Marvel Novels--Spider-Man

by Neil Kleid

  With his hand on the fifth rung, he realized that last thought might have been Vermin’s. But this time Edward didn’t care. The hunger was upon him, and Vermin squealed in his brain. Edward set both will and fingers on the final rung, steeling his resolve. Should I go up? he asked himself for the final time.

  “Of course I should!”

  Vermin salivated in anticipation. He pushed with both hands, shoving aside the manhole cover, and eagerly clambered up and out.

  NINE

  PETER watched Vermin climb out of the sewer and step into the light. The rain had stopped, the clouds had parted, and the sun washed across Manhattan’s streets, reflected in countless puddles.

  Horns blared, sirens rang. Vermin looked around wildly, disoriented by the light and noise. He darted this way and that, searching for a shadow to hide in, some dark place in which he might find peace.

  Unfortunately for Vermin, he stood in the heart of Midtown—Thirty-Fourth Street, mere blocks from the Empire State Building. Cabs swerved to avoid him, and trucks blared as drivers stared through windshields in abject horror. Vermin reeled and threw up his arms, trying to hide from the harsh, all-encompassing sunlight.

  “Oh no, oh no,” he mewled, frozen with terror. A town car whizzed past, forcing him to back away—straight into the path of an approaching delivery truck. The driver pressed down on his horn. Manhattan’s infamous Cannibal Killer just stood still like a deer trapped in headlights, watching the truck barrel down on him.

  Mere seconds before Vermin would have become a fur-covered stain across Thirty-Fourth Street, Spider-Man swung in and lifted the man-rat out of harm’s way. Vermin went limp, allowing the web-slinger to carry him up above New York’s morning rush hour.

  They traveled northwest to Midtown’s South Precinct. Spider-Man landed on the steps before an assemblage of beat cops, detectives, and idling patrol cruisers. On a good day, Spider-Man had a shaky, look-the-other-way relationship with New York’s Finest. Now, after Kraven’s rampage, Spider-Man had been labeled a brutal killer. Sweating profusely, he steeled himself to leave or fight as the cops closed in.

  No way, Peter thought. I’m not going meekly, letting myself get arrested. Not until I face Kraven. Not until I see Mary Jane. Not until I make sure that Vermin can’t escape.

  The policemen swarmed the duo, pulling guns from their holsters as Spider-Man delivered the mumbling, blinded Vermin into their custody. Two detectives ran inside, searching for a ranking officer. Two others trained their handguns on the pair as Spider-Man wrapped Vermin in a straitjacket of webbing.

  Vermin barely noticed. He sat on the steps, eyes closed, shutting out the burning rays of sunlight and whimpering under his breath.

  “So bright, so bright,” Vermin complained. “Take it away, please, Edward, take the light away!”

  “Listen to this guy,” one of the cops said, astonished. “Whimpering like a puppy.”

  The other patrolman stepped forward, his pistol trained on Vermin’s mouth. “That’s him, isn’t it?” he asked Spider-Man. “That’s our Cannibal Killer.”

  “We’ll need backup,” the first cop said. “Lots of it!”

  “I don’t think so,” Spider-Man replied. He bent down to address Vermin, placing a hand on the man-rat’s shoulder. But Vermin flinched away and hunched over, barely understanding what had happened.

  “Vermin, I’m going to call a doctor. A psychiatrist. Someone who can get you the help you need.”

  “No,” Vermin growled, straining at his restraints. “I don’t want help! I don’t! Not from you!”

  “Well, you’re gonna get it, whether you want it or not.”

  Spider-Man stood up, shaking but happy to be alive. He was exhausted; all he wanted to do was slink home and sleep for days. But he couldn’t, not yet. He had to return to Kraven’s townhouse. He had to dig deep—focus through the continuing plague of visions—and bring Kraven to justice. Most immediately, he had to get out of here before somebody locked him up.

  Clearing his head, taking a deep breath of Manhattan air, Spider-Man walked down the steps and into the street—directly into the swarm of cops.

