Back to GatefoldIssue #38 by Bryan Locke
|
"THE FACTS OF LIFE"
J. Jonah Jameson always took a look back at the Daily Bugle before his cab turned the first corner, before the New York skyline gobbled her up. He felt the same satisfaction he always did.
He straightened himself in the cab, loosening his tie. A deep exhale, work was officially over, after almost eight hours overtime.
“Working pretty late, Mister Jameson?”
“Eh?” Jonah looked up. Who? Oh yes, the cabbie must have spoken to him. It didn’t keep Jonah from reclining nicely in the cab. He closed his eyes as the long trip home began, “It always is. How do you know me?”
The cabbie kept his eyes on the road. “You’ve ridden with me before, sir. Guess you just haven’t noticed me.”
Jonah grunted to clear his throat, “Guess so.”
“Anything new on the Spider-Man front?”
Jonah’s eyes flashed open. “No. We’ve been focusing our energies elsewhere.*” It was his practiced answer. The one he gave to all who asked that question.
(*-the Bugle’s been operating under a more honorable philosophy since about issue 24- DeepThroat)
“That’s too bad. It was always my favorite part of your paper.” The cabbie turned a corner rather sharply.
“Yeah, mine too,” Jonah said, bracing himself. “Say, buddy, this ain’t the way to my house.” He leaned forward and tried to make out the cabbie’s ID up front. It was no use; the name looked foreign, if that jumbling of letters made any sense at all.
“Don’t worry, Mister Jameson. With no traffic to stop me, I can take this shortcut...”
“Huh.” Jonah settled back into his seat. He kept his eyes open though.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking—”
“I do,” Jonah snapped.
The cabbie seemed to not notice. “Do you ever wonder if you’re doing the right thing? Your newspaper, I mean.”
Jonah said nothing. He looked back out his window. No, he didn’t know this part of the city at all. The rush hour traffic was fading and the buildings were starting to become more and more derelict.
“Sorry.” The cabbie didn’t bother looking at his fare. “Just a few more blocks. Promise. The paper, though, it’s always been your agenda, right? Yellow journalism. You ever think about that?”
“Alright,” Jonah snarled, “Stop the cab.”
Instead, the cab seemed to pick up speed.
The cabbie continued, “I’ve read your editorials. Seemed like I was reading a Cliffs Notes of your entire paper, you know? You told the truth about Spider-Man, but only to push your agenda.”
“I said stop the cab!” Jonah slammed his fists on the upholstery. “And what’s your medallion number! You better start scanning the jobsites, you—”
The car stopped. Hard. Brakes screeched in Jonah’s ears just before he was flung from where he was sitting (without a seatbelt) into the hard plastic divider.
“You know what I think?” the cabbie pulled forward again and parked alongside a dimly lit curb. “I think you’re just a loud, old, arrogant fool.”
Jonah sat up and pulled at the latch to get out of the taxi. The latch came off in his hands.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jonah peered toward the cabbie.
Finally, the cabbie turned to face him. Jonah pushed himself as far back against the seat as he could. A thick, black, leather mask, like from some kind of snuff film, complete with goggled yellow eye sockets and a zippered mouth hid any recognizable features. His bushy brown hair was obviously a wig.
“It’s a fact of life that actions have consequences, Mister Jameson,” he said.
“You demented freak!” Jonah wailed, “You let me out of here right now or—”
The masked man slid the divider open with one hand, and with the other, a small spray can reached toward Jonah. The liquid hit his eyes before Jonah had a chance to react. Then, the liquid soaked his hands as Jonah brought them up to protect his eyes.
Both began to sear and blister.
“Ack…eck…ahhhh!! Ahhhhh!!” Jonah coughed and scratched at his eyes. “Oh, Christ!”
“You are a fool, and a fitting consequence would be your death. But…I can still use you. No one knows how to draw out Spider-Man better than you, Jameson. I want him.”
“Oh God.” Jonah could feel his eyes swelling up. “Wo the hell are you?”
“My card.” The cabbie reached back over the seats and shoved a tiny slip of paper into Jonah’s clinched, burning fist, “But I’m sure you’ll be hearing about me more and more these days.”
Suddenly, Jonah heard his door unlock.
“Spider-Man. You have an entire newspaper to trace his patterns, his friends, the criminals he obsesses over. You will be my link to him, until I finally eliminate him. Then, I will decide if you have redeemed yourself. Feel free to exit the car at any time.”
“So, what, either way, you’ll kill me, you bastard?” Jonah was going for the door, though his eyes were swollen shut and his hands were cramping. Yes, he got the door open.
“Well…not personally. But I’m about to leave a rich white man on a dark street in a New York City ghetto. Don’t worry, you’ll probably survive. I’ll kiss your wife goodnight for you. Maybe I’ll stop by John’s place, too.”
“You sonova—” Jonah fell out of the cab, still clutching the card in his hand. Noxious exhaust spewed in his face as he heard the car speed away.
He crawled farther onto the sidewalk, trying to force his eyes to open. Finally, Jonah collapsed and took a look at the card that was forced into his hand. He could barely read the faint, plain, black print:
Foolkiller
e pluribus unum
Actions have consequences. Heed the warning lest ye be damned forever to the pits of Hell where goeth all Fools. Act wisely.
