Spider-Man

by Stefan Petrucha

Warned by his spider-sense, Spider-Man leaped for cover as half the basement ceiling collapsed. Silvermane’s legs were pinned beneath a mass of concrete and steel. Ignoring the danger and his own pain, Spider-Man raced over and pulled at the debris. His spider-sense wailed again, telling him that the horrid moans above meant that the warehouse had yet to finish dying.

  As Peter tugged at the old man’s form, Silvermane’s eyes swam in his head. The fingers of his one free hand wriggled, as if he was trying to remember something he’d heard.

  “Hey, Bugsy, what do they call it? You know, that animal that walks on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three at night? What do they call that? It’s like some big secret, and I feel like if I just figured it out, I’d be rich forever.”

  And then he closed his eyes.

  The glow was gone. He looked dead. Spider-Man frowned and continued trying to dig him out.

  There was another roar from above, echoed by his spider-sense. What was left of the ceiling looked ready to cave in. Before he could free him, Manfredi’s eyes opened again, this time glowing only with the same black, boundless hunger they always had.

  He croaked his last/first words: “Who are you?”

  The remains of the ceiling fell. Spider-Man tried to stand his ground, but his spider-sense, no longer content to warn him, hurled him away. The final tons of wall and roof crashed into the basement, smothering the fire, destroying the charred memory palace, leaving nothing.

  * * *

  BLOCKS away, Vanessa Fisk gripped the tablet and watched the warehouse fall in on itself. The remnants of the fire glowed briefly, then faded, leaving behind a huge, black, empty spot like a missing tooth in a giant’s maw.

  She turned to the human giant at her side. His arm was bleeding, his clothes torn from his efforts to protect her. His head was down in submission, but he kept stealing sideways glances at her.

  In a way, he reminded her of Wilson: They shared a powerful, physical presence. But the obvious differences made her ache all the more for her husband.

  “Michael, I had no idea how you felt. If I had, I would have told you there is only one man for me.”

  “I get it. You don’t have to say nothing. Matter of fact, I really wish you wouldn’t. I should go.” He began to walk off.

  “Wait, I haven’t paid you.”

  He kept walking. “Nah. I don’t want it.”

  His receding form grew less distinct, fading into the rest of the night-shapes. Vanessa Fisk let out a lonely sigh.

  “Yeah, I kinda feel bad for the big lug, too.”

  She spun. Spider-Man was hanging upside down behind her.

  “You survived.”

  “Near as I can tell.” He shrugged in that sheepish way some young men had, before age made them more certain. “Life’s but a dream, right?”

  “And Silvermane?”

  “Buried, or…I don’t know. I couldn’t find him. Believe me, I tried, but all I could see was fire.” He crossed his arms. “It’s not like you were hard to find. You could have been out of the city by now.”

  “I decided to give this to you.” She handed him the tablet.

  He took it. “Don’t want to say I told you so, but I was hoping you’d see the light, to coin a phrase.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t think you were lying when you explained how the elixir worked, but I didn’t completely understand what Silvermane had become until he dove into the flames. It’s not a fate I’d want for anyone, let alone my husband. I’ll have to find another way.”

  “Wish I could wish you luck with that, but, you know.”

  She did. She did know. But she also hoped she could prove him wrong someday, that the rest of the world could see the same man she knew.

  Spider-Man turned his back to her and placed the stone back in its silver case. He was exhausted and hurt, making it easy for her to step into the shadows— and disappear.

  TWENTY-NINE

  IT WASN’T the first time Peter Parker had stumbled through a morning with his entire body aching, and he held no illusion that it would be the last. He’d left the tablet with S.H.I.E.L.D. and decided he’d rather not know where they were taking it.

  After all, Vanessa Fisk was right. The tablet’s formula was too risky to use on anyone—including Aunt May.

  Whatever notes Silvermane had on me were destroyed with the warehouse. And if he somehow survived, hopefully he won’t remember Peter Parker at all.

  The relief about his identity lasted only long enough for his worries about Aunt May to flood back. At least he had no classes today; he could spend the day by her side, where he belonged.

