//------------------------------// // Chapter 58 - Homecoming // Story: This War of Ours // by JDPrime22 //------------------------------// Queens, New York City 9:48 p.m. The young woman could feel her heart beat out of her chest, prompting her to raise her purse and stop it from leaving her. She knew she made a mistake walking out alone, especially so late. She should have taken a taxi. She should have walked home with her coworkers. She should have done anything other than take to the streets of New York by herself. Backing away very, very slowly, the young woman found herself being quickly surrounded by the three men. They forced her to back away into the dark alley behind her, one of them holding a small revolver, the other a miniature blade. The last had nothing, standing by the two armed men with a sick, manic grin on his face. She couldn’t even imagine what was going through his twisted mind, especially the way he looked at her. She should have seen them coming. She felt a certain form of unease the second she stepped out of her place of work and took to the streets. The streets of New York were alive and well, but not in the part of town she found herself in, the only part of town that stood between her and home sweet home. That sense of unease only worsened when she heard a pair of footsteps behind her, her own quickening, only stopping when the second man appeared out of the shadows from the alley ahead of her, a gun in his hand, a black beanie covering his bald head. The third one stepped out of the alley, too, the knife in his hand, constantly jabbing it at her to direct her to where they came. The young woman held onto her purse as if it was her only lifeline. The distance between her and three men was shortening by the second, and room in the alley quickly running out. The man with the revolver licked his lips, his eyes trailing the young woman’s entire frame. “Ain’t you a pretty little redhead?” the thug said. She didn’t say a thing, just quivered with fear and continued to back away deeper into the dark alley. He directed the end of his gun directly at her chest, more specifically, her purse. “Why don’t you just slide that over here… then we can have some real fun.” “Yeah, and don’t even think about screaming neither!” the thug with the knife exclaimed, his fist holding the blade so tight the bones in his knuckles could be seen in what little light there was. The redhead made a sound. A tiny, terrified squeak. It was followed shortly by her heavy breaths, her chest rising and falling despite her control to remain calm. She wanted to scream, but refrained from doing so when she saw the thug pull the hammer back on his revolver. She gulped, fresh beads of sweat burning on her forehead. The three thugs snickered to themselves, slowly continuing their approach, pushing the redhead deeper and deeper into the darkness. She felt like crying, not even considering of what her family would think when they hear of her body being found dead the next morning. She didn’t want to think of that, but she couldn’t help it. The tears started to fall, her cries uncontrolled. The men laughed. She could see the light slowly fading, her feet taking those first few steps into the shadows. That’s when she felt the gust of wind fly right over her head, causing her to instinctively duck and let out a high-pitched cry. It was followed shortly by a loud and sudden clang. The redhead looked up, tears in her eyes, and saw a garbage pail lid of all things hit the cement right by the first thug’s feet. As it slowly came to a rest, she looked up, watched as the two men to his left and right appeared spooked and backed away. The first thug, the one with the gun, stared straight ahead, slowly falling backwards, eyes rolling up into his skull. He hit the ground motionless. As their buddy hit the ground and fell in a deep, dark slumber with no dreams, the two other thugs lowered themselves, almost ready for anything. They stared into the darkness behind the redhead, eyes darting off in every direction. Their breaths became sporadic, hardly contained. The one with the knife held it out, shaking the tip back and forth, unsure whether he was urging whatever it was to come out or if he was just trying to find a means of defense. Either way, it failed. A strand of web, of all things, shot forward, directly over the redhead and hitting the man’s hand that held the knife. He looked down, gasped, then screamed as he was yanked forward by an unknown strength. The redhead collapsed, hands over her head as the man flew over her, pulled into the darkness with his screams trailing him. Both the redhead and the last goon only watched and flinched as every pain-filled scream exited the darkness of the alley. Other sounds followed. They sounded like punches, each breath taken being filled with another scream, only silenced by that constant punch. And then there was nothing. Just silence and breathing. The young woman looked away from the end of the alley, her horrified eyes watching as the last thug quickly began to back away, no weapon in his hands, no plan in his dull, empty mind. “Oh, screw this!” he shouted, spinning around and ready to make a hasty retreat. He never took a step out of the alley. Two strands of the same white webbing flew down, each strand hitting a shoulder, the man gasping and looking left and right. His screams shortly followed as he was pulled straight up into the dark between the buildings, those same punches silencing the screams of terror. The young redhead gently picked up her purse as all the sound in the world seemed to halt. She took a step forward, avoiding the garbage pail lid and the unconscious man near it, and gently made her way out of the alley. She was still uncertain on what happened exactly. She didn’t really want to know, other than she was safe and someone or something had… saved her. Before she could even take a step out of the alley, a dark figure fell in front of her. She screamed, gripping her purse over her chest, backing away and staring straight ahead. She shut her mouth, eyes widening to see the thug strung up, hanging upside down in front of her, in a mess of webs. Of all things. Her attention was brought forward to the bright figure flying out of the shadows. She stepped out of the alley, eyes wide and mouth agape, as she saw the figure shooting a strand of web from his hand, quickly making his escape from the scene of the crime. But not before he shouted, “Woohoo! I love this suit!” Loud enough for all of Queens to hear. For all the world to hear. It was drowned out by the sound of his head hitting a fire escape when a strand of webbing had failed to come out of his hand, despite his best efforts. The redhead flinched and cringed as the bright figure hit almost every metal bar possible, eventually crashing into the dumpster directly below the fire escape. She could even hear him groan, coughing a bit as he struggled to crawl out of the dumpster. “Okay… love it a little less now,” he added, finally finding his feet on solid ground. The young redhead gripped her purse and giggled quietly to herself, watching as the bright figure flung himself into the air and swung out of sight. Definitely not out of mind, though. She stood there for a moment longer before quickly making her way home, quietly thanking him, a smile finally finding its way onto Mary Jane Watson’s lips.