“Liz. You’ve gone psychotic. There has to be some part of you that knows that.”
Elizabeth Allen Osborn whistled, “Oooooh, Peter, testy.”
Peter could feel tears welling in his eyes. “Please, Liz. I saved your life. I brought you to a hospital after what Norman did to you!”* Wasn’t there any bit of his friend left?
“The past, Parker.” Osborn snapped at him, “Harry…Norman, whoever, whatever…they were the Goblin. It’s a legacy now, Parker. A legacy you helped set in stone. It’s a fact of life now. The Spider and the Goblin.”
“So is that it?” Peter shook his head. “Another fight to the death? To save Felicia again? Fine. Let’s just get it over with. I’ve got a daughter to think about.”
Liz Osborn moved closer to him in the dank atmosphere of the abandoned Oscorp Distribution Plant. She wore a long, black dress, with a long black trenchcoat over that. But what shocked Peter was her face. The muscles of her face seemed to have been stretched taut into a gaunt expression, her nose becoming pointed and rigid. Her eyes bulged at him.
Peter knew she wasn’t Liz Osborn anymore. She was right: there was only the Goblin.
Liz smiled at him, her lips stretching open like a blister to reveal those crooked, golden teeth again, “Nope. We’ve tried that, Parker! It never works! This passion play of ours will not be over so easily. Someone always survives…because we’re meant to survive.”
Peter stared. He wrenched at his stocks, hoping to take advantage of the monologue.
“After Kafka’s big mistake*,” Liz smiled, “I was absolved of everything. I took a nice long vacation in Antarctica. I needed some silence to sort through everything in my head, you see. There, I realized this Shakespearean dance is perpetual. Instead of fighting against fate, I should embrace it.”
(*-both happened in the seminal issue 25. All hail Exner!- Bryan)
“Liz,” Peter still struggled, “listen to yourself. You’re not making any sense.”
Liz cocked her head at him, “No? Well, then maybe this will explain itself…” She raised a hand over her head and snapped her fingers.
From the darkness behind her, tiny rhythmic footsteps could be heard. A small figure slowly became visible in the moonlight pooling through a shattered skylight. It was a child. It didn’t take Peter long to recognize the boy.
“Sweet little Normie here,” Liz kneeled to embrace him when he was close enough, “is the future of the Goblin name. Just as dear May is the webslinger of the future. Don’t you see what I’m saying? Why I brought you before me? I’m offering you a truce!”
“Truce?” Peter numbly repeated, staring at the zombie child in front of him.
“I’m going to get Oscorp back on track.” Liz said, her face growing quite serious. “I’m certifiably sane according to the New York Psychological Committee, and I do still technically hold Harry’s spot on the Board, as well a significant chunk of stock.
“It’s going to be harsh work, especially if I’m educating Normie about our rich history all the while. So if I’m busy securing my legacy, I expect you to do the same with May. I won’t try to kill you, or any of your friends and family. I expect you’ll do the same. When enough time has passed, and our names will carry on regardless of our deaths, I will come for you…personally.”
Peter blinked. She sounded so…poetic about the whole thing. Peter felt sick to his stomach. All the while, Normie looked on, silently, stoic in his suit, intentionally tailored after his grandfather’s.
“Why are you telling me this?” Peter finally said after a while.
“Because I want you to know,” Liz said, chuckling, “you can’t destroy the Goblin, like the Goblin can’t destroy the Spider. We’re both a sickness, infecting those close to us, spiraling them into our family legacy.
“Know that while you may be happy watching your daughter grow up to take your mantle, the Goblin will always be there to snatch that happiness from you, like you took our happiness from us.”
Peter snarled, “And that’s it?”
Liz shrugged. “That’s it.” She reached into the pocket of her trenchcoat and pulled out a pair of keys. She tossed them at Felicia, still lying motionless on the ground, “She’s awake. She’s either in too much pain to move, or she’s going into shock, but either way, she can let you out when she’s ready. Let’s go, Normie. It’s past your bedtime.”
Peter could now see that Felicia’s unbound form was starting to move slowly. He prayed she hadn’t fallen into shock from the Ghost’s bone-cracking attack earlier.* Then, he watched as Liz and her twisted image of a son walked back into the darkness.
(*- last issue- pluggin’ Bryan)
“No deal!” Peter called to them.
Liz stopped. Slowly, she turned around to face him, “What did you just say?”
Peter was smiling, “You think I’m going to be intimidated by that crap? Fate and legacies? I don’t think so. You can play with your company, you can warp your son like Norman warped you, I don’t care. I’m going to bring you down, whether I have to raise my daughter at the same time or not. This is going to end with me, got that? There is no way in Hell I am going to let a Goblin terrorize my daughter’s future. I want you to know that. Whatever you do, wherever you go, there’s a spider on your shoulder.”
Liz Osborn’s upper lip curled and she looked like she was going to spew vitriol all over Peter. But, slowly, her frown dissipated, turning into a full-fledged smile. She placed her hand back on Normie’s shoulder, led him through the darkness, and Peter lost them.
Peter looked back at Felicia, “Cat? Come on, you with me, Cat?”
“You still with me, Felicia? Just a little farther.” Spider-Man called over his shoulder.