  Before he could fire a webline and leap into the air, a third policeman—a lieutenant—approached from the building and held up his palm. The lieutenant called out, and the circle of cops closed in. Peter couldn’t fight them all—as bad as things were, he didn’t want The Daily Bugle crowing about how Spider-Man had picked a fight with a gang of cops.

  The lieutenant wasn’t armed, nor was he ordering any of the cops to draw weapons. Peter hesitated, curious but tense.

  “Spider-Man,” the lieutenant said. “I just wanted to thank you for capturing the Cannibal Killer. The people of New York can rest easy now, knowing you’ve put this maniac behind bars.”

  Spider-Man nodded slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The other policemen moved up behind him, surrounding him. He fought the urge to launch himself onto a nearby lamppost.

  “Heckuva thing you did,” the lieutenant continued. “After all Kraven did to you, you’ve still got it in you to bring in this murdering beast.” The lieutenant stuck out his hand, his face turning red. “On behalf of the NYPD, and speaking as a husband and father to two daughters, I wanted to say thank you—and, well, we’re sorry.”

  Spider-Man accepted the man’s hand, gripping it firmly but warily. The other cops broke into applause. The slow, rhythmic clapping washing over Spider-Man, filling him with relief and gratitude.

  The lieutenant nodded, turned, and went back inside. His fellow cops joined him, slapping Spider-Man on the back as they hurried up the steps after Vermin.

  Peter smiled and breathed deeply once again. He filled his lungs and closed his eyes, feeling the sun’s rays dry his sodden costume. He waited for visions of ghosts and graveyards to dance behind his eyes—but they never came.

  And something the lieutenant had said prickled at the base of Peter’s neck. “After all Kraven did to you…” How could the lieutenant have known what Kraven had done?

  Peter looked around, saw that he was alone, and raised an arm to fire a webline. Propelling himself into the air, he twisted his legs up over the parked cruisers and headed north, up above the teeming masses, into the space between skyscrapers.

  He swung downtown, passing a newsstand. Stacks of freshly pressed Bugles presented a large color photo of Kraven the Hunter, decked out in full regalia and surrounded by an entourage of mounted trophies. Opposite Kraven’s picture sat another: two detectives holding up a handwritten note to the camera, standing in a palatial library before a casket that would have been familiar to Spider-Man, had he stopped to look. Above the Bugle photos and the accompanying article had been printed two words in sixty-point type that could have given Peter Parker all the answers he needed: KRAVEN’S CONFESSION.

  But Spider-Man hadn’t read it, and now he was blocks away. He headed downtown, gazing up at the sun peeking between buildings.

  The lieutenant’s words echoed again in his mind. I suppose I’ll find out what he meant after I get back to Kraven’s house. He pressed a stud on his palm, releasing another burst of webbing.

  The worst is over, Peter thought. The worst is over, and I’m not dead.

  Kraven’s demented game—drugging Peter, burying him alive, stealing his life and good name— had tested Peter to the limits of his principles and humanity. But here he was, alive and well, still fighting the good fight.

  I’m not dead, Uncle Ben. I’m still here.

  Of course, he wasn’t sure that Kraven would be waiting at the house. Kraven had said he was giving up the hunt for good, and Peter had a strange feeling that he meant it this time.

  (God, Peter mused, smiling to himself as he felt the wind on his face, the breeze against his exposed, bruised skin. God, it’s good to be back.)

  He wondered whether he could put this off. He knew the end of this business would be ugly and painful. Once he found out specific details about Vermin and Kraven’s victims,
Peter’s guilt would return. He understood that his worries would always be there—the pain of knowing that lives had been lost because he wore a mask.

  But he also knew that the fact that he felt the guilt, that he cared and worried, meant he was more than a mask—he was a man. And though his power burdened him with responsibility, so did his love for humanity. That’s what made him a hero. That’s why, Peter wanted to tell the lieutenant, despite everything Kraven and Vermin had thrown at him, Spider-Man would endure.

  He felt light and free, but he wondered when his mind would blur again with darkness. He waited for his subconscious to attack, for his throat to close up again on hallucinatory dirt. He wondered again whether he would find himself buried in his mind— whether this peace radiating through his body, the feeling of flying above his troubles, might be nothing more than a dream about to be snatched away.

