Spiderman 3 (11 page)

DEAD FATHERS

Lying to the police officer had been the toughest thing for Peter, but he had done it with confidence and aplomb.

As he sat in the waiting room, apprehensively watching the sun crawl over the horizon and wondering if Harry would be alive to see it, he decided that—in retrospect—it hadn't been that difficult after all. He was still so shaken after the night's events and revelations that his vagueness had come across to the cop as genuine shock. The hospital had naturally summoned the police officer when Peter had informed them that Harry was the victim of a hit and run. The cop had sat opposite Peter, notepad in hand, and asked him to recall everything he could. His expression had appeared neutral, but Peter could tell the cop—an older uniformed officer with a lined face who had seen far too many innocent people hurt in his career—was eyeing him closely, looking for some indication of drug or alcohol influence. Was this really a random accident, or a couple of doped up young guys who got themselves in big trouble?

In Harry's case, of course, it really was closer to the latter. But they could run all the drug/alcohol tests on Harry's blood they wanted, and they still weren't going to detect whatever the hell it was that Harry had put into his system that had transformed him into the New Goblin. As for Peter, clearly articulate and earnest as the day was long, he was so obviously not under the influence of anything that the cop relaxed in short order and simply listened.

What he heard was a story that Peter kept deliberately vague. They'd been up all night cramming for school—or more accurately, Peter had been cramming and Harry had been helping. They were hungry, there was nothing in the fridge. They'd decided to go out, see if they could find an all-night eatery. Harry had started to cross the street; Peter had looked away to see if he could spot someplace down the street. Then came the screeching of tires, the hideous thud, and he'd looked back. There was Harry lying in the street, a car speeding away. A dark car. Blue, he thought, but hard to be sure. No, he hadn't gotten the make or license.

"You shouldn't have moved him," the cop said in a severe tone. "Could've done him more harm than good."

"I didn't know that," Peter said, looking down, as he had been much of the time. Now he looked up, though, and said with absolute sincerity, "I hope to God I didn't kill him."

The cop allowed a gentle, almost paternal smile and said, "You've got the best doctors in the world right here at this hospital. If anyone can help your friend, they can."

Peter suspected that they said that at every hospital, but he accepted the reassurance for what it was worth.

The cop was now long gone, after giving Peter his card and asking him to contact him if he remembered any more details. Peter continued to pace nervously. He glanced at the clock on the wall to see how much time had passed and realized with a start that he was supposed to have gotten together with Mary Jane for a late breakfast that morning. He quickly phoned her and got her machine. Assuming that she was in the shower or otherwise occupied, he left a terse message, a
Reader's Digest
version of what he'd told the cop.

Then it was back to waiting, until finally he saw a doctor exiting the intensive care unit. Peter instantly recognized him as the doctor who had asked him earlier what had caused Harry's condition. Peter rushed over, moving so quickly that the doctor was startled and stepped back in surprise. "How is he?" Peter blurted in a rush.

"You a relative?" asked the doctor.

Peter considered claiming that he was. But then the doctor might start asking for ID, and it could get embarrassing. Besides, Peter was sick to death of lying. "His best friend," he said. The doctor made a face that indicated Peter had no business inquiring, and that the doctor shouldn't even be speaking to him, so Peter added, "His parents are both dead. He's an only child, so…" He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm all the family he's got."

The doctor clearly considered what Peter was saying, then nodded once as if satisfied. "He's going to be okay…" he said, and Peter immediately felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Then he grew tense as he sensed a
but
coming. Sure enough: "But there's been some memory impairment. Particularly his short-term memory. Right now he can't remember the accident or much of anything that's happened to him recently." His tone shifted from clinical to sympathetic. "You can see him now if you'd like."

Peter was apprehensive, unsure of just how much Harry had forgotten. Perhaps he didn't recall the details of the battle, sure, but did he remember the events that had led up to it? "Is it permanent?" he asked.

"Could be," said the doctor, and he started to move away, clearly heading somewhere else. "Only time will tell." As an afterthought he called over his shoulder, "Keep it brief. I want him to rest."

Peter watched him go and, steeling himself for the worst-case scenario, entered the ICU.

He asked an orderly to point him in the direction of Harry Osborn's bed, since all the sections were curtained off, and he didn't want to start poking around. The orderly scowled a moment, and Peter quickly said the doctor had given him permission for a short visit, even though visitors weren't typically allowed in the ICU. The orderly obviously wasn't sure if Peter was lying, but apparently didn't feel like calling him on
it
. Instead he simply pointed toward one curtained area, then added, "Make it quick."

Peering around the curtain, Peter saw Harry lying in bed, eyes closed. Tubes were running in and out of him, his chest rising and falling slowly, with a steady beep from the various monitors.
How did it come to this? My God, how did it come to this
? Peter thought bleakly.

