Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  '...And what am I looking at?' Peter squinted at the screen — it was Ned's Google inbox, and nothing about it seemed to have anything to do with Mia. Just bringing up the name unwarranted was enough to sour his mood a little.

  'That!' Ned jabbed a finger to the left of the screen, at the list of contact names. Mia's was at the top. 'Someone logged into her account less than thirty minutes ago!'

  'What?' Now Peter was paying attention. He frowned, peered closer at the screen. Then turned to his own computer, brought up his inbox to compare. Mia's name was also at the top, indicating the account had been active recently. 'How? Who could've logged in? No one knows her password.'

  'Hell if I know,' Ned could only shrug. 'Maybe she got hacked?'

  'Who would want to do that?'

  'Whoever said this,' Ned replied, bringing up a chat box with Mia's account. 'It took me a few minutes to realize she was on, you know? I didn't really think about it, but then I got excited! I sent them a message to see what the hell was going on. I thought maybe it was a glitch or something, because they didn't reply at first, but then…'

  Ned seemed at a loss for words, as he scrolled down his own messages, to what her account replied with. Just one sentence, repeated each time with Ned's final replies.

  Show me the way home, honey.

  'I have no fucking idea what it means,' Ned said, breaking his mother's rule of no swearing. Peter decided the action appropriate, given the circumstances. 'And when I tried to video chat them, to see who it really was, all I got was this fancy room with a crystal chandelier. The hacker got out of the way just in time.'

  He pulled up a screenshot of the video chat, showing what was indeed an ornate room, with blue brocade wallpaper and coffered ceilings, gold leaf on the moldings. The couch directly in the foreground was empty, with the indent of a recently vacated seat. The only sign of the user was a blurry hand leaving the far right of the screen. In the back of his mind, Peter thought how odd the bruised knuckles were.

  'But I didn't hear anything,' Ned concluded sadly, slumping onto Peter's bed, hanging his head. 'Wasn't fast enough, I guess. I'm sorry, Peter, I wish I had more to show you.'

  But Peter wasn't disappointed. His eyes flicked between the screenshot and Ned's chat box. Something about those words. It just seemed so familiar to him…

  His eyes glanced over Mia's email address: Gooseontheloose

  And then it clicked.

  'Holy shit,' Peter breathed, reading that same sentence over and over again. No way… 'I can't believe it.'

  'What? Does it mean something?' Ned asked, his head picking up sharply. His eyes flicked between Peter and the screen, confused. 'What am I missing here?'

  'It's a quote from TOPGUN!' Peter exclaimed, and at Ned's blank look he quickly explained. 'It's one our favorite 80's movies! It's where we got our nicknames! Maverick and Goose?' Peter jabbed a finger at Ned's screen. 'That's one of Goose's lines in the movie! It's from Mia!'

  Ned just stared at Peter, and blinked rapidly when Peter grabbed him by the shoulders and said, 'She's alive! She's still alive!'

  That's when it finally dawned on Ned. His mouth opened, slowly at first, then dropped hard. 'Oh, my god. Oh my god! Mia's alive!'

  They said this together, jumping up and down in excitement. This was the first real good news they've had in weeks — maybe even months. All of Peter's doubts were wiped away in an instant, replaced with an indelible hope, to the point that he couldn't help but positively leap for joy. He had to tamp down on it a little, before he ended up sticking to the ceiling.

  Then Ned stopped, gave Peter a funny look. 'Wait, you named Mia after the best friend that died in TOPGUN?'

  Peter froze, caught off-guard, then finger-gunned at Ned. 'You know, never really thought about it until now.'

  'Wow.' Ned said, making a face. 'Wait, how come I never got a cool nickname?'

  Peter dropped his arms, stupefied. 'Seriously? This is an issue right now? Okay, fine, you can be Iceman.'

  'No way! Iceman was the asshole! He wasn't Maverick's real friend!'

  'Well!' Peter was sidelined by momentary frustration. Then it came to him, and he snapped his fingers, 'Oh, how about Merlin?'

  Ned pursed his lips, considered it, then gave a satisfied nod. 'Yeah, Merlin. The underrated wiz. I can dig it.'

  'Boys?' May called, making the both of them jump. 'Is everything all right in there? What's all that shouting about?'

  'We're fine!' Peter called, flushing a little. A part of him felt guilty, keeping all of this from Aunt May. She didn't know about the email, or Peter's suspicions about Mia. He wanted to, certainly, the same way he wanted to tell May about being Spider-Man; but he didn't, and for the same reason: he didn't want to hurt Aunt May. Chasing after wild theories, in denial about some of the worst tragedies of his life, and on top of it all he was superhero vigilante risking his life stopping crime? At only fifteen years old? Aunt May would have an absolute conniption.

  He heard May sigh, as if the answer wasn't satisfying, but she knew it was the only one she was going to get. 'If you say so...'

  Once they were sure she was gone again, Ned spoke: 'But wait, if it's really Mia, why would she hide from the camera?'

