The Darkest Hours

Chapter 19

The silence wore on as

I

stared down at the little clock on the phone. I really, really didn't want to die.

It's going to happen eventually. I know that. Death comes to all of us, sooner or later. That's just part of the deal of being born. All the same, though, I didn't want it to happen today.

I'd faced danger before, too, situations where I could have lost my life. Most of those situations, though, had been blazing seconds of fast-moving action, while I was high on adrenaline and the fury of a fight.

The fear I felt now was a different flavor. It was patient. It had hours and hours in which to keep me company and it was comfortable doing so with each inevitable second that went by. To make things worse, I was relatively rested, alert, and not in any particular pain, which meant that all my attention was free to feel the fear. To watch death coming.

There was some part of me, the part that had made me try to walk away from the mask, that was simply furious at my stupidity. I didn't have to be doing this. I could run, and to hell with all the people who would suffer for it. What had they ever done for me? I'd spent my life trying to protect them, and despite that I still got scorn and derision and hostility as many times as I received any gratitude. Even if a thousand people died because I ran, I figured I had saved the lives of three or four times as many as that—and that was directly, face-to-face, not counting the times where I'd shut down some maniac who would have killed tens of thousands with various gases, bombs and death rays. If I bugged out (ha, get it?) now, I'd still be ahead by the numbers.

Maybe I was just getting set in my ways, because I knew I wouldn't do it. But part of me really, really wanted to. It made me feel ashamed. Weak. Tired. Simultaneously, though, there was a sort of peace that came along with it. That's the one good thing about inevitable death. It clears the mind wonderfully. Once it's done, it's done. There would be no more agonizing questions, no more of others suffering for my mistakes, no more madmen, no more victims. I had done all that I could, and I would be able to rest with a clean conscience, more or less.

The worst part was that death would mean saying painful good-byes.

I wasn't sure how much time passed before I turned my attention to the phone, but the lighted panel had gone out, and seemed far too bright to my eyes when I turned it on.

When I finally got through the cruise ship's phone system to Aunt May, there was a lot of talking in the background and a slight lag in speech from the satellite transmission times. "Peter!" she said, her voice pleased and warm. "Hello, dear."

"Hi, Aunt May," I said. "How's the cruise?"

"Scandalous," she said happily. "You wouldn't believe how many self-styled Casanovas and Mata Haris are on this ship. It would not shock me to find a complimentary Viagra dispenser in every bar."

That made me smile. "Sounds noisy there. What's going on?"

"We're at a glacier," she told me. "Everyone's quite impressed that the water is blue and that one can see through it. They're off cutting ice from the glacier now, so that we can have hundred-thousandyear-old ice cubes in our drinks. Despite the fact that up until now we've been given perfectly good fresh ice. And there are whales."

"Whales?"

"Yes, some sort of whale, at any rate. They look like half-sunken barges to me, but everyone's at the rail taking pictures. Then there's going to be some kind of drinking game, as I understand it. Most disgraceful."

I laughed. "Just don't drive afterward."

"Oh, I won't be drinking, naturally. It's far more amusing to watch a fool drink than to be the drunken fool. The sun is still up, can you imagine? It must be, what? Nearly midnight there."

I checked the clock. "Pretty close."

"Apparently, night is only a few hours long this far north. I think it may have contributed to how juvenile everyone is acting."

"You're loving it, aren't you," I said.

"I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard."

she confirmed with undisguised glee. "We're having a ball. How are you?"

"Oh, great," I said. "They put me in charge of basketball practice at the school Friday afternoon. I'm supposed to coach the team until next Thursday."

"Well, you always did have such a fondness for sports," she said, her voice dry. "How is it going?"

"I'm supposed to be teaching their star athlete to play nice with the team," I said. "He's not having anything from me, though. And everyone else is following his example. I figure by Tuesday they'll try to give me a wedgie and shut me into a locker. Gosh it's nice to be back in high school."

Aunt May laughed. "I take it your star player is talented?"

"Too much so for his own good, apparently."