  And if Anna Watson wants to glare at me the whole time, so be it. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Well, maybe it does, but I’ll get used to it.

  He did have to make one stop first, and it wasn’t to make excuses.

  He expected Professor Blanton to be wary. But when Peter knocked on the frame of his open office door, the man looked like he might throw himself out the window to get away.

  “Sorry! Professor, please. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just want to speak with you for a second.”

  Blanton nodded. “Peter, come in. I…have a class in five minutes, but…I’ll cancel it if you like. Dear heaven, you’re not here to ask me to hold on to drug money…?” His gaze kept darting over Peter’s shoulder, as if expecting Silvio Manfredi to turn up.

  Peter went wide-eyed. “No! Never! The opposite! I want to tell you that you don’t have to worry about making any special concessions for me. I don’t want you to. I mean, you know, aside from what you’d normally do for any student.”

  Blanton raised a single eyebrow. “That sounds… noble, Peter, but what if…certain people…don’t share your ethics?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to say. It’s no secret I take photos of Spider-Man. The crooks who threatened you were trying to use me to get to him. Believe me, sir, I had no idea they’d approached you. But Spider-Man assures me it’s all over. The bad guys are gone, and I am so, so very sorry that you were ever involved at all.”

  Blanton didn’t completely relax, but at least he no longer looked like he wanted to hide under his desk.

  “If you want to fail me, or bring me up for academic suspension again, I completely understand. While I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities I’ve been given here, I know I’ve been a terrible student, and I’m ready to accept the consequences.”

  Blanton picked up a red pen and rapped it on his desk. “They’re gone?”

  “Completely. You have my word.”

  Blanton paused. He glanced down at the paper he’d been correcting and made a big red X through the first response. It seemed to please him; by the time he looked back up, he seemed much more his old self.

  Wait. Is that my paper?

  “Your aunt is sick, Mr. Parker, and I’m not a monster. Besides, the committee would think me insane after I dropped the suspension recommendation the first time. There will be no further proceedings for now, and the extension will remain in place.”

  “Yes!”

  “But it will be the last one.”

  “Understood. Thank you.”

  Peter backed out quietly. He was halfway down the hall when his phone buzzed.

  It was a text from the hospital, asking him to call immediately. Why would they be trying to reach him? Unless…

  No. No, no, no.

  He felt as if his finger was moving through molasses as he hit the speed-dial. Between each ring, a lifetime passed. Thankfully, he didn’t have to go through the nurse’s station. Dr. Bromwell himself picked up.

  “Good news, Peter. The Obetical is working perfectly. Her bilirubin levels are already up, and by morning we’ll be bringing her out of the coma.”

  Peter shook his head, not sure he was hearing correctly. “You’re saying she’s out of danger?”

  “Well…yes.”

  The relief flooded him so quickly he couldn’t help but laugh. “That�
��s fantastic, Doc! But I’m confused. Obetical is that experimental treatment, right?”

  “Yes, of course. Your aunt signed off on any treatment when she agreed to the induced coma.”

  “But we can’t afford it. Hard to believe the insurance company would change its mind.”

  “No. Vanessa Fisk paid for it. She left a note for you saying that you’d done your best to live up to your side of some agreement, even if the results weren’t what she’d hoped for.”

  Marko was right. She is a classy lady.

  * * *

  THE HISSING respirator filled her ears, the great chest rising and falling before her eyes. Vanessa Fisk sat stiff-backed on a plush chair by her husband’s bed, still trying to decide whether he was somehow still here—whether, despite her previous doubts, he could hear her. There wasn’t any particular moment at which she changed her mind, but eventually she started speaking.

  “Wilson…I wanted to die without you. I know we’ve said that to each other a thousand times, but this was different. The hole you’d left behind was so deep, I wanted to close my eyes and fall in. The only thing that stopped me was knowing that Richard would blame himself for that, too. So I went on, but I was moving through my days the same way that machine makes you breathe—mechanically, soullessly.