  'I don't know,' Peter admitted, which was the truth. There was nothing else he could respond with to Ned's rising doubt.

  He couldn't even begin to fathom what might have really happened to Mia. But intuition told him that something must be wrong, for her to be alive this whole time, but missing… and how no one but he and Ned knew about it. All he could think about was the bruises on that hand; a hand that had to be Mia's.

  The first tiny sign of life he saw of her, and she was hurt. 'She sent you a message she knew only I'd be able to figure out. She could've just said straight out she was alive to you, but didn't. Something must be going on, Ned. Something bad.'

  'What do you mean?' Ned asked, raising an eyebrow. 'You think she's afraid of something?'

  'Or someone,' Peter glanced back at the laptop. 'This is the second message she sent me in three weeks, not counting the weird phone call I got. She used something like a code each time. The first time, she said she was in Sokovia. A few days later, civil war breaks out in Sokovia's capital city, and we get a crazy Times article a week after about superpowered teenage rebels. Then just yesterday, France was attacked, and now we're getting another message from Mia. It can't be a coincidence.'

  Ned was silent for a long moment. A line formed between his brow as he battled with his inner thoughts. His next words were cautious, almost scared. 'Peter, France was attacked by terrorists. The Ten Rings. Are you saying she's involved somehow?'

  The thought was almost too daunting to consider. How could Mia, the small, sickly girl who never did anything worse beyond sneaking out of the house for some ice-cream, his best friend, his wing-woman, wound up tied to several violent(!) international incidents and terrorist organizations? But Peter was having a hard time believing anything else.

  'Yes.' Peter eventually said, knowing he wasn't going to like Ned's pinched expression, the sharp breath. 'I don't know how. But it's been six months. A lot can happen in six months.'

  Confirming it meant they both had to acknowledge and act on that belief. It meant that they were heading in a direction that none of them wanted, ever expected to go in.

  There was a certain irony to it, though. Mia was alive, but at the cost of some phantom danger revolving around her.

  Ned took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he steeled his nerves, then nodded slowly. It seemed he couldn't see any other option, either. 'Okay. Okay, I can handle that. Mia's an international fugitive, she fought in a civil war and she may or may not have helped explode a boat. Totally normal coming-of-age story. What now?'

  'What now?' Peter repeated, equally confused. He had no idea what to do. It wasn't like he could find Mia — she was keeping her location a secret for a reason. 'I guess we wait. We wait for the next
sign.'

  'And how we will know what it is?'

  Peter could only shrug. 'We'll know it when we see it.'

  November 10th, 2012

  8:12 AM

  London was attacked early that next morning.

  Not that Peter was aware of this at the time. Morning in London was still middle of the night in New York City. The sun had not yet reached their shores, but the news would be waiting when it did.

  Normally, on weekends, Peter would sleep in until ten or later. Today, however, he found himself wide awake at 7:19 AM (according to his StarkPhone), and unable to close his eyes for longer than five minutes. He tried so hard to go back to sleep — Ned was still snoring away above him in the top bunk, and there was absolutely nothing to do at this hour. But Peter couldn't relax. He knew something was wrong, before ever knowing why.

  This notion nagged at him mercilessly. It was akin to the feeling when you're sitting in the hospital, awaiting news from the doctor, but not knowing who was hurt or how it happened — and you were absolutely helpless in the entire matter.

  Eventually Peter found this strange, tense boredom unbearable, so he rose from his bed. Leaving Ned behind to dream in peace, he shuffled into the kitchen, the chill of the tiles seeping through his socks — starting to regret this decision, and maybe just go back to his warm bed — when Peter noticed May was in the living room, utterly silent in front of the TV.

  'May?' He said, voice echoing thinly, hollow across the room.

  She didn't respond. Maybe didn't hear him. Drawing nearer, all Peter could see was the back of her head, dark hair pulled up into a messy bun. She was hunched forward on the couch, a mug of coffee in her hands.

  'May?' Peter asked again.

  That's when he finally looked at the TV screen.

  Really looked at it.

  Smoke and fire engulfing the identical towers of London's iconic bridge. The gaping, jagged hole torn through the center of the structure, the wreckage of the steamer ship beyond. Shots of stunned citizens, rushing police cars, a caravan of fire trucks, lines and lines of ambulances darting in and out of the surrounding streets. Helicopters circling helplessly, their rotors tossing the thick smoke away.

  Nothing but still, awful silence as he and May watched in shared horror.

  The voice of the BBC anchor filtered through to Peter's ears only after he took this all in: '...the number of casualties is still unknown. But Scotland Yard has officially confirmed the initial crash of the ship was caused through a mechanical failure. The drawbridge was sabotaged so it would fail to rise in time, resulting in the catastrophic collision you see here. Two separate bombs were detonated at the same time, trapping the civilians caught in the center of the bridge. Immediately after, a helicopter arrived, and released what appear to be rogue combatants, as you can see from this footage taken from a civilian phone camera. The image is too far away to identify anyone, although rumors persist that civilians fought back, but no one matching their descriptions were apprehended by the police. As of yet, no one has claimed responsibility, but the Prime Minister has confirmed this to be a deliberate act of terror. Our sources say that the Ten Rings may be involved — this only recently after the bombings in Nice, France. We will keep you updated as the situation develops…'

  'What happened?' Peter whispered, as though he hadn't just listened to the anchor. But he didn't want to hear it from him.