He was about to turn away and leave when he saw Harry's eyes open into narrow slits. At first they didn't seem to focus on Peter at all. Then Harry's stare latched onto Peter, and there was a moment of confusion. Peter was certain at that point that Harry had no idea who his visitor was.

But to Peter's surprise, Harry smiled slightly, although in a pained manner, as if the mere stretching of his mouth muscles hurt, and he said softly, "Hey, buddy."

It was the first time in an age, it seemed, that Harry had addressed him in a manner that sounded like… old times. Scarcely daring to believe it, Peter—working hard to control his emotions—said in an offhanded manner, "Hey," as if he and Harry had accidentally bumped into each other on the street.

Harry raised a hand to his forehead, taking care not to jostle the tube that was inserted into the hand. "Hit my head."

"
Yeah
." Peter remained cautious, not wanting to say too much, fearful of triggering some emotion or recollection that could shred the moment. He felt as if he were watching slowly hardening concrete. If he did nothing to disturb it, then it would dry smooth and flat. The last thing he wanted to do was scrawl Spider-Man's initials in there.

Frowning, Harry said, "Doctor said I was…" He paused, trying to recall. "Hit and run, he said. Can't remember. Did they get him?"

Briefly, Peter had no idea who the "him" was. He thought Harry was referring to the doctor. Then Peter remembered that a mythical person had been driving a mythical car that he himself had created, and it was important that Harry continue to believe that. "Not yet. They will," Peter assured him.

"Can't remember much of anything. I'm… thinking about my dad." He sounded bewildered, as if he couldn't figure out why that would be the case.

Peter didn't know why either, but if it was because Harry was remembering that he had followed his father's lead and become a cackling, flying maniac out for blood, he sure didn't want his friend's thoughts to continue in that direction. "Doctor wants you to rest," he said.

"My dad," Harry persisted. "He…"

Peter braced himself.

"He died… didn't he?" He looked up at Peter with great pools of sadness in his eyes. "Did he die?"

It was all Peter could do not to let out a wholly inappropriate sigh of relief, then instantly regretted
it
. How could Peter be glad that Harry's first moment of clarity was the realization that he was an orphan? Reining in his emotions, Peter said, "Yes. He did."

Harry took that in with the air of a tourist who just had some interesting sight pointed out to him. "This is all so weird," he said finally. "It's like I'm looking at my life from a hundred miles away. Like I'm on the outside looking in, and it's happening to some other guy. Know what I mean?"

"More than you can possibly believe," Peter said ruefully.

The curtain was suddenly pushed aside. Peter expected it to be an orderly shooing him out. Instead it was an out-of-breath Mary Jane. Her hair was slightly damp, confirming Peter's earlier supposition as to her whereabouts. He had no idea how she had managed to talk her way into the ICU and chalked it up to the notion that, once Mary Jane Watson was determined to go somewhere, nothing short of a brick wall was going to stop her.

"Hi. Got here fast as I could," she said, except it was all in a rush and came out
Higoderefasdlkood
. She stopped, composed herself, then struck a casual pose that was amusing in its breathtaking artificiality. With a sideways flip of her hair, she said chipperly, "Hello, Harry."

A genuine, huge grin lit up his expression. "I know that face," he declared.

She walked over to him and took his untubed hand gently in hers. "How you doing?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, and frowned. "Last thing I remember I was fine… somewhere."

"The doctor says you're going to be okay," she assured him, answering for Peter the question of how MJ had gotten in here. She'd obviously caught up with the attending physician and had had little trouble managing to sweet-talk him. Hell, he was probably down in the gift shop at the moment buying her flowers. "That's all that matters."

"It's good to have you back," Peter said, meaning that in a way that neither Harry nor Mary Jane was going to fully appreciate.

Patting the back of Harry's hand, MJ whispered, "Get some sleep."

Harry was starting to fade. "Thanks for coming…"

A nurse stepped in, mastering an expression that allowed her to look both compassionate and yet firm. "I'm sorry, I have to scoot you out," she said to them. "He needs to rest."

She certainly had good timing. Peter had ascertained everything he needed to know, at least for the time being. It was a good idea to get out now while Harry was still thinking of Peter as his friend, rather than the evil creature who had killed his father. Let the former impression sink in and become the lasting one. "See you tomorrow," he told Harry.

Harry nodded slightly, sinking toward sleep, and half-raised his hand in farewell. As Peter and Mary Jane stepped around the curtain and headed out, he could hear the nurse say to Harry, '"You have lovely friends."

"My best friends. I'd… give my… life for them," Harry said, each word suffused with fatigue. Then, a few moments later, he heard Harry say, both by way of informing the nurse and coming to terms with it himself, "My father died."