Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  She heaved a deep sigh, shrugging one shoulder helplessly. Her fingers tapped mindlessly at the keyboard keys, and Mia was silent for a moment as she considered her next words. 'Peter, you-you're always -t-telling me that it's g-going to be all right. That I-I'll be okay, th-that I'll m-make it, that everything w-w-will work itself out in the end. I n-never had the-the guts to tell you I n-never believed a-any of that. Y-you always h-had so much...s-so much hope, Peter, I j-just didn't get it. I'm jealous, though, I-I want to have w-whatever you h-have that that k-keeps you going like that.'

  'Peter, I've kn-known I was going to d-die for a while now. Y-y-years, really. Nothing you c-could've said or done that would've m-made me f-feel better about it, nothing you h-haven't already been d-doing. It's not your f-fault, Peter, whatever happens t-to me. I just w-wanted you t-t-to know that I'm so glad I have y-you as my family, my b-b-best friend. The Maverick t-to my Goose, o-o-or whatever. Okay, that n-nickname is starting to g-grow on me, but I'll n-never say that to your f-face because I know you'll n-never let me l-l-live it down. B-but that never bothered me as m-much I liked to a-act, I just c-couldn't let y-your head g-get too big. Peter, y-you were always th-there for me, and y-you always had a joke. I can't f-freaking believe how funny you are, b-but thanks for p-pretending my stupid j-jokes are just as good. I d-do try, you know. S-so yeah, this is m-me thanking you, Peter, f-for being you, w-when I didn't always know w-who I was. I'm s-saying it n-now; in c-case I don't g-get to i-i-in the future. I-I don't want t-to regret that.

  'So this p-program I m-made, it's l-like a digital museum. I-I collected all the old f-family photos, our s-school pictures, videos, e-even those silly m-movies we m-made when we were t-ten. I p-put them all on here, a-accompanied by a, er, c-commentary audio file th-thing of what I-I remember from them, m-my favorite p-parts, whatever, a-all that mushy stuff I c-can't do in r-real life. It's all s-supposed to be like… I don't know, an a-autobiography or memorial of o-our life. My life a-and yours. I d-don't think I w-would've l-lasted this long w-without you, Peter.

  'And y-you're going t-to be fine, Peter,' she said, offering a small smile. Peter had to look away for a moment, to ease the new burning behind his eyes. 'I-I know that. You're tough, you know, e-emotionally, in a w-way I'm not. I a-always feel like I'm f-falling apart at the seams, and talking a-about this stuff isn't…easy, n-not for me. But y-you've never b-been afraid of that, a-a-and I think that m-makes you strong. I know it kinda s-sounds stupid, b-because you always get p-picked on, how c-can you be strong, right? But you are, Peter. You're strong, n-not in a way people expect, and th-they underestimate you. I think y-you're g-going to do great th-things, Peter. You'll change t-the world. I just don't w-want t-to slow you down.'

  Then she leaned in, closer to the camera, speaking a little more softly now. 'Because n-no matter what h-happens to me, or t-to you, it's g-going to be okay. It's going to be all right, it'll w-work itself out. I d-don't know if you're angry at m-me because I lied a-and kept th-these secrets f-from you, or h-how bad you're hurting r-right now. But it won't l-last forever, Peter. It'll fade. Maybe y-you can't stop thinking about what happened now, b-but some day you won't feel i-it at all. Hell, m-maybe a day will go by a-and you'll n-never even think o-of me at all. It's o-okay if that h-happens, you know. You're a-allowed to be happy, Peter. You're allowed t-to have your o-own life without b-being dragged d-down by me. So g-go and live y-your life. B-be happy. You deserve it.'

  She took a deep breath, and added, 'All I a-ask is that you d-don't forget me. Just remember ohana.'

  One last smile.

  Then the screen went black.

  It caught Peter by surprise — he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, ragged with tears. Then suddenly, he reached out, grabbed the mouse in some mad attempt to fix things. No, he didn't want it to be over, it couldn't be over! Peter had to hear more, he had to believe these couldn't be the last words he'd ever hear Mia say. It was even worse than when she said nothing at all.

  But that was it.

  Peter fell back in his seat, crestfallen, shoulders slumped. Karen asked, 'Would you like me to replay the video?'

  'No,' Peter whispered, his voice hoarse as he hugged his knees to his chest. His chest hurt with a new pain, unimaginable, an ache that made every heartbeat hurt. He only shook his head weakly, sniffing. 'No, Karen. Just shut it down.'

  October 28th, 2012

  Four months since Peter watched that video, five months since Mia's funeral, he received a phone call.

  This in itself was not unusual. Peter had received plenty of phone calls in his life, and kind of considered himself an expert on the matter. He'd certainly gotten better at them, ever since getting his StarkPhone, but this was the first time he got a call from an unknown number.

  Peter was just walking out of Stark Tower — still in the process of rebuilding after the Battle — when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He did a double-take at the unfamiliar number. 'Who the heck…?'

  See, this was unusual because StarkPhones were specifically designed to automatically block numbers like that — telemarketers, schemers, con-men and the like who would use a bizarre number from a country on the other side of the world.