The Black Cat was barely clinging to Spidey’s back, latching to him by a strand of the wall-crawler’s webbing that stretched around his chest.
Spiderman was careful to swing as gracefully as he could, as it was clear Felicia had a concussion. Peter had made a makeshift neck brace out of webbing, but who knew if that really helped. Spidey didn’t know what the Ghost had packed into that punch he threw at Felicia. She had been barely able to stand and toss him the key back at the Distribution Plant. Spider-Man did know one thing for sure.
“I’m going to find him, Cat.” Spidey whipped out another webline, “And he is going to pay for this. He won’t be able to put on that suit, much less—”
“Oh god,” Felicia groaned. “Put me down, oh god, I’m gonna—”
Spider-Man shifted in mid-swing, to pull a graceful arc to the slightly slanted roof of an adjacent apartment building. Felicia slumped off his back, tried to get as far from Peter as she could before she vomited in thick pools across the roof.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” the Cat wiped her mouth, but didn’t look at Spider-Man.
“Don’t be,” Spidey said, gazing back over the city, “Whatever you need. The hospital is just a couple more blocks. We’ll—”
“No.” Felicia stepped back from the contents of her stomach, walked slowly back to the webslinger. “I can get there myself. Get back to your daughter.”
“I’m not going to leave you here.” Spidey grasped her shoulder lightly.
“There’s a fire escape right there.” Felicia pointed to a corner of the roof, “I can get down. Give me some credit. Go home, for God’s—don’t you see how right she was?”
Spidey watched as the Black Cat slumped back down to her hands and knees. “Felicia, you’re just scared. I’ve dealt with the Rose Goblin be—”
Felicia gagged, and more vomit left her throat, “Ackkkhhuuahh.” She crawled backwards from the mess. “You don’t get it! Spider…you don’t have a responsibility to everyone!”
Spider-Man stared at her. Felicia needed to get to a hospital. He didn’t have time to argue philosophy with her…he opened his mouth to say something, but Felicia was there first.
“Can’t you see why some psycho like the Rose Goblin can control you?” Felicia’s pupils were dilated and spittle was drooling down her lips.
“Felicia, please…” Spider-Man walked closer to her, hoping to pick her up.
“Don’t touch me!” Felicia kicked at him, and Spidey jumped back in surprise. “I’m being sooo serious right now, you just have no damn clue. You risked your life and the wellbeing of your child on a faked phone call! You just saved her from the Tinkerer!*”
(*- issue 32- terribly tinkerin’ Bryan)
Spiderman shook his head. “I didn’t know if you were safe, Felicia. I wasn’t going to—”
“You should have!” Felicia yelled, and she almost gagged on vomit. “I didn’t ask to be a part of this…family! What the hell responsibility do you have to my life? None!”
Spider-Man said nothing.
Felicia wearily reached into a skin-tight pocket in her suit. She whipped out a tiny disc. A weak toss to Spider-Man, he caught it no problem.
“That was what I was working on,” Felicia said slowly, taking deep breaths. “Since we toppled the Hobgoblin*, aspiring bosses are bringing in foreign tech to help their stature.”
“Who?” Spidey asked, crouching next to her.
“I don’t know,” Cat said slowly. “I only have one link in my investigation…something called ‘The World’. I was going to tell you if we weren’t interrupted,” Cat smiled a bit, “but I guess I’m taking some time off to…consider some things. You’re on your own.”
“Felicia,” Spidey said, “I’m sorry about tonight. Please, I won’t let—”
Felicia placed a finger to his lips, atop his mask. “There you go again. The weight of the world on your shoulders. Not everything is your fault, Daddy-Long-Legs. Go home.”
Spidey shook his head and tried to lift Felicia. “I don’t think so, young la—”
The Black Cat pushed him back. Hard. There was a growl on her face. “If you don’t go home, right now, I am never talking to you ever again.” She looked dead serious.
Spidey took two steps back. “You better be at the ER when I check tomorrow.”
Felicia nodded and forced a smile. She watched as Spider-Man leapt toward the edge of the roof, and caught himself with a webline, and was soon out of sight, swinging through the jungle of skyscrapers.
“Go back to your web, Spider-Man,” Felicia mumbled as she crumpled into a ball and passed out. “This cat is out for the night.”
His head was swimming. It was all he could do to keep himself focused on the webslinging. His apartment was almost in view.
What was Felicia trying to get at? Are we still partners? Spider-Man thought as he navigated the crowded skyline.
No responsibility to her, or my friends? How can she think that? After everything that’s happened with Mary-Jane, Jill, Russ…and then Gene, Randy and Jonah were put in the hospital for my mistakes! Now Felicia’s in the hospital too!
They are my responsibility. That’s just a fact of my life…like the Goblin said…
One more swing, one more flip, he was on the roof of his apartment building. Spider-Man crawled along the wall of the building, crawling past a few windows before he reached his own bedroom. Peter was relieved to see that none of the lights were on.
Good thing too. Who knows how long I’ve been gone…
Peter’s thoughts instinctively turned to May. Hopefully, her blankets were over her tightly enough; the girl had a tendency to throw all her blankets off when she slept. Spidey slowly opened the window, without a noise, slipped inside his bedroom likewise.