  No, Peter thought. How could it be? How could he envision being trapped alone and underground when he felt so close to the sky? He spun with reckless, graceful abandon over the rooftops. How could anyone feel dead and buried when the sun shone so bright, the sky looked so blue, and there was so much of life yet to be lived?

  He adjusted his swing and turned down a side street toward Kraven’s townhouse. He noted that his breathing had slowed to its usual, only slightly panicked rate.

  God, it’s good to be back. I’m alive. I’m alive.

  It felt pleasant, really, to enjoy the sensation of his own breathing. In, then out. If only I could say the same about the sensation of these wet, disgusting clothes. Also? The smell. I feel like I’m vacuum-packed in week-old sushi. I’m gonna need a blowtorch and a Silkwood shower. And just maybe, a new nose.

  Exhausted but relieved, Peter listened to the reassuring beat of his own heart. Spider-Man was back. Kraven hadn’t won. And now Spider-Man would bring him to justice. Zeroing in on a distant, more ominous sound, Peter spun another web and headed toward the waiting jungle drums.

  EPILOGUE 1

  THE CHILD WITHIN

  “THERE’S nothing to be afraid of,” the voice said. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

  Huddled in a corner of his cell, surrounded by broken crockery and discarded meals, Edward peered through his hands at the wall. Slowly, he got up on all fours and padded toward the camera.

  “That’s it,” the voice continued cheerfully. “Don’t be afraid. I want to help you.”

  Edward sneered and spit at the camera, growling under his breath. “Liar,” he accused. “Liar!”

  The unseen voice seemed offended. “Why would I lie to you, Edward?”

  “Everyone lies! Everyone hides behind masks!”

  “Who, Edward? Who lied to you?”

  But Edward returned to the corner, curling himself into a ball and hiding behind his hands. He decided not to speak, and the voice disappeared for a bit.

  An hour later it returned.

  Edward raved, screaming and salivating, his eyes red and furious. “Eat you up!” He pounded against the wall. “I’ll eat you up!”

  “No,” the voice answered. “You’re not going to eat anyone. You don’t want to do that.”

  “Yessss! Yes, I do! Chew the flesh! Suck the bones!”

  “No, that’s Vermin talking. You’re not Vermin.”

  Edward gnashed his teeth. “Yes I am!”

  The smug voice disagreed. “Vermin is a cocoon, and inside that cocoon is somebody else. Someone who has been hurt.”

  Edward shrank back, turning from the camera.

  When next he spoke, it was in hushed, wary tones. “Don’t…don’t hurt me, please.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you, Edward. I want to take you someplace safe.”

  “Ssssafe?” Eager, disbelieving.

  “Safe and warm. Where you will feel secure. At home.”

  Edward’s eyes flew open wide. “Home? No! Don’t take me home! Not where the Spider can…can…”

  “I won’t take you anywhere that you do not want to go, but you have to trust me.”

  The voice paused, letting its last words sink in.

  “Will you trust me?”

  Edward sat down, mulling it over. “Trust you?”

  “Yes. I want you to close your eyes and let me lead you down a long road. Step after step, farther and farther down the road.”

  “Yes, the road.”

  Edward’s rage washed away, as if disappearing down a drain. His fear dried up, and his eyes began to feel heavy.

  “One step at a time. No hurry, no cares.”

  “No hurry.”

  “And with each step,” the voice said, “you will feel the cocoon melting away. You do not need it.”

  Edward hesitated, then started to ask a question: “Vermin—?”

  “Vermin’s gone, isn’t he?”

  Another pause. “Uh-huh.”

  “Excellent. And who am I talking to?”

  “E-Edward.”

  “Edward. Tell me what happened, Edward.”

  “I—what?”

  “Why are you afraid?”

  Edward flinched, then laid down and nestled his head against the floor. “I’m afraid to fall asleep.”

  “Why?”

  “When I fall asleep, it happens. The bad thing.”

  “Tell me about the bad thing. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Edward glared at the camera. His eyes burned through the glass like red daggers. “Yes. There is!”

  “Edward?”