  Without thinking, he brought the glass to his ear. 'Hello?'

  In all honesty, Peter wasn't expecting much. He figured it was one of the aforementioned illegitimate pursuers of his money, but was surprised when he heard nothing at all. The silence stretched out as Peter waited for a sound, a reply, anything.

  Instead, he heard nothing.

  No, that was wrong. His ears, so sharp now, picked up on an almost untraceable noise.

  Breathing.

  Peter drew the phone back, frowning in puzzlement at the screen. Now this was really weird. He brought it back to his ear, asking again, 'Hello? Is anyone there? Who is this?'

  Click.

  Okay, uh…what was that?

  A new chill had found its way, crawling up Peter's back as he brought the phone down again. Pins and needles in his hands, the hairs rising on the back of his neck; the silent alarm of his Spider-Sense.

  Something wasn't right about this. The breathing…it just, what was it? Something about the phone call, as entirely unremarkable it was to anyone else, had to mean something to Peter. He had learned fast after Ben's death that sometimes extraordinary things happened only too often to certain people, and he was definitely one of them. Knowing better than to ignore this, he spoke, 'Karen, can you trace that number? I want to know where it's from.'

  'Right away, sir,' Karen said promptly as Peter started making his way down the street. The day was overcast, the sun a glazed white orb hidden by clouds as they covered the city, and it rather matched his mood lately. It had been rainy lately, too much for October, another strange thing in Peter's life, although less menacing than the things he usually faced. It was already melting into puddles, draining into the streets and sewers below. His sneakers sloshed in a puddle he didn't see, and Peter jumped back, groaning as he shook his foot of the wet excess. Great, wet socks. This was gonna be a fun walk home.

  Peter had just left Tony Stark's office after learning that Mr. Stark had left the city for the day, citing 'personal issues' as his reasoning for suddenly ducking out of a city and a young hero who needed his guidance. Maybe it wasn't a big deal, but this was the third time so far, and Peter was starting to wonder just what the heck was going on with the guy.

  But all thoughts of Tony Stark and Avengers-related business had suddenly been put aside by this new conundrum.

  'The call appears to have originated from Sokovia,' Karen answered as Peter finally recovered from the awful puddle incident and started walking again, heading towards the subway. He'd love to take the fast route home — his web-shooters were primed just for the occasion — but his ribs were bruised thanks to a carjacker's liberal use of a crowbar last night, and Peter wasn't interested in aggravating it further. It still made him wince as he
hefted his backpack further on his shoulders.

  'Sokovia?' Peter made a face. He hadn't heard of that name in a while. Not since his last history class, which had been last year. He'd taken it with Mia. 'As in that country that no one can get into?'

  'The country of Sokovia has had closed borders for over ten years now, yes.'

  'Huh.' Peter said, before sighing and descending the stairs into the metro station below. The rush of the subway blew his hair all out of whack, and he paused to flatten it out again. 'Why would anyone in Sokovia call me? Seems like they have enough problems on their own.'

  'I do not know, sir. If it concerns you that much, I can alert Tony Stark of the matter.'

  'No, don't bother.' Peter said, and to himself, admitted with some reluctance that perhaps this call meant nothing at all. The rate of odds and all that. One weird thing was bound to have no impact or significance to him at all, from time to time. Not everything was going to turn out like the bite of a genetically-altered spider did. 'It's probably nothing, after all.'

  He didn't know why he was so disappointed with this turn of events, and it wasn't until Peter took a seat in one of the subway cars did he really consider why he felt that way. Why was he unhappy that this one thing, this thing that just sent so many alarms off in his head, triggered his Spidey Sense, just turn out to be…nothing?

  Peter spun the Starkphone in his hand. Maybe it was just a false alarm.

  Maybe he'd been hoping for a miracle.

  October 29th, 2012.

  It had been over four months since Peter watched Mia's video, that had appeared only a few weeks after the Battle of New York. Peter wondered what Mia might've thought about it, of aliens dropping out of a massive hole in the sky, right over Manhattan.

  She would've been right in the thick of it. Hell's Kitchen got hit the worst by the alien attack, after all, but Peter was sure Mia could've survived it, if he reached her in time. He imagined the scenario, like a cheesy action movie, only this time all your favorite characters didn't die.

  Mia would've loved to kick some alien ass. He knew he did.

  Currently, Peter was in Hell's Kitchen, armed with his camera, documenting the damage and reconstruction of Hell's Kitchen. He sat, feet swinging, on the edge of a roof five stories up. It was early evening, the sky just turning a warm orange. It was a cool, bright day, dead leaves piling up on the ground, with the fresh, earthy scent of petrichor in the air after a recent rainfall (and a lovely change from yesterday's weather).

  Plenty of buildings had been destroyed, or at least greatly damaged to the point of being unsafe, but thanks to a mysterious philanthropist known only as Wilson Fisk, Hell's Kitchen was starting to look like its old self again. It might turn out to be a promising Halloween, considering the earlier dour predictions.