Suddenly, a doorknob clicked! A sliver of light!
Spider-Man had only a split second to react before the bedroom door was open! Jump out the window in case it’s Betty…or, in case it’s not, make sure his daughter was still safe in her crib, and risk being discovered.
Not a hard decision. Check May!
The moonlight shined on an empty crib.
The lights switched on! The door was fully open!
Spider-Man faced the doorway again, his stance lowered to attack. His baby was gone again…whoever this was picked the WRONG time to mess with--
“Ah!”
Betty Brant, grasping tightly to her chest what could only be the bottle-sucking image of his only daughter, May, stared at first in shock at him, but it quickly soured into a scowl.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Betty spat, keeping the child tighter to her than ever.
Spider-Man relaxed his fists, raised them palms open. “Wait…no…it’s not—” Idiot! No spider-sense…idiot!
“Where’s Peter?” Betty was trying not to scream, ever careful of May in her arms, “What did you have him do? Take your stupid photos again? Where is he? The hospital?”
“Nothing like that,” Spider-Man said, and Peter realized how scratchy and bad his voice sounded under the mask. He could think of nothing else to say.
“What then?” Betty probed, and actually took two steps closer to him. “He’s hurt, isn’t he? That’s why you’re here! Because you knew Peter wasn’t coming back tonight!”
“Ah, geez, no, no!” Peter’s mind was racing.
What was he going to say? Shouldn’t he just rip off his mask right now? Wouldn’t that be easiest? Then what? Peter knew he’d just have to hear more about responsibility! Hear another person he loved misunderstand…and Betty would be in even more danger than she was now just being his babysitter, plus she just got a new job and…
Always a perpetual cycle…an undeniable fact of his life: answers are always told in lies.
“Tell me!” Betty yelled.
Spider-Man slumped his shoulders. “Peter’s on his way home. He’s in a cab right now. He…took some good pics of me tonight. Should give him extra money for his kid, okay? He’s worried sick about her and had me get up here to check on you both.”
“Is he hurt?” Betty’s voice was still harsh.
“No,” Spider-Man said quickly. He slightly felt his chest, where the Ghost had seared burns into him just hours earlier, and there were probably bruises on his wrists and ankles from where the Rose Goblin bound him. Still he kept it up. “He’s fine.”
Betty was quiet for a second, just staring a hole into him. Finally, she said quickly, “I don’t believe you. You’re a liar.”
Spider-Man said nothing.
“Get out!” Betty yelled, and this time, May started to cry.
Peter reached out toward his daughter instinctively, and Betty turned from him in disgust.
“I said get out!”
Spider-Man stepped back toward the open window. “Peter will be home soon, you’ll see! It’s okay! Peter does good work for me, so I make sure he’s safe.”
“But he isn’t.” Betty’s retort kept Spider-Man from getting fully out the window. “I don’t know why Peter doesn’t see it. He’ll never be safe with you. He and everything, everybody he loves is in danger by simply associating with you. I don’t get it.”
Spider-Man didn’t say another word. With a light thwip! he was swinging away from the building.
As soon as he got to the parallel building, Peter took off his mask, and dropped to his knees. His chest was feeling tight; air was only getting to him in short breaths.
He wiped at his brow. It was soaked with sweat.
Just calm down, Peter. He tried to focus on the gravelly roof beneath him, but his heart just seemed to race faster. Clean the cuts and burns, drink some water…Betty and May were expecting him, he had to just get his bearings and get downstairs.
But his muscles started to tremble, and Peter couldn’t even keep his thoughts straight let alone his focus. The temperature around him dropped, or at least, felt like it dropped. And his chest, there was such pain, not in the burns, but heavier…
And the words were not his own.
“It’s not a miracle, Parker. I’m probably the person she’d most recognize.”
“You can’t destroy the Goblin, Parker! We’re both a sickness!”
“You don’t have a responsibility to everyone, Spider…”
Spider-Man clutched his chest. He was wheezing now, the air coming in stinging, cold, exhausting efforts. His head pounded, his vision swirled, his body was absolutely shaking. It was so cold…and he was so scared…
“Everything he loves is in danger by simply associating himself with you!”
“There will always be a Goblin, ready to snatch your happiness away!”
“I never asked to be a part of your family! What responsibility do you have to me?”
“Fail…” Peter’s jaw was chattering, and it felt like his teeth would fall out, “I’m going to fail them all…just like…”
“Tiger, you just hit the jackpot!”
“Just remember, Peter, with great power, comes great responsibility…”
Peter was starting to see spots, but he shook his head fiercely, banishing the voices with his own. “Oh, god. What am I doing? How did this happen…how did this happen to me? All my power…I’m not responsible, I can’t be a husband, and I can’t be a good father…what am I supposed to do? I can’t be like you…”
Finally, almost completely drained, every muscle numb, Spider-Man fell back onto the roof. His shivers had stopped, his vision was returning, the throbbing in his head and chest had subsided. His costume clung to him, sweat-soaked.
Spider-Man took another deep breath and sat up. He stretched his hands out in front of him, worked the feeling back to his arms. He coughed. “This sucks.”
Wearily, Peter started to comb the roof for his stash of street clothes, and first-aid kit.