  “Then, almost by accident, I was given hope. And even though it was a false hope, it made me face the world again. The more I did, the more I realized you were still there—in the unanswered calls of my heart, the photos of Richard’s face, even in the men who remind me of you more by their differences than their similarities. That will never, never be enough to make me happy—but it is enough to make me keep searching for a way to bring you back.”

  A squeak against the tiles outside made her turn toward the door.

  It was just a nurse, pushing a rubber-wheeled cart. It reminded her of a certain worried young man she’d glimpsed running down the hall just a week ago.

  She wondered how things would work out for him.

  * * *

  A HALF hour later, a deeply relieved Peter arrived at his aunt’s bed in ICU.

  The moment she saw him, Anna Watson rose to leave.

  “Please, Mrs. Watson, stay,” he said. “You’re family.”

  She glared and walked out.

  He sat there the rest of the day and through the night, holding Aunt May’s hands, rubbing them to keep them warm, watching the yellow fade from her skin. He thought of the games they’d played with Uncle Ben when he was a child, of the sandwiches she’d made for his lunch. He told himself that even if Doctor Octopus were terrorizing Midtown, or the Rhino were robbing a bank—even if the world were ending, for once someone else would have to deal with it.

  There was no more important place for him to be.

  Near dawn, Dr. Fent stopped the pentobarbital drip that kept May Parker in the induced coma. When she said his aunt would likely be awake in an hour or two, he decided Anna Watson should be there when her best friend opened her eyes. He called Mary Jane and asked her to convince her to return.

  In short order, MJ arrived with Anna—and Harry Osborn and Flash Thompson.

  Peter rose to greet them. “Wow, MJ. I knew you could be convincing, but…”

  She grinned. “I just knew Flash felt bad about that coward crack, and I figured friends should stick together. Besides, they weren’t doing anything other than sleeping, right boys?”

  Harry grunted.

  A yawning Flash mumbled something along the lines of, “Glad your aunt’s doing better.”

  Though clearly relieved, Anna Watson still wouldn’t look at him. “No thanks to you.”

  “Anna Watson!”

  The voice came from the bed. It was Aunt May, struggling to raise herself into a seated position.

  Grinning, Peter rushed over. “How long have you been awake?”

  She smiled and patted his hand. “A little while. It was so peaceful with you here by my side, I didn’t have the heart to say anything.”

  Her smile faded when she turned her blue eyes on the woman behind her nephew. “Anna, I don’t care how long we’ve been friends. If you ever want me to speak to you again, you will apologize to my nephew this instant!”

  Peter tried to get her to lie back down. “Take it easy! She was just concerned about you. She doesn’t owe me an apology for anything!”

  She swatted his hands away. “Oh, yes she does! For years I said nothing while those ruffians bullied you at school, because your uncle told me it would only make things worse. But bullies come in all shapes and sizes.”

  At the word ruffian, Flash took a sheepish step back.

  “Anna, what you don’t know is that it wasn’t his fault. I made him swear he’d never, ever put himself at risk for me. He was only trying to keep his promise.”

  Anna Watson pursed her lips. “May, I…I had no idea that’s how you felt.”

  May harrumphed. “Well, next time, think twice before you go opening your mouth about things you know nothing about!”

  Mrs. Watson swallowed and faced Peter. “I’m sorry.”

  Mary Jane leaned over to whisper to Harry. “That’s a first. Usually when you’re in the doghouse with Aunt Anna, it’s for life.”

  Anna Watson turned to the woman in the bed, tears in her eyes. “May, it’s just that I was so worried!”

  As she leaned down to kiss her cheek, May smiled and patted the back of her head. “I know, my dear, I know. I love you, too. Peter and I accept your apology.”

  When Anna rose, May’s steely eyes turned toward Peter’s friends. “And you, all of you, I don’t ever want to hear any of you call Peter a coward! He’s sacrificed more than any of you know. In fact, you should all take him to dinner, or throw a little party, to show him how sorry you are.”

  Harry and Flash looked at their feet as they nodded.

