Spider-Man #13
A Shadow Part Four of Four
Peter felt as if he was shot, too. It was alarming to see how fast his life was moving even without his involvement. Perhaps things changed so rapidly because Peter removed himself to become Spider-Man, but whatever the case, he was drawn back in when tragedy struck. Supposedly, Harry Osborn was walking home from some remedial studies and a person ran up to him totting a gun and shot him for the fifty-three dollars he pocketed. Peter couldn’t help but feel frustrated, if he had these abilities to sense danger, why couldn’t he have done something to prevent this crime? Dr. Conners, he convinced himself, was to blame for not allowing him to go home immediately after visiting Debra.
After Norman Osborn, his father, and Gwen Stacy, Harry’s girlfriend, visited with him, it was Peter’s turn. It was a tense situation for everyone – even Norman looked exhausted from having to deal with the anxiety of his son being shot. Peter, in all his life, could not remember a time when Mr. Osborn looked more pathetic. At least he was human. Also, Peter was pleased Gwen cared enough to show up and support her new boyfriend, despite how difficult it may be for her. May stood outside clutching one of the nurse’s hands as Peter approached Harry in the room.
“How are you?” Peter asked Harry.
His condition was not spectacular, but for a bullet wound, Harry was in good shape. He looked like a person would at a retirement home when they were struggling for air from a respirator. Pale skin as white as the sheets he was draped in and sweating as profusely a cloud would. When he saw Peter he brightened a little, but the warm gleam in his eye soon subsided immediately after he breathed.
“I’m alive,” Harry finally responded. “Just lucky to be alive…” His voice sounded distant; reasonably so, though, since he had been through so much.
“I wish I could have been here sooner, dude,” Peter said. “I was over Deb’s and--”
“Pete, you’re good,” Harry said. He breathed heavily, having an extreme amount of difficulty. “You do what you gotta do, ok? There’s no possible way you could have been two places at once…”
At that point, Peter was so tempted to tell Harry he was Spider-Man, but did not. Harry was openly against Mutancy and would probably think of Peter differently if he did. Besides, Peter didn’t want to attract more people like Beetle and Vulture towards him; he may endanger Harry, too.
“Y-you don’t understand,” Peter gasped. “I know I could’ve done something… Seriously, I--”
Harry snorted, but Peter recognized it as a chuckle. “Dude, it’s ok. Don’t blame yourself for this, seriously. You had nothing to do with it.”
“Well, that’s the problem, Harry!” Peter grew so animated it looked as if he bursted from the pages of a comic book. “I haven’t been around to help you at all. What are best friends for, right? I’ve been nothing but a let down the entire time we’ve roomed together and now look at this! Look!”
“Take a seat Peter,” Harry said. “I’m too tired to be yelled at right now…”
“I-I’m sorry, Harry, you know, I--”
“The real world’s got us by the balls, Peter,” Harry began. His heavy breathing continued, but still he continued to talk. “We’re going in all sorts of different directions now. It’s not like you and I were going to end up doing the same thing, right?” Harry snorted again, once again attempting a laugh. “Remember that time you tried to play bass? Terrible… Yeah, but it’s like both of us are doing are on thing, but we’re there for each other when the other guy’s gonna head down a path leading to a dead end. Right? Pete, don’t blame yourself; keep doing what you’re doing.”
Peter was glad his friendship with Harry was so profound that either of them would have sacrificed their life for the other. They were brothers and it seemed nothing could divide them. It was rare to have such intimacy, however, Peter and Harry achieved it with ease.
Peter hung his head. “You’re right,” he said. Now that Peter knew that Harry was going to be all right, he had to continue his search for Conners’ stalker. “Ok, big guy, I gotta get going. Hang in there.” Peter clasped his hand to Harry’s and sealed his friendship once again before leaving. He was glad Harry was going to survive.
* * *
Captain Jean DeWulf was practically waiting at her windowsill for Spider-Man’s arrival since he left the night before. She had the photocopy for him to examine and could not wait to see what the mutant could make of the information. In truth, Spider-Man, though enigmatic and untrustworthy, marveled DeWulf purely because his reputation did not capture the person she met at the window. Perhaps it was just her investigative habit, but she was drawn to Spider-Man unlike anyone she had met before.
At long last, Spider-Man did arrive, but not in the condition that Jean had anticipated. Although the costume pronounced his rigor and masculinity, DeWulf detected a fatigue and exhaustion throughout his body language and how his head was cocked.
“Long night?” She asked thoughtfully.
Peter couldn’t help but smirk. There was Harry who would not know about Spider-Man and Jean who would not know about Peter. How he would love to tell either of them what was really going on, but the mask served as a shield as well as a fashion statement. “You could say that,” Peter replied. “Have you got the information for me?”
“Right here,” Jean said, handing him the folder. The moment he was given the information, Peter consumed each and every bit of the file. He would do his homework this time to avoid mistakes. “There are a number of identities we’ve seen him use before. It seems the device he uses is constrained a bit; it responds to his thoughts, but his thoughts have not changed dramatically. You see, although these people are different, they still have some of the same physical features. Notice the trail of scars on each of the identities face.”
It was true; the identities were all similar. The primitiveness of the device Conners made for the international criminal worked to his own disadvantage, although it served it’s purpose. Peter figured this was because Conners never actually got to refine the device so that it would not leave such noticeable features. Now, Peter was sure he would find the culprit within days.
