, Spider-Man thought he could save him. Then the web-line sizzled and burst into flames. Osborn let out one last scream. Then it was over.
Spider-Man crawled out of the abyss. His shoulder was still burning and he took off his shirt. The wound on his shoulder was raw from both the laser-blast and the acid. Peter was sure his spider-powers would heal it, but it would take time, and there would always be a scar.
A low moaning came from his right and Peter turned in that direction. All that remained was the still body of Liz Osborn. Peter watched it for a long moment. It stayed motionless. Peter lowered his head and then heard it again, the low moaning sound. He rushed over to Liz Osborn and turned her onto her back. He felt for her pulse. Nothing at first, but then the faintest of beats leapt to his fingertips. He picked her up in his arms. The tiniest glimmer of hope leaping in his heart as he did so. He looked back at the pit into which Osborn had fallen. Then he fired a web-line, and began climbing for daylight.
Not long after Spider-Man had scurried out of sight, a shifting of crimson and white broke the darkness that enfolded the sewer. A form stepped from the shadows, a form with a white goblin-face and a cloak of red surrounding her body. She stepped to the lip of the chasm into which her beloved had fallen. He had told her not to interfere with the final battle, the final struggle between Goblin and Spider. But the battle was over now, and the Goblin was dead and the Spider remained. However, there was still another Goblin left to fight the war. There was still another Goblin left to make the Spider pay.
The Rose Goblin dropped a flower into the pit, and then began to laugh.
Next Issue: Spider-Man has faced quite possibly the most daunting battle of his life and survived. But what happens when an enemy comes that threatens not only the web-slinger, but all the people of New York City as well? Be here next issue as ”For the Death of our Brother” begins.