  “I’m not Edward, I’m Vermin!”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yessss!” He started to rise.

  The voice took on a soothing tone. “Edward, I’m your friend. You can trust me, remember. You don’t need Vermin anymore.”

  Edward settled back to a sitting position. “But—”

  “I’ll protect you. I’ll take care of you.”

  Edward lowered his head, rubbed his crimson eyes. “But I’m so afraid.”

  “I know. Lie back once more. Let’s go down that road again, shall we?”

  “O-okay. But, I’m afraid. Afraid to sleep. The bad thing—”

  “—was a long time ago. It won’t ever happen again, Edward. I promise.”

  Edward whispered from the floor, down on the ground and back in the fetal position. “You’ll protect me?”

  “Of course. Forever and ever.”

  Edward smiled and closed his eyes. The voice went away for awhile then, leaving him alone to rest. An hour later, it gently woke Edward from his slumber.

  “Are you comfortable, Edward?”

  “Not Edward,” he said, sleepily.

  “Vermin has gone away. You’re Edward now.”

  He nodded in agreement, arms tucked beneath his head. “Edward.”

  “How old are you, Edward?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “And where are you?”

  “New York. Oscorp.” Shaky, the last word. Fearful.

  “What are you doing there, Edward?”

  “I’m a research scientist. Genetics. I’m looking for a man named Osssborn.”

  “Osborn?”

  “Yesss. The Osborn. Pushing the limits of genetics. His work...” Edward’s voice dropped in volume, continuing in hushed, reverential tones. “It’s brilliant. Makes me feel like a caveman trying to figure out how to make fire.”

  “And were you brilliant once? Before?”

  “Yesss. I was…”

  “Yes, Edward?”

  “…what was I?” Confused, sad. Edward’s brow furrowed.

  The voice reassured him. “You were brilliant, Edward.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes. A brilliant geneticist. Highly respected. Erudite and sought out. That’s why Osborn hired you.”

  Edward nodded in agreement, and when he spoke again, the sibilance in his voice had disappeared. “Yes, I remember. He flattered me, and I admired him. But—”

  “But?”

  “But he uses people.
Treats them like laboratory animals. Turns men and women into things.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  Edward’s eyes quivered; he continued to rock against the cement floor. His voice unconsciously deepened in timbre. “Horrified. Repulsed. I tell him, but Osborn just laughs. He…cackles…and makes me the next experiment.” Edward closed his eyes again, and ceased his nervous shaking. “The process,” he went on, “is as much psychological as it is physical. The deepest parts of the unconscious…the darkest, most deeply buried sense of self...these dictate what the test subject will mutate into.”

  Edward sat up, scooted back to the wall, and hugged himself, shivering and shaking once more. “Osborn touches something that’s buried so deep, I never even knew it was there.”

  “The bad thing?”

  “It’s-it’s too much. I don’t want to—”

  “Relax, you’re safe. Tell me how you feel.”

  Edward wiped his eyes. “I feel responsible. Like it’s my fault the bad thing happened. There must have been some way I could have stopped it.”

  Edward sniffled and faced the camera. “Why didn’t I stop it? I feel so guilty, like a criminal. Worse—ugly and vile beyond redemption. An animal. Obscene. Inhuman.” His teeth glinted. “A Vermin.”

  He stood, padded toward the wall, and placed his hands on either side of the camera. “Enough. Too many memories. Too much pain.”

  “Don’t be afraid of the pain, Edward. Don’t fight it. Together, we can work our way through it.”

  “No!” he shouted. “Why are you calling me Edward? I’m not Edward!”

  “You are. You don’t have to hide anymore. You don’t have to submerge yourself in him. You can be free, Edward.”

  Edward smashed his fist into the wall, shaking the camera as the impact vibrated throughout the cell. “I’m—not—Edward! I’m Vermin! Vermin! Ssstop trying to hurt me! Stop trying to kill me, because if-if you don’t stop…I’ll eat you! Do you hear me? I’ll...”

  He pounded against the wall, waiting for someone to answer, to react to the sudden burst of violence. There was no response. Moments later, emotionally drained, he returned to the corner and began to sob.