As he perused the folder, he noticed many things. “Hey, check this out,” Peter said, fingering a line that read ‘occupation’ in bold. “Julius Casper here works temps. The science wing at ESU takes temps all the time to get new shipments and stuff delivered. Could you look into that?”
Jean gave Spider-Man a look. It was obvious the police had never considered putting that together. “I’m sure it’s something we could check out, but it’s a stretch. Yeah, so I’ll run it by the director of the FBI and see what we can come up with.”
Peter left without saying another word to her. He just remembered Dr. Conners telling him a shipment of supplies was arriving today.
* * *
Doctor Curt Conners met the deliverymen inside of the science facility, named after Reed Richards. He told the authorities that he could not hide from his predator in fear that he may exhibit some sort of weakness that he could feed off of. Despite Conners’ apparent fear, he was a very strong man in the given situation.
Julius Casper approached Curt with a clipboard and a forced smile. “Sir, all we need you to do is sign off on these boxes and we’ll be out of your way.” He was a very slender man with peculiar facial hair concealing a collection of scars.
Curt Conners looked at the clipboard in horror. Instead of a notice in which he was supposed to sign, it was a paper that read, “You’re not too good at listening are you?” It was a cryptic message in itself, however, what made it worse was that it appeared to be written in blood. Conners dropped the clipboard in shock and found it difficult to catch his breath as he starred coldly into Casper’s eyes.
Just as soon as Casper returned the cold stare, he began his transformation into the brutal, yet feeble, man known as Dmitri Smerdyakov. His thick black hair was still greased back as it was years ago and wore a similar white suit the day Conners remembered so vividly. The only difference now was that he wasn’t speaking and he wielded a seven-inch carving knife in front of Curt Conners. How threatening he was just by standing there was beyond Curt’s comprehension at that point.
“If it’s one thing I don’t like it’s someone that crosses me.” Dmitri said, slinking towards Conners with the edge of the knife cutting through the space between himself and the Professor. “If it’s one thing that I do like it’s seeing those who cross me get what they had comin’ to ‘um…” Dmitri slipped the knife into Conners’ stomach with ease. Blood spouted from the opening in Curt’s abdomen and Smerdyakov kept the knife their, almost as if he was not convinced the knife broke his skin.
“Woah!” A voice rang out from above. “Did I just stumble into a cheap slasher movie or something? That was about the cheesiest line ever… And here I thought you international serial killers were smart!” It was Spider-Man perched on the roof above them; he must have snuck in through one of the ceiling panels since there was one tipped off its holster. Peter cradled himself down to the ground so he could gain his footing and size himself up to Smerdyakov. Surprisingly, Peter looked significantly more masculine than him. Peter looked back at Conners who was practically spouting blood and said, “Ah, great… Could you hold on a sec, Doc? I just need time…”
Perhaps it was Peter’s realization that the opportunity to save both his and Conners’ reputations that made him nervous. Regardless, as he stood between the Professor and the international criminal, who was shrinking more and more as Spider-Man stood there indifferently by his presence, the power to strike boiled into his fists. When he first threw a punch, Dmitri flew into the glass door feet away from where Peter anticipated he would land.
It was obvious Dmitri had been in a situation like this before because, although odds were against him, he was still convinced he had the advantage – the cloaking device. Struggling to amass enough strength to get to his knees, Dmitri found that it was hard to stand, although it was possible. At long last he finally did so and began for the door to the street, blending into the crowd spontaneously.
Peter had a difficult time catching his breath. He had made another mistake; this time, though, he would not allow himself to go uncorrected. He did not recognize that he was wearing his costume, but he sprinted out into the crowd, as if to blend in enough to find the Chameleon, as Peter had named him as he made his exit.
The crowd created a circle around Spider-Man, goggling at the odd appearance, much to Peter’s dismay. Peter looked around frenetically, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that would lead him in the right direction for catching Dmitri. Then, Peter, in the moment that he turned his head thought he saw a ponytail grow onto a man’s head in mere seconds. It was the cloaking device still in progress. Peter dashed through the people, not minding who he knocked over, and shot a web at the ponytail.
The man fell flat, revealing the trail of scars that lead from the man’s cheek to his forehead. Peter was overwhelmed with success. He had captured an international terrorist and in front of a large group of people, no less. Now, all he would have to do is let the rest of the world know he accomplished something spectacular. But how?
* * *
Jean DeWulf struggled to get through the crowd to the streetlight she had heard so much about. In all her years as a police officer for New York, although few, she had never seen such an amazing sight. On the streetlight there was a spider’s web large enough for her to crawl on and as intricate as a Faberge egg. Wound in the center was Dmitri Smerdyakov unconscious. She was so excited to see that she had a hand in capturing the villain, however, no one would ever know. Spider-Man was still deemed a vigilante, but with a straightened edge. It was odd; people seemingly recognized Spider-Man as a hero now, but they could not seem to let go of the concept of hiding behind a mask. DeWulf did not care; at least someone was doing something.
As she examined the web more there was a paper lodged in between Dmitri and the web. Jean yanked it out with ease and read, “Your welcome from your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” Jean couldn’t help but laugh.
Things were beginning to look bright for Spider-Man; however, Peter Parker seemed to have a lot on his plate.
I better pull this one up nicely, huh?