NEXT ISSUE: In light of his panic attack, Peter tries to slow things down. But how can they, when the Chameleon’s in town? And Peter gets a visit from his (new?) landlords…
He straightened himself in the cab, loosening his tie. A deep exhale, work was officially over, after almost eight hours overtime.
“Working pretty late, Mister Jameson?”
“Eh?” Jonah looked up. Who? Oh yes, the cabbie must have spoken to him. It didn’t keep Jonah from reclining nicely in the cab. He closed his eyes as the long trip home began, “It always is. How do you know me?”
The cabbie kept his eyes on the road. “You’ve ridden with me before, sir. Guess you just haven’t noticed me.”
Jonah grunted to clear his throat, “Guess so.”
“Anything new on the Spider-Man front?”
Jonah’s eyes flashed open. “No. We’ve been focusing our energies elsewhere.*” It was his practiced answer. The one he gave to all who asked that question.
(*-the Bugle’s been operating under a more honorable philosophy since about issue 24- DeepThroat)
“That’s too bad. It was always my favorite part of your paper.” The cabbie turned a corner rather sharply.
“Yeah, mine too,” Jonah said, bracing himself. “Say, buddy, this ain’t the way to my house.” He leaned forward and tried to make out the cabbie’s ID up front. It was no use; the name looked foreign, if that jumbling of letters made any sense at all.
“Don’t worry, Mister Jameson. With no traffic to stop me, I can take this shortcut...”
“Huh.” Jonah settled back into his seat. He kept his eyes open though.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking—”
“I do,” Jonah snapped.
The cabbie seemed to not notice. “Do you ever wonder if you’re doing the right thing? Your newspaper, I mean.”
Jonah said nothing. He looked back out his window. No, he didn’t know this part of the city at all. The rush hour traffic was fading and the buildings were starting to become more and more derelict.
“Sorry.” The cabbie didn’t bother looking at his fare. “Just a few more blocks. Promise. The paper, though, it’s always been your agenda, right? Yellow journalism. You ever think about that?”
“Alright,” Jonah snarled, “Stop the cab.”
Instead, the cab seemed to pick up speed.
The cabbie continued, “I’ve read your editorials. Seemed like I was reading a Cliffs Notes of your entire paper, you know? You told the truth about Spider-Man, but only to push your agenda.”
“I said stop the cab!” Jonah slammed his fists on the upholstery. “And what’s your medallion number! You better start scanning the jobsites, you—”
The car stopped. Hard. Brakes screeched in Jonah’s ears just before he was flung from where he was sitting (without a seatbelt) into the hard plastic divider.
“You know what I think?” the cabbie pulled forward again and parked alongside a dimly lit curb. “I think you’re just a loud, old, arrogant fool.”
Jonah sat up and pulled at the latch to get out of the taxi. The latch came off in his hands.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jonah peered toward the cabbie.
Finally, the cabbie turned to face him. Jonah pushed himself as far back against the seat as he could. A thick, black, leather mask, like from some kind of snuff film, complete with goggled yellow eye sockets and a zippered mouth hid any recognizable features. His bushy brown hair was obviously a wig.
“It’s a fact of life that actions have consequences, Mister Jameson,” he said.
“You demented freak!” Jonah wailed, “You let me out of here right now or—”
The masked man slid the divider open with one hand, and with the other, a small spray can reached toward Jonah. The liquid hit his eyes before Jonah had a chance to react. Then, the liquid soaked his hands as Jonah brought them up to protect his eyes.
Both began to sear and blister.
“Ack…eck…ahhhh!! Ahhhhh!!” Jonah coughed and scratched at his eyes. “Oh, Christ!”
“You are a fool, and a fitting consequence would be your death. But…I can still use you. No one knows how to draw out Spider-Man better than you, Jameson. I want him.”
“Oh God.” Jonah could feel his eyes swelling up. “Wo the hell are you?”
“My card.” The cabbie reached back over the seats and shoved a tiny slip of paper into Jonah’s clinched, burning fist, “But I’m sure you’ll be hearing about me more and more these days.”
Suddenly, Jonah heard his door unlock.
“Spider-Man. You have an entire newspaper to trace his patterns, his friends, the criminals he obsesses over. You will be my link to him, until I finally eliminate him. Then, I will decide if you have redeemed yourself. Feel free to exit the car at any time.”
“So, what, either way, you’ll kill me, you bastard?” Jonah was going for the door, though his eyes were swollen shut and his hands were cramping. Yes, he got the door open.
“Well…not personally. But I’m about to leave a rich white man on a dark street in a New York City ghetto. Don’t worry, you’ll probably survive. I’ll kiss your wife goodnight for you. Maybe I’ll stop by John’s place, too.”
“You sonova—” Jonah fell out of the cab, still clutching the card in his hand. Noxious exhaust spewed in his face as he heard the car speed away.
He crawled farther onto the sidewalk, trying to force his eyes to open. Finally, Jonah collapsed and took a look at the card that was forced into his hand. He could barely read the faint, plain, black print:
Foolkiller
e pluribus unum
Actions have consequences. Heed the warning lest ye be damned forever to the pits of Hell where goeth all Fools. Act wisely.
“Liz. You’ve gone psychotic. There has to be some part of you that knows that.”
