James Jordan – Books

King Spider-Man

Prologue: Goodnight Forever

The Green Goblin cackled as he shot between the towering buildings of New York City, his new kingdom.

Well, almost his kingdom.

Just one more thing to take care of…

He howled at the top of his lungs, retracting his mask into the box behind head and let the wind whip his long hair, feeling the cool air like an icy blanket. Letting it fill his lungs like a breath of victory. His foot pressed the pedal on the glider and the lights around him blurred and stretched like falling stars.

Such a rush…

Goosebumps went like waves over his body. The body that was now stronger than ten men. Faster than ten cheetahs. He could pull a man apart with his bare hands.

Harry Osborne could pull that worm Spider-Man apart.

You are not Harry any longer… a shadowy voice whispered in the back of his mind.

And he was cunning. So very cunning. It had only taken him, what? Less than a month after taking the serum to capture the city. Even now his cronies…cronies? No, his…conspirators…ran off the last of those pesky rats who had tried to stop them. He did what even his own father could not. The prickly old bastard.

It was Harry who had orchestrated the fall of the defenders. Daredevil? He was running hiding in the tunnels beneath his beloved city. The lizard-man would hunt him down and feast on his bones. Night Crawler? Carnage liked to play with his food before tearing it limb from limb. Then Harry would have him deal with Venom, the sniveling snake of a traitor. And Catwoman…Peter’s precious little right hand. He wanted to track her down himself and show Peter how opaque her loyalty truly was.

Harry cleared the tall shimmering buildings of the city and now sped over old, brick apartment buildings. Suburbia spread before him.

Barely touched the surface…yes…barely had he even tapped into his true intellect. His true power. Oh, Peter Parker, he so smart. He’s so clever.

“I crushed him with barely even half my power!” Harry shouted to the wind, the Green Goblin cackling once more.

A helicopter buzzed overhead, red lights blinking. He tilted the glider up and rose to meet the chopper, almost colliding with hit as a pilot with wide eyes yanked on the joystick and veered to the left at the last second.

The Green Goblin howled.

Now he flew over the clear and quieter air of the suburbs. He snapped his helmet back on and the heads-up display came up with it, sending blue lines of light across his vision. They traced the roads and land around him. Spouting street names and towns.

He did not need them to find the tiny little house tucked into a neat and peaceful cul-de-sac.

Memories of home cooked meals and easy laughter danced in the far away pockets of his mind, kept hidden by serum that spun in every nerve, cell, and ounce of blood in his body. The pale white house was like a dark shroud in his mind.

Harry Osborne came down lightly in the back yard, between a rusty swing set and a small makeshift garden full of dead tomato plants and blossoming weeds. The ground was soft and it was as if his feet remembered each inch of the place. From the afterschool playdates and weekend escapes from his father’s sterile penthouse.

The helmet buzzed as it folded back. The place smelled the same too. Maple and oak and what seemed like a hundred different smells from a hundred different dinners. He smelled meatloaf from two doors down. Pasta four over.

Maybe he would get pasta when the deed was done…

He hadn’t had pasta in weeks. The new body liked meat. The family down the street would be accommodating if he dropped a grenade in their living room.

His boots sounded like drum beats as he ascended onto the back porch where sat a rickety old rocking chair and more long dead potted plants. A dented silver doggy bowl lay next to a gray doormat. The small window on the door pushed warm yellow light onto him. Harry paused, listening. He could hear mellow classical music playing on a record player and could smell the meatballs still cooking. And…light footsteps pattering on the kitchen floor.

The door opened a second before he was to knock. Aunt May stood in the doorway, her gray hair in a ponytail, light blue floral dress tucked behind a dirtied white apron. Her pleasant face wasn’t shocked or surprised. It may have even been slightly happy to see him.

He felt his face flit between a host of emotions. He clamped down on malice.

“Hello, Harry,” she said. “Peter said you might be stopping by.” She glanced at his still raised hand. “At least you haven’t forgotten your manners.”

He smiled. “My father would rise from his grave.” He paused. “If I hadn’t cremated him.”

May nodded, stepping aside to let him enter. “Come in. Tonight’s meatloaf.”

The serum tugged at his thoughts, telling him not to walk so carefully or glance at his reflection in a cabinet window to make sure his hair was neat.

But even for so-called evil villains, old habits die hard.

“Where is my Peter?” she asked, setting a place for him at the small table in the dining room.  “He and MJ were supposed to come for dinner.”

Harry’s mouth was doing something odd. The corners were twitching almost uncontrollably. His still darkening mind wanted him to yell and scream at the women. To pull at threads that would break her down. To crush her will.

Memories would not let it though even they could not stop him in his true endeavor.

“I left him with a couple of my friends.”

She scooped meatloaf onto his plate, paused glancing at him and then pushed more out. “You look like you’ve hardly eaten, Harry.”

He grunted.

Do it now. Do it now, the inhuman voice screamed in his mind. Do not let her get into your head!

“Which friends?” she asked placidly.

“Jackal and Rhino.”

The chair squeaked as he sat.

May gave herself a meager portion compared to his own.

“He’ll be along shortly. Gives us just enough time for dinner. Just us.” She gave him a sweet, if not strained, smile. “What do you think? Does it taste the same as you remember?”

Harry picked up the fork, the voice still screaming in his head and cut himself a bite. It was sweet and chewy. Pangs of nostalgia threatened to rock him.

“Chewy as usual.”

She chuckled. “Just how Ben liked it. Peter always said it got stuck in his teeth.”

“I know. He would complain to me. But he’d always have thirds.”

“Thirds?” May laughed. “Try fourths and fifths. That boy was a black hole when it came to food. Nearly bankrupted us. You did too, you know.”

The memories were like white hot dagger in his mind.

Her knife scraped the ceramic plate. In the moment Harry heard it like a madman screaming an inch from his ear. The heightened hearing that came with his abilities could not be tamed as easily as he had the strength or speed. When his concentration slipped he could hear for miles. Which made things near him deafening.

Harry cleared his throat and took another bite.

“Tell me, Harry, what happened between you and Peter? He refuses to tell me.”

The Green Goblin’s head tilted as a sneer touched his lips. “You precious grandson betrayed me. He took from me the only thing that still mattered to me.”

She nodded slowly, sipping her water. “So this is about a girl.”

“No,” he growled. “This is about loyalty.”

His voice was rising, cold with fury.

“He’s supposed to be my best friend.”

“She wasn’t yours, Harry.”

Tears of pure fury burst from his steadily green-ridden eyes. They had begun to change after the serum. Strong outbursts of emotion made them darken. “I wanted her. I had nothing. He had everything.”

May did not laugh or condemn him at these ridiculous words. She simply took even bites of her food and sipped the water. “Let her go, Harry.”

The Green Goblin threw the table against the wall in one vicious lunge. Splinters showered them, bits of food splattering. Aunt May only turned her head slightly to avoid the shrapnel, otherwise she stayed seated, flattening her dress and pushing bits of wood onto the ground.

“Will this really help what you are feeling? Is this really what you want, Harry?”

Her words fell on deaf ears. Harry was gone. At least, the Hary she had known was. Each step he took toward her was a funeral drum. Still, she did not move.

“Do you remember the stories I used to read to you boys?” she asked, tears of memory in her eyes. “You both wanted to be the hero so badly. Especially you.” Her head fell as she fiddled with her hands. “Look at you now.”

Harry stood over her, his rage creeping fatal.

When at last he came for her she looked up at him with tear-ridden eyes, “God forgive what my Peter will do to you,” she whispered as his hands closed around her throat.