  ...Well, except for those obnoxious neon signs, which Peter was now snapping shots of, standing in the alleyway between a derelict gym and a laundromat.

  Peter had been a superhero for exactly five months, two weeks, and three days. He kept count mostly because he still couldn't believe he was alive after being bitten by a genetically-altered spider back in April. He discovered his powers shortly before Mia died, but it wasn't until after did he really start to test them.

  Mr. Stark was still trying to figure out how Peter wasn't dead. Usually if you're bitten by something infinitely deadly and not-at-all natural, there was a good chance you didn't have long to live.

  But just like Bruce Banner survived heinous amounts of gamma radiation poisoning and became the Hulk, Peter Parker pulled through the infected bite and resulting gene-mixing to become...Spider-Man.

  (Not Spider-Boy, or Spider-Monkey, or Underoos, as Mr. Stark liked to call him. It was Spider-Man. Emphasis on the Man part).

  Since receiving the video, Peter hadn't been able to watch it again. No, the guilt he felt prevented him from indulging it. Losing Mia had been bad enough — but then Uncle Ben, less than a month later, in a car hijack gone wrong. And then there was the Battle of New York, a tragedy all on its own… Peter wondered how all of this could happen in his life, all this horrid luck, and somehow none of it was related. But the fact was, it wasn't.

  Like Mr. Stark said to him, 'You just got dealt a bad hand, kid. That's life. Don't beat yourself up about it.'

  Peter squinted through his viewfinder, took another picture. It came out lopsided. He sighed. He wasn't sure if he was ever going to learn how to appreciate Tony Stark's advice

  He knew he was just torturing himself being Hell's Kitchen. But photography was the only way he could relax. Besides, crime was pretty bad here, he could always nab a few crooks if he got bored.

  Peter was here for the buildings, the architecture — destroyed and rebuilt. It was for the school paper. A nice piece on the reconstruction of the city after the Incident. The healing wound, the hardy spunk of New York spirit. A spirit nothing could crush.

  Although it hurt to be in Hell's Kitchen, Peter couldn't help but smile at the sight of civilians helping clean-up; neighbors holding block-wide cook-outs; kids playing basketball in the open court. This wasn't the best place to live, but nothing brought people together than shared loss.

  A buzz in Peter's back pocket.

  'One new email,' Karen said, making Peter wince as he withdrew the phone from his pocket. He always forgot to remember to turn off the voice-over feature in public. 'From an unknown contact.'

  Peter frowned as he opened the message on the phone. Unknown contact? More like unknown language.

  To: Peter Parker Maverkicks6128

  Subject: [No Subject]

  From: Озорной 7999

  я жив

  Соковиja

  - Гусь

  Sent: 2:10 PM (18 hours ago)

  'Huh,' Peter said, scanning the entire message a few times. Something about the username was oddly familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. There was one thing, though, that it probably wasn't a spam email. It looked like a legitimate message, and he doubted the possibility of someone sending this email to him by mistake. 'Karen, what language is this? Do you know where it's from?'

  'No, sorry, sir. The user used an IP anonymizer. However, the email appears to have been written in a Slavic dialect.'

  'Slavic?' Peter repeated, bewildered. That seemed odd for some reason. He didn't know anyone Slavic. 'What does the username mean in English?'

  'Mischievous-Seven-Nine-Nine-Nine,' Karen replied promptly.

  'What?' Peter almost dropped his camera. His mind was still reeling from Karen's answer. 'Are you sure?'

  'Yes,' Karen said. 'Is there a problem?'

  'I-I don't…' Peter stammered, shaking his head. Mischievous? No, no, that can't be right. It has to be a coincidence. How was it that Mia's old username would come back to haunt Peter, after all this time? 'What does the message say?'

  'The message reads: I am alive. Sokovia. Signed, Goose.'

  'G-Goose?' Peter repeated, dumbfounded. No, it couldn't be a coincidence, there was no way. All of this, it meant something — even the number of the username, it was Mia's Oregon Trail high score (and one he couldn't beat). 'Wait, did you say Sokovia? Again? Didn't I just get a call from there yesterday?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'But didn't you say that country had closed borders? I'm pretty sure I heard somewhere that they don't even have open Internet.'

  'That is correct, Mr. Parker, Sokovian Internet is heavily censored and monitored. But the odds of this happening are not unusually low. You are less likely to be eaten by shark. This email may just be a coincidence.'

  'Then how did this one get through?'

  'I'm sorry, I don't know, sir. It appears to be a fluke, although some who can craft an IP anonymizer may be capable of bypassing Sokovian censors. Tony Stark may be able to provide more information. Should I inform him of this email?'

  'No!' Peter said a little too quickly, not that Karen could tell the difference. Bu
t he didn't care either way; he never told Mr. Stark about Mia's first email, and never talked about Mia specifically, and not only would it be weird bringing her up all of a sudden, but he didn't want Mr. Stark to think him distracted, either. Then there was the phone call. Peter wondered if it was connected, or if he was just being paranoid, seeing things that weren't there. That could certainly amount to some concern.