Elizabeth Allen Osborn whistled, “Oooooh, Peter, testy.”
Peter could feel tears welling in his eyes. “Please, Liz. I saved your life. I brought you to a hospital after what Norman did to you!”* Wasn’t there any bit of his friend left?
“The past, Parker.” Osborn snapped at him, “Harry…Norman, whoever, whatever…they were the Goblin. It’s a legacy now, Parker. A legacy you helped set in stone. It’s a fact of life now. The Spider and the Goblin.”
“So is that it?” Peter shook his head. “Another fight to the death? To save Felicia again? Fine. Let’s just get it over with. I’ve got a daughter to think about.”
Liz Osborn moved closer to him in the dank atmosphere of the abandoned Oscorp Distribution Plant. She wore a long, black dress, with a long black trenchcoat over that. But what shocked Peter was her face. The muscles of her face seemed to have been stretched taut into a gaunt expression, her nose becoming pointed and rigid. Her eyes bulged at him.
Peter knew she wasn’t Liz Osborn anymore. She was right: there was only the Goblin.
Liz smiled at him, her lips stretching open like a blister to reveal those crooked, golden teeth again, “Nope. We’ve tried that, Parker! It never works! This passion play of ours will not be over so easily. Someone always survives…because we’re meant to survive.”
Peter stared. He wrenched at his stocks, hoping to take advantage of the monologue.
“After Kafka’s big mistake*,” Liz smiled, “I was absolved of everything. I took a nice long vacation in Antarctica. I needed some silence to sort through everything in my head, you see. There, I realized this Shakespearean dance is perpetual. Instead of fighting against fate, I should embrace it.”
(*-both happened in the seminal issue 25. All hail Exner!- Bryan)
“Liz,” Peter still struggled, “listen to yourself. You’re not making any sense.”
Liz cocked her head at him, “No? Well, then maybe this will explain itself…” She raised a hand over her head and snapped her fingers.
From the darkness behind her, tiny rhythmic footsteps could be heard. A small figure slowly became visible in the moonlight pooling through a shattered skylight. It was a child. It didn’t take Peter long to recognize the boy.
“Sweet little Normie here,” Liz kneeled to embrace him when he was close enough, “is the future of the Goblin name. Just as dear May is the webslinger of the future. Don’t you see what I’m saying? Why I brought you before me? I’m offering you a truce!”
“Truce?” Peter numbly repeated, staring at the zombie child in front of him.
“I’m going to get Oscorp back on track.” Liz said, her face growing quite serious. “I’m certifiably sane according to the New York Psychological Committee, and I do still technically hold Harry’s spot on the Board, as well a significant chunk of stock.
“It’s going to be harsh work, especially if I’m educating Normie about our rich history all the while. So if I’m busy securing my legacy, I expect you to do the same with May. I won’t try to kill you, or any of your friends and family. I expect you’ll do the same. When enough time has passed, and our names will carry on regardless of our deaths, I will come for you…personally.”
Peter blinked. She sounded so…poetic about the whole thing. Peter felt sick to his stomach. All the while, Normie looked on, silently, stoic in his suit, intentionally tailored after his grandfather’s.
“Why are you telling me this?” Peter finally said after a while.
“Because I want you to know,” Liz said, chuckling, “you can’t destroy the Goblin, like the Goblin can’t destroy the Spider. We’re both a sickness, infecting those close to us, spiraling them into our family legacy.
“Know that while you may be happy watching your daughter grow up to take your mantle, the Goblin will always be there to snatch that happiness from you, like you took our happiness from us.”
Peter snarled, “And that’s it?”
Liz shrugged. “That’s it.” She reached into the pocket of her trenchcoat and pulled out a pair of keys. She tossed them at Felicia, still lying motionless on the ground, “She’s awake. She’s either in too much pain to move, or she’s going into shock, but either way, she can let you out when she’s ready. Let’s go, Normie. It’s past your bedtime.”
Peter could now see that Felicia’s unbound form was starting to move slowly. He prayed she hadn’t fallen into shock from the Ghost’s bone-cracking attack earlier.* Then, he watched as Liz and her twisted image of a son walked back into the darkness.
(*- last issue- pluggin’ Bryan)
“No deal!” Peter called to them.
Liz stopped. Slowly, she turned around to face him, “What did you just say?”
Peter was smiling, “You think I’m going to be intimidated by that crap? Fate and legacies? I don’t think so. You can play with your company, you can warp your son like Norman warped you, I don’t care. I’m going to bring you down, whether I have to raise my daughter at the same time or not. This is going to end with me, got that? There is no way in Hell I am going to let a Goblin terrorize my daughter’s future. I want you to know that. Whatever you do, wherever you go, there’s a spider on your shoulder.”
Liz Osborn’s upper lip curled and she looked like she was going to spew vitriol all over Peter. But, slowly, her frown dissipated, turning into a full-fledged smile. She placed her hand back on Normie’s shoulder, led him through the darkness, and Peter lost them.
Peter looked back at Felicia, “Cat? Come on, you with me, Cat?”
“You still with me, Felicia? Just a little farther.” Spider-Man called over his shoulder.
The Black Cat was barely clinging to Spidey’s back, latching to him by a strand of the wall-crawler’s webbing that stretched around his chest.
