AS SOON as he left the hospital, Peter found the nearest hiding spot and switched into his red-and-blues.
Aunt May’s dying—and there’s nothing I can do.
He took to the building tops, soared above the streets, raced through urban nooks and mazes only he could find. But even New York couldn’t supply the distraction he needed. If anything, the city bore the same old stink as his life.
Nothing ever changes, except that it gets worse.
No matter how high or how fast he moved, it all felt like a worthless routine.
What else can I do—sit around and wait? Where else can I go? Back home to hope Harry feels sorry enough for me to have a conversation? Ahhh…I may as well try to take some Spider-Man pics.
He’d turned in so few to the Bugle lately that JJJ was threatening to fire him. Without that lousy salary, he couldn’t afford the lousy books to pass his lousy class. And then…
Then what? If I can’t even protect Aunt May, what difference does it make what I do?
He dropped down onto a townhouse roof near ESU, and resisted the temptation to kick the brick chimney to pieces. He looked out and around, hoping the stillness would somehow reach inside and calm him.
What is it, like 3 a.m.?
He swooped by Captain Stacy’s old precinct house. When a new building had been constructed a few blocks away, this one had been converted into an annex to store old files and evidence. No one cared about the place anymore. The brick walls sported bits of graffiti; some windows were cracked. While a few security lights still glowed in the halls of the upper floors, most were broken.
But there was another light, weak and flickering, visible beyond the low basement windows. And it was moving. Hopping down for a closer look, he saw that one of the windows wasn’t just cracked. It had been smashed.
Randy said some students think the place is haunted. It’s probably some freshman ghost-hunting on a dare, but a break-in is a break-in.
Angling through the broken window, he entered quietly. The entire floor was packed with shelves and filing cabinets. The only remnants of the building’s previous purpose were a few concrete walls with the cell doors removed. Without their iron bars, they formed a sort of open maze; he could see the flickering light moving along the far wall.
Kind of a mini-version of that warehouse at the end of Raiders.
Spider-Man set up his camera in a high corner. He hoped the wide angle would provide a decent view of the ad hoc labyrinth. As he clicked it on, he heard a satisfied, “Ah!”
Sounds like whoever it is found whatever it was they wanted.
The flickering light went out. Fortunately, the camera’s infrared could capture the vandal’s face even in the dark.
Guess they’ll be leaving soon, which gives me an idea for a better photo-op.
Sealing the broken window with webbing, he angled the camera toward the only other way out: the basement door. Then he blocked the exit and waited. Sure enough, a slight figure appeared beneath the window. Peter couldn’t make out his features—it was just a shadow emerging from shadow.
The figure climbed to the windowsill. Finding his way out sealed, the crook grunted, looked around, and hopped back down.
Okay, come to poppa.
The figure reemerged dead ahead—just as Spider-Man had planned. They saw each other at the same time, illuminated by the headlights of a passing car.
That’s no college student—it’s a kid!
A surprisingly young-sounding voice muttered some surprisingly adult words.
“Dude,” Spider-Man replied. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
His webs shot out, but the boy dove into the labyrinth. After a few more scraping sounds, everything went silent.
“I know you think you can play hide-and-seek in there, pal, but this is the only way out, and I’m feeling pretty patient.” A full five minutes passed before he added, “I’m not going to turn you in. Just put whatever it is you’ve got back, and we can call it a night. Okay?”
After another five minutes, Spider-Man realized
he wasn’t feeling all that patient.
Thinking his spider-signal might spook the boy, he flashed his insignia along the aisles formed by the shelves. Nothing budged. On the other hand, the footprints it revealed in dust told him where the boy was hiding. Clicking off the light, he crept among the tall shelves.
A couple of more steps and I can…
A low rustling turned him around.
Aw! The little brat doubled back behind me!
His spider-sense told him the attack was coming, but not how fast and hard it would be. He spun, hands out, and faced a wave of falling evidence racks. With no time to leap away—nowhere to go in the mess of boxes and metal framed-shelves—he was buried in seconds.
But not for long. He flexed his arms, clearing enough of the files for him to spot the boy at the exit. A cardboard box cradled under one arm, he was trying to pry open the door with a crowbar.
Spider-Man tried to move, but his ankle was pinned between a collapsed shelf’s scissored supports. He could yank himself free, but the sharp steel would do some damage, leaving him with a limp he’d rather not have to deal with or explain.
With two thwips, he fired dual webs from his wrist-shooters. One missed, hitting the debris. The other sailed through and caught the box the boy was holding. An easy tug wrenched it away from him, resulting in another flurry of decidedly adult language.
Spider-Man caught the box, then turned to prying apart the steel wrapped around his ankle. The thief hesitated an instant, then tore open the door and bolted into the night.
In the seconds it took Peter to free himself and follow, the kid had vanished along one of a dozen possible paths. Taking to the roof, Spider-Man scanned the streets and sidewalks, but they were empty. The thief was gone.
The web-slinger turned to the box, marked “evidence.” The seal was already broken, so he opened it, revealing a familiar stone tablet.
This thing again? No way.
He thought about it a moment. Hey, it’s not my responsibility. Easy enough to leave it dangling for the police to find. Right?