  Mary Jane beamed. “Hey, I’m always up for a party. And with you feeling better, Mrs. Parker, there’s plenty to celebrate.”

  The elder Parker smiled warmly. “What a nice girl. Isn’t she, Peter? And how wonderful that you’re all here. I feel very cared for. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like a minute with my nephew.”

  Mary Jane led the others toward the waiting room, turning briefly back to wink at Peter. “Catch you later, Tiger.”

  As soon as they were gone, Peter sat back down beside the bed, a wide grin of relief beneath his furrowed brow.

  “Aunt May, what was that all about? You never asked me to promise anything.”

  He put the back of his hand to her forehead. She’s being a tiger herself. The barbiturate’s probably still in her system.

  “Hush. I’m not addled. I know exactly what I did and didn’t say.”

  “Aunt May, I want you to know…”

  “I don’t have to know anything, Peter, except that you are the best thing in my life, and as long as I’m here, I will love and defend you.”

  He put his head down on her shoulder. She twisted her lips to his ear and whispered, “That treatment they gave me cost a lot, didn’t it? That awful Spider-Man didn’t have anything to do with the money, did he?”

  He didn’t look up. “Do I have to answer that?”

  She tugged his hair. “No, I suppose not. I was worried about what would happen to me, you know.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Until I saw your uncle.”

  “You saw Uncle Ben?”

  “Oh, yes, standing right by my bed, bold as you please, next to a very beautiful woman.”

  “That rascal. Were you jealous?”

  She chuckled. “No, it wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t come visit all the way from the afterlife with some floozy on his arm. She was more like an angel—a very, very sad angel.”

  Is she remembering Vanessa Fisk?

  “What’s important is what he said, that you are his future. It made me realize it’s the same for all of us. I’m the living part of those who loved me and passed on, and now you’re my future, too. After that
, I wasn’t worried anymore, because I realized that while death comes to us all, so does life.”

  “I just got you back. Can we not talk about death now?”

  “There, there. I know you’ve been hurt, but you’re not a child anymore. It’s high time you tried to see the good side. Spend the rest of your life mourning the past, and what does that say about Uncle Ben, me, and poor Gwen? If you’re going to be the part of us that lives on, it seems to me that the least you could do for us is to live. Anything less than that would be irresponsible. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, Aunt May. I do.”

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  HEREWITH, I present my hardy, heartfelt thanks to my editorial triad, Stuart Moore, Sarah Brunstad, and Jeff Youngquist. Lest anyone think these action-packed tomes spring whole-hog from the author’s head (yeah, yeah, aside from the fact that I didn’t exactly create any of the characters), I want to make it clear that the too-often unheralded editors do a lot of heavy lifting.

  In this particular instance, that includes bearing with my crazed efforts to create a dizzily nostalgic love letter to Stan Lee & John Romita’s classic Spidey work from the sixties.

  Along the way, our back and forth has covered everything from the scarcity of Manhattan alleyways, the behavior of security guards, what exactly constitutes over-the-top dialogue, the adhesive qualities of webbing, the nature of cowardice, bullying, guilt and mourning, and the proper capitalization of the Power Cosmic.

  Throughout, they’ve consistently managed to not only appreciate and support my work, but to make it better. This in spite of my occasional addict-like adherence to phrases such as guru, man-o-mine, and hot cup o’ java. Their commitment to character, story, cadence, common sense, and yes, grammar itself, does them proud.

  It has also all been terribly fun.

  This is our third Marvel novel together (check out Deadpool: Paws and Captain America: Dark Designs!), so I assume we’re doing something right.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  STEFAN PETRUCHA has written over twenty novels and hundreds of graphic novels for adults, young adults, and tweens. His work has sold over a million copies worldwide. He also teaches online classes through the University of Massachusetts. Born in the Bronx, he spent his formative years moving between the big city and the suburbs, both of which made him prefer escapism. A fan of comic books, science fiction, and horror since learning to read, in high school and college he added a love for all sorts of literary work, eventually learning that the very best fiction always brings you back to reality—so, really, there’s no way out.