The NYPD had been less than helpful throughout the entire ordeal. And MJ's parents, though driven to protect their daughter through the veil of their arguing, seemed not to care about her disappearance.
It's left to me, Peter mused, a heavy weight settling upon his heart.
The phone rang, jostling the young hero from his reverie.
He lunged across the tabletop, elbow sending several of the maps fluttering to the polished wood floor, "...hello?"
"You've been waiting for that ring, haven't you."
Cold dread cast itself upon him -- a smokescreen that clouded his vision with swirling emotions of rage and fear.
"Waiting to know where she is. Well, tell you what. I'll tell you. But you have to come and get her."
Peter gripped the edge of the desk, his voice raw, "Where is she?" His pulse suddenly took up a very uncomfortable residence in his throat.
"Why don't I tell you where you can come and pick her up, if you want her?"
"You'll pay for this, N--" he corrected himself, " -- Goblin." He had almost said "Norman"...a fact that chilled him. How could two lives stir in the same man? One good, one evil. One light, one dark. When did the line between them first begin to blur? The darkness take hold like a lover, whispered promises in an ear that had forgotten how to follow and not lead. "Where is she?"
"Well ...." his voice turned mocking, a parody of Peter's own faux pas, "Pider-man ... Think about this. ... Where death found me .... it'll find you, too. And if you aren't there by one this morning .... it might just take Mary Jane instead".
The roar of the dialtone slashed at his ear, a pitiful moan. He gripped the receiver in his hand, knuckles turning bone-white. He supposed his face had turned white as well -- a tingling loss of blood stirred the nerve endings at the tip of his nose and his cheeks.
"I'll be there..."
His hollow voice hummed in hue with the dial tone, devoid.
He turned his eyes toward the skyline of New York City