  Was this it? Peter wondered to himself. Was this the next sign?

  And his second thought: When was this all going to end?

  It didn't matter that it was in another city, another country. It still felt too close, too raw. It was only this spring that New York was attacked again — buildings toppled, people killed, helpless mangled emotions besieging the populace.

  Aunt May jumped, pivoting around on the spot to take in Peter. Her hand flew to her chest as she gasped, 'Oh, Peter! You scared me.'

  'Sorry,' Peter ducked his head in chagrin. He came down to sit next to May. Without a word, she put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close. He didn't expect May to answer his question. It seemed unfair to expect her to know.

  Still, May tucked his head under her chin, and sighed.

  'It's been a long year,' was all she said.

  November 13th, 2012

  8:35 AM

  Peter wasn't sure he'd ever get another message after that. It occurred to him, after the attack on London, that whatever danger Mia was in might catch up to her before she ever got home.

  He didn't want to let go of his hope so soon. He didn't want to lose faith in Mia's tenacity.

  He was afraid he didn't have a choice.

  By the time Monday came around, and no further word from Mia (or what he believed to be her), Peter had just about given up on the idea. Maybe he was crazy, for believing so hard. Maybe it was normal, to deny it, even to this point, to believe that somehow the crazy happenings in Europe had anything to do with his dead cousin — as if it were any evidence that she was somehow still alive.

  Anyone, anyone who wasn't Ned, would've told Peter he was being delusional.

  Maybe it was time to accept the truth.

  Then he got an email during AP Physics.

  Well, it popped up in his inbox last night, but Peter didn't get a chance to look at it until he opened up his laptop during First Period, right after the bell rang. Looking at email was fine during class, so long as the teacher wasn't speaking, so Peter took the opportunity to look at it.

  His heart skipped a beat when he read the address line.

  Ozornoy7999

  Goose.

  Ned had just flopped in the seat next to him when Peter practically smashed the keypad to open the email. 'Hey, dude, what's up?'

  Peter didn't hear him. All he could do was stare at the message Mia had left him.

  Ned poked him in the shoulder. 'Hey, are you all right, Peter? What're you looking at?'

  Peter could barely move. A part of him was too stunned to speak. Mia was still alive! She sent him another message! And, like clockwork, it appeared right after another disaster.

  'Peter?' Ned prompted again, before peeking at his screen. 'Why are you staring at a picture of John F. Kennedy?'

  All he could do was turn his head, eyes wide towards Ned. His words were a hoarse whisper. 'It's from Mia.'

  'Holy shit!' Ned said, then slapped a hand over his mouth and ducked down before Mrs. Fleming could pick out who said it. In a lower register, behind his hand, Ned repeated, 'Holy shit! For real? What else does it say?'

  'Nothing,' Peter said, a frown pulling down at his mouth as he scrolled down the email, to find nothing but the word 'Goose' typed as her callsign. 'That's it. She just sent me a picture of this guy. But I have no idea what it's supposed to mean.'

  'It's not another reference to a movie?' Ned asked, frowning. At the front of the class, Mrs. Fleming began drawing a schematic on the whiteboard, along with an equation.

  Peter was only half-paying attention. He said, 'No, not that I can think of. Most of the stuff we watched were from the 80's, or later. Nothing with JFK.'

  'Well, Mia got pretty good grades in history class,' Ned pointed out. 'Maybe its her favorite president?'

  'Her favorite president is Theodore Roosevelt,' Peter said absentmindedly. 'Even if it was Kennedy, it still wouldn't tell me what she meant by it. What does it have to do with her getting home? Maybe...maybe there's something famous in Europe, named after him? Since that's where she is, if she's still alive.'

  'I can't think of anything,' Ned could only shake his head, brow knit in frustration. 'I don't know, man, are you sure it's Mia? That's not her email.'

  'She made it three weeks ago,' Peter said, starting to feel like he was treading water. This might be the last message he got from Mia in a while, and he couldn't figure it out. Why was she being so vague? 'She's afraid of something, remember? Probably knows whoever's after her would be monitoring her old accounts.' />
  'Okay, fair enough,' Ned said, nodding to himself. He didn't speak for a moment when Mrs. Fleming faced the class with a question. He waited until it was answered before speaking in an undertone again, 'It's gotta be a code, right? Maybe something that spells JFK. Like, uh, I don't know… Jet-Propelled False Kilometers? Nah. Well, she's into coding, so maybe… Java Format Kernel? No, that doesn't make any sense —'

  'Is there something interesting you'd like to share with the class, Ned?' Mrs. Fleming called, making Ned shoot straight up in his seat, red in the face. She cocked an eyebrow at him. 'I hope I'm not straining your attention.'