Spiderman was careful to swing as gracefully as he could, as it was clear Felicia had a concussion. Peter had made a makeshift neck brace out of webbing, but who knew if that really helped. Spidey didn’t know what the Ghost had packed into that punch he threw at Felicia. She had been barely able to stand and toss him the key back at the Distribution Plant. Spider-Man did know one thing for sure.
“I’m going to find him, Cat.” Spidey whipped out another webline, “And he is going to pay for this. He won’t be able to put on that suit, much less—”
“Oh god,” Felicia groaned. “Put me down, oh god, I’m gonna—”
Spider-Man shifted in mid-swing, to pull a graceful arc to the slightly slanted roof of an adjacent apartment building. Felicia slumped off his back, tried to get as far from Peter as she could before she vomited in thick pools across the roof.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” the Cat wiped her mouth, but didn’t look at Spider-Man.
“Don’t be,” Spidey said, gazing back over the city, “Whatever you need. The hospital is just a couple more blocks. We’ll—”
“No.” Felicia stepped back from the contents of her stomach, walked slowly back to the webslinger. “I can get there myself. Get back to your daughter.”
“I’m not going to leave you here.” Spidey grasped her shoulder lightly.
“There’s a fire escape right there.” Felicia pointed to a corner of the roof, “I can get down. Give me some credit. Go home, for God’s—don’t you see how right she was?”
Spidey watched as the Black Cat slumped back down to her hands and knees. “Felicia, you’re just scared. I’ve dealt with the Rose Goblin be—”
Felicia gagged, and more vomit left her throat, “Ackkkhhuuahh.” She crawled backwards from the mess. “You don’t get it! Spider…you don’t have a responsibility to everyone!”
Spider-Man stared at her. Felicia needed to get to a hospital. He didn’t have time to argue philosophy with her…he opened his mouth to say something, but Felicia was there first.
“Can’t you see why some psycho like the Rose Goblin can control you?” Felicia’s pupils were dilated and spittle was drooling down her lips.
“Felicia, please…” Spider-Man walked closer to her, hoping to pick her up.
“Don’t touch me!” Felicia kicked at him, and Spidey jumped back in surprise. “I’m being sooo serious right now, you just have no damn clue. You risked your life and the wellbeing of your child on a faked phone call! You just saved her from the Tinkerer!*”
(*- issue 32- terribly tinkerin’ Bryan)
Spiderman shook his head. “I didn’t know if you were safe, Felicia. I wasn’t going to—”
“You should have!” Felicia yelled, and she almost gagged on vomit. “I didn’t ask to be a part of this…family! What the hell responsibility do you have to my life? None!”
Spider-Man said nothing.
Felicia wearily reached into a skin-tight pocket in her suit. She whipped out a tiny disc. A weak toss to Spider-Man, he caught it no problem.
“That was what I was working on,” Felicia said slowly, taking deep breaths. “Since we toppled the Hobgoblin*, aspiring bosses are bringing in foreign tech to help their stature.”
“Who?” Spidey asked, crouching next to her.
“I don’t know,” Cat said slowly. “I only have one link in my investigation…something called ‘The World’. I was going to tell you if we weren’t interrupted,” Cat smiled a bit, “but I guess I’m taking some time off to…consider some things. You’re on your own.”
“Felicia,” Spidey said, “I’m sorry about tonight. Please, I won’t let—”
Felicia placed a finger to his lips, atop his mask. “There you go again. The weight of the world on your shoulders. Not everything is your fault, Daddy-Long-Legs. Go home.”
Spidey shook his head and tried to lift Felicia. “I don’t think so, young la—”
The Black Cat pushed him back. Hard. There was a growl on her face. “If you don’t go home, right now, I am never talking to you ever again.” She looked dead serious.
Spidey took two steps back. “You better be at the ER when I check tomorrow.”
Felicia nodded and forced a smile. She watched as Spider-Man leapt toward the edge of the roof, and caught himself with a webline, and was soon out of sight, swinging through the jungle of skyscrapers.
“Go back to your web, Spider-Man,” Felicia mumbled as she crumpled into a ball and passed out. “This cat is out for the night.”
His head was swimming. It was all he could do to keep himself focused on the webslinging. His apartment was almost in view.
What was Felicia trying to get at? Are we still partners? Spider-Man thought as he navigated the crowded skyline.
No responsibility to her, or my friends? How can she think that? After everything that’s happened with Mary-Jane, Jill, Russ…and then Gene, Randy and Jonah were put in the hospital for my mistakes! Now Felicia’s in the hospital too!
They are my responsibility. That’s just a fact of my life…like the Goblin said…
One more swing, one more flip, he was on the roof of his apartment building. Spider-Man crawled along the wall of the building, crawling past a few windows before he reached his own bedroom. Peter was relieved to see that none of the lights were on.
Good thing too. Who knows how long I’ve been gone…
Peter’s thoughts instinctively turned to May. Hopefully, her blankets were over her tightly enough; the girl had a tendency to throw all her blankets off when she slept. Spidey slowly opened the window, without a noise, slipped inside his bedroom likewise.
Suddenly, a doorknob clicked! A sliver of light!
