The Girl and the Superhero{Peter Parker}

Part 43 (Kenzie's POV)

          There is no way to describe the pain I felt, sitting in that chair with that gunshot ringing in my ears.

          My heart felt physically heavier than the body that hosted it. Every limb in my body became another weight I had to carry; even secured to a chair, I was holding every piece of me together by what little willpower I had left. I know I cried, but I didn't feel the tears. I don't know if I felt nothing or if my despair and fury were too overwhelming to differentiate.

          "I don't understand." My voice was hollow.

          My mother leaned forward, gripping the arms of my chair, her eyes peering into mine. I don't know how I ever saw any love in them before. "Allow me to enlighten you, daughter." Joanne James turned to the men standing behind her, addressing the man of megalithic stature: "Williams, switch these lights on, will you? I want my daughter to see my face."

          "With pleasure," he said with genuine joy. The man called Williams—in this light, recognizable as the man who broke into my home a few days ago— walked a few paces to his left and flipped the lever. The lights illuminated everything in the warehouse that wasn't visible before, and I immediately wished for more darkness.

          My mother was a foot in front of me, arms folded and lips turned up as high as they could possibly go. She was dressed the same way she had been when I saw her a few hours ago: business casual in a pantsuit with a ridiculous amount of expensive jewelry. Her hair, as per usual, was pulled into a skull-wrenching ballerina bun.

          Ten feet behind her was Peter, sprawled on the pavement that was slowly being stained red with his blood. The only sign of any life was a slight twitch in his fingers.

          My vision went cloudy with fury.

          "Oh good, now none of us are in the dark!" Joanne exclaimed happily. She tilted her head, examining me. "Well, except, it seems, my darling Kenz over here."

          "Don't call me Kenz," I growled through my teeth.

          She continued on, ignoring me. "Even as a little girl, you never caught on very fast. The letter 'M'? Took you a solid three months of writing it every day to even recognize it on a cereal box."

          "You only came around once during those three months. How was I supposed to learn anything?" I spat.

          Joanne's eyes narrowed. "Let me tell you something, daughter. The one that wants to learn something will. The one who needs others to teach them will always be one step behind. And I am never behind." She turned to the men behind her. "I think Peter is a little bit too comfortable down there. Fix it."

          The lanky man opposite Williams, whose name I did not know, pulled a gun from a holster on his belt and released the safety. I thrashed against the cords that held me as my voice tore through the concrete asylum: "NO!"

          Two more gunshots echoed through the warehouse, and Peter's body jumped with each of them. I writhed against the metal on my wrists and ankles, but the only things that broke were a few small bones in my hand. I hardly felt them.

          Peter was dying, if not dead already.

          "You think I didn't teach you anything, McKenzie?" Joanne hissed. "Allow me to make up for my mistakes. I'm going to tell you a story about working for what you want."

          She took a deep, satisfied breath. "I was like you once. Full of hope for life and happiness and love. When I was about twelve, my father was working for a top secret government agency which I had no business knowing about-- but I had always been curious as to why he disappeared for weeks at a time with no warning or explanation. So I did my research. I found out about his secret employment at some organization named S.H.I.E.L.D. I hacked into his computer and uncovered all of the files and missions that he had been working for the last seven years of his life. Not only did I discover records of his assigned work for S.H.I.E.L.D, but I also found hidden records of correspondence with a man named Tony Stark, to whom my father had been supplying some sort of illegal armor and weaponry for dozens of millions of dollars."