"That can be difficult," she said. "Sooner or later he'll run into something he can't do alone. It's important that one learn to work with others before that happens."

"That's why the coach wanted me to teach him different." I sighed. "But I've got no idea how to get through to him."

"Think about it for a while," she suggested. "I'm sure it will come to you. And I suspect it might be good practice for when you have children of your own."

I blinked. "What?"

"Oh, I'm not lobbying for an instant baby, mind you," Aunt May said. "But I do know you, dear. You'll be a wonderful father." She paused for a moment and said, "Is that enough small talk now, Peter, or shall we make a little more before you tell me what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong, Aunt May."

"This is a cruise ship, Peter dear. Not a turnip truck."

I didn't have another laugh in me, but I smiled. Aunt May would hear it in my voice. "There's nothing unusually wrong, then," I said.

"Ah," she said. "A business problem, then. Have I mentioned, Peter, how glad I am that you are willing to discuss your business with me now?"

"About a hundred times," I said. "I was so glad that we could… talk again."

"It is a very good thing," she said in warm agreement. "How is MJ?"

"Worried about me," I said.

"I can't imagine what that must be like," Aunt May said, her tone wry. "But I'm glad she's with you. She loves you to no end, you know."

"I know," I said quietly.

"And so do I," she said.

I closed my eyes, still smiling despite the quiet ache in my throat and the wetness on my cheeks. "I know. I love you too, Aunt May."

She was silent for a moment before she said, "If I could do more, I would, but in case no one has told you, remember this: You have a good heart, Peter. You've grown into a man to be admired. I am more proud of you than I can possibly describe— as Ben would be. You have always faced the true test—the times when you are alone, and when it seems that everything is as bad as it possibly could be. That's the moment of truth, Peter. There, in the darkest hours, not in whatever comes after. Because it is there that you choose between music and silence. Between hope and despair."

I sat with my head bowed, listening to her voice. I could smell her perfume in the room around me—the scent of safety and of love and of home. I hoped the phone was waterproof.

"You have only to remember this, Peter: No matter how dark the night, you are not alone. There are those who see your heart and love you. That love is a power more potent than any number of radioactive spiders."

I couldn't say anything for a minute. Then I whispered, "I'll remember, Aunt May."

"Listen to your heart," she said, her tone firm and quiet, "and never surrender. Even if you are not victorious, Peter Parker, no force in creation can defeat a heart like yours."

What can you say, faced with a love, a faith like that, warm as sunshine, solid as bedrock?

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Of course," she said, and I heard her smiling. A bell rang somewhere in her background. "Well. It is time for me to go to supper and wait for the floor show. I'll leave you to your work."

"I love you, Aunt May."

"I love you."

We hung up together.

Neither of us said good-bye.

My peace was gone, shattered by the conversation. Hope can be painful that way, and part of me longed for the return of peace and quiet. That peace, though, is not for the living—and I was alive.

And I intended to stay that way.

So long as there was a breath left in my body, the fight was not over and the darkness was not complete. I had faced and overcome things as deadly and dangerous as Mortia and her kin, and I'd be a monkey's uncle before I accepted defeat. I was rested. I was smart. I had the kind of home and life and happiness a lot of people can only dream about.

I refused to let Mortia take that from me. I refused to allow my fear to make me lie down and die.

I rose from where I sat on the bed and felt suddenly clear, focused, and strong. Nothing had changed. I still had no idea how I was going to get myself out of this one. But I would. I would find a way. I suddenly felt as certain of that as I was that the sun would rise in the morning. I always felt that my powers came to me for a reason, and while I did not know what that reason might be, with God as my witness, it had not been to feed some psychotic monster-wench and her kin.

I would beat these things. I would find a way.

The phone in my hands suddenly let out a series of chiming notes, the theme from

Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

I don't know why Mary Jane used them as her ring tone. She said it just made her happy.

I flipped the phone open and said, "Hello?"

"It's me," Felicia said, her voice cool and professional. "We found Dex."