Spider-Man had only a split second to react before the bedroom door was open! Jump out the window in case it’s Betty…or, in case it’s not, make sure his daughter was still safe in her crib, and risk being discovered.
Not a hard decision. Check May!
The moonlight shined on an empty crib.
The lights switched on! The door was fully open!
Spider-Man faced the doorway again, his stance lowered to attack. His baby was gone again…whoever this was picked the WRONG time to mess with--
“Ah!”
Betty Brant, grasping tightly to her chest what could only be the bottle-sucking image of his only daughter, May, stared at first in shock at him, but it quickly soured into a scowl.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Betty spat, keeping the child tighter to her than ever.
Spider-Man relaxed his fists, raised them palms open. “Wait…no…it’s not—” Idiot! No spider-sense…idiot!
“Where’s Peter?” Betty was trying not to scream, ever careful of May in her arms, “What did you have him do? Take your stupid photos again? Where is he? The hospital?”
“Nothing like that,” Spider-Man said, and Peter realized how scratchy and bad his voice sounded under the mask. He could think of nothing else to say.
“What then?” Betty probed, and actually took two steps closer to him. “He’s hurt, isn’t he? That’s why you’re here! Because you knew Peter wasn’t coming back tonight!”
“Ah, geez, no, no!” Peter’s mind was racing.
What was he going to say? Shouldn’t he just rip off his mask right now? Wouldn’t that be easiest? Then what? Peter knew he’d just have to hear more about responsibility! Hear another person he loved misunderstand…and Betty would be in even more danger than she was now just being his babysitter, plus she just got a new job and…
Always a perpetual cycle…an undeniable fact of his life: answers are always told in lies.
“Tell me!” Betty yelled.
Spider-Man slumped his shoulders. “Peter’s on his way home. He’s in a cab right now. He…took some good pics of me tonight. Should give him extra money for his kid, okay? He’s worried sick about her and had me get up here to check on you both.”
“Is he hurt?” Betty’s voice was still harsh.
“No,” Spider-Man said quickly. He slightly felt his chest, where the Ghost had seared burns into him just hours earlier, and there were probably bruises on his wrists and ankles from where the Rose Goblin bound him. Still he kept it up. “He’s fine.”
Betty was quiet for a second, just staring a hole into him. Finally, she said quickly, “I don’t believe you. You’re a liar.”
Spider-Man said nothing.
“Get out!” Betty yelled, and this time, May started to cry.
Peter reached out toward his daughter instinctively, and Betty turned from him in disgust.
“I said get out!”
Spider-Man stepped back toward the open window. “Peter will be home soon, you’ll see! It’s okay! Peter does good work for me, so I make sure he’s safe.”
“But he isn’t.” Betty’s retort kept Spider-Man from getting fully out the window. “I don’t know why Peter doesn’t see it. He’ll never be safe with you. He and everything, everybody he loves is in danger by simply associating with you. I don’t get it.”
Spider-Man didn’t say another word. With a light thwip! he was swinging away from the building.
As soon as he got to the parallel building, Peter took off his mask, and dropped to his knees. His chest was feeling tight; air was only getting to him in short breaths.
He wiped at his brow. It was soaked with sweat.
Just calm down, Peter. He tried to focus on the gravelly roof beneath him, but his heart just seemed to race faster. Clean the cuts and burns, drink some water…Betty and May were expecting him, he had to just get his bearings and get downstairs.
But his muscles started to tremble, and Peter couldn’t even keep his thoughts straight let alone his focus. The temperature around him dropped, or at least, felt like it dropped. And his chest, there was such pain, not in the burns, but heavier…
And the words were not his own.
“It’s not a miracle, Parker. I’m probably the person she’d most recognize.”
“You can’t destroy the Goblin, Parker! We’re both a sickness!”
“You don’t have a responsibility to everyone, Spider…”
Spider-Man clutched his chest. He was wheezing now, the air coming in stinging, cold, exhausting efforts. His head pounded, his vision swirled, his body was absolutely shaking. It was so cold…and he was so scared…
“Everything he loves is in danger by simply associating himself with you!”
“There will always be a Goblin, ready to snatch your happiness away!”
“I never asked to be a part of your family! What responsibility do you have to me?”
“Fail…” Peter’s jaw was chattering, and it felt like his teeth would fall out, “I’m going to fail them all…just like…”
“Tiger, you just hit the jackpot!”
“Just remember, Peter, with great power, comes great responsibility…”
Peter was starting to see spots, but he shook his head fiercely, banishing the voices with his own. “Oh, god. What am I doing? How did this happen…how did this happen to me? All my power…I’m not responsible, I can’t be a husband, and I can’t be a good father…what am I supposed to do? I can’t be like you…”
Finally, almost completely drained, every muscle numb, Spider-Man fell back onto the roof. His shivers had stopped, his vision was returning, the throbbing in his head and chest had subsided. His costume clung to him, sweat-soaked.
Spider-Man took another deep breath and sat up. He stretched his hands out in front of him, worked the feeling back to his arms. He coughed. “This sucks.”
Wearily, Peter started to comb the roof for his stash of street clothes, and first-aid kit.
NEXT ISSUE: In light of his panic attack, Peter tries to slow things down. But how can they, when the Chameleon’s in town? And Peter gets a visit from his (new?) landlords…