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#1 DECEMBER Year 0 |
by Jason Kenney |
"Before the Beginning"
A Tale Before Marvel Volume One
Various sounds fill a hospital room. Beeps and hisses from this that and the other machine incessantly fill the room. It's a miracle anyone can sleep in there.
But, that's what Phil Sheldon is doing right now. Sleeping. With an eyepatch where one eye used to be, his one good eye flutters under his eyelid, helping him dream of places and events most people couldn't even think about about.
Phil Sheldon has lived a full life, a life I envy.
A life full of marvels.
His years as a freelance journalist have gained him numerous awards, immeasurable recognition, a best selling novel and a documentary based on it.
His years as a man have gained him a wife, who still loves him today as much as she did when they met fifty years ago, two daughters, who have blessed him with three grandchildren, which, I am proud to say, I am one of, and more friends than most people meet in a lifetime.
All of his years have led right up to this moment, a moment where he lies in a hospital room, sleeping peacefully as his grandson watches on.
Phil Sheldon is dying.
Cards, balloons, and flowers adorn the room, sitting on every flat surface available except for a small table by his bed. There sits his glasses, a glass of water, and two pictures, a family portrait and a picture of him, Granny, and the paperboy. A picture taken before I was born, back on the day that Phil Sheldon officially retired.
I sit among these get well wishes and make a get well wish of my own, but I know it's a waste of a wish. No matter how many times I wish, he keeps getting worse. My pager goes off every second I'm not here, each call saying "this could be it." Getting to be so many pages that I'm starting to slow on my response, thinking it another false alarm. But, I know there will be one, that one last page that won't be false.
I sit up a bit as I'm startled by a cough from the bed. Another of the coughing fits. I start to stand, but stop halfway, knowing there's not much I can do and not much Pop will let me do.
The fit lasts a few seconds, shorter than most, but it's done its damage. Another restless sleep for Phil Sheldon.
"Mornin', Josh," said Pop in a raspy whisper immediately followed by a yawn.
"Good morning, Pop," I replied, yawning myself as I glance at my watch. 1 o'clock in the a.m. "Sleep well?"
"Heh," is all he says. His eye looks around a bit. "What are you doing here?"
"They paged me again," I said, shifting a bit in my seat. "Your blood pressure dropped for a while and they thought this was it."
"Again?" he said with a little laugh. I smile a bit.
Then, a new beep pierces the room. I look to my waist.
"Duty calls," I said, standing up. Pop smiled. "This was probably easier when you could just unplug the phone and not hear form them," I said, walking over to the bed.
"Nah," he breathed as I bent over and kissed his forehead, "they'd just send someone by your house to get you up."
"Night, Pop. I'll be by later."
He smiled as I closed the door behind me.
"What's up?" I asked into my cell phone as I started my car in a torrential rain.
It'd been raining for days, coast-to-coast. Some people attributed it to the whole one year anniversary of the death of the heroes as they battled that guy Onslaught.
I remember that day more for the fact it was the day of Pop's first heart attack. He was watching the news and they came on and said that they were dead. Pop's heart gave out, physically and emotionally.
"Hey, Josh," came a reply on the other end. Max Davis, a staff photo guy for the Bugle. Damn good photographer, too. It was a good sign to be paired up with him. "We've got ourselves a good one here. Jameson wants us down on Broadway. Seem's Hulk's running around causing power outages and stuff."
"That all?" I said, shifting the car into drive and getting on the road.
"Hell, Josh, what more info you need? When you got the Hulk you can expect the military somewhere. Also rumors that the T-bolts might make an appearance."
"Where are you?" I asked, taking a turn a little too fast and getting a few blasts from another car horn.
"I'm about a block from the action, man, and . . . woah!" shouted Max.
"Max?"
"Yeah, I'm here," he said after a couple seconds. "Hey, I'm guessing you might wanna head somewhere near Central Park, man."
"What?" I took another turn, this time a little slower, but still too reckless for this type of weather.
"Hulk went airborne and was shot out of the sky by something," said Max as i heard a car horn blare in the background over the phone. "My guess is he's hit somewhere near Central Park."
"Alright," I told him, "I'm a couple blocks from there. I'll try and find the action, maybe take a couple back up shots, just hurry up."
"Yeah, see you there."
We both hung up and I hit the gas a little more, trying to get there before anyone could scoop me on this story.
I got into journalism because I wanted to be just like my Pop. I wanted to feel the thrill and the excitement being in those situations like he was in. I wanted to be there when the mighty protected the weak, when the heroes made their stand. I was on the other side of the country when Onslaught happened. I missed that scoop reporting high school sports for some paper out in California.
This was why I came to New York. I held a tape recorder close to my face as the pouring rain fell. Right there, in the middle of Central Park was Hulk, fighting the Thunderbolts, the new group of heroes that replaced the others after Onslaught.
I fished a disposable camera from my coat pocket and pocketed the recorder, having to rely on memory and film for these next few moments. I took a couple pictures, something to fall back on if Max didn't get any.
Suddenly, the rain came down harder. Water came from everywhere, rushing into the park and at the Hulk. The elements seemed to flex on his rage.
A noise above me in the tree caught my attention and I looked up to see Spider-Man watching the events unfold. I took a quick photo, figuring Jameson would probably pay me for it if he could twist it against the web-swinger.
Then the water rushed faster in a flash flood. I was knocked off my feet and fell into water knee deep. I held on tightly to the camera, trying not to lose what would end up paying the bills. I wrapped my arms around the tree, not letting the water carry me away.
When I looked up, Spider-Man was gone. I looked around and saw him land on Hulk's back. Trying to stand up and not be washed away, I gripped a branch on the tree with one hand and the camera in the other, trying to get a shot. As I looked through the hole to aim my photo, a glowing blue ball fell from the air and hovered right in front of Hulk and Spider-Man.
Then, in the time it took for the flash to finish from the camera, they were gone.
I sat drenched in some 24 hour cafe a block from Central Park and stared at my laptop, trying desperately to come up with a story from what just happened. But, that was the problem, nothing really happened. Apart from the pouring rain and Hulk and Spider-Man disappearing, there was no news. Even then, the rain had been going on for a while now and heroes disappeared all the time.
"Here you are!" said Max as he shook himself off after coming in the place. "I've been looking all over for ya! What's ya get?"
"Nothing," I said, tossing the camera to him. "There's some photo's for you to use for whatever. There's no story here."
"Let me see," said Max, plopping himself down in the booth across from me and turning my laptop to him. He sat reading for a moment as I got a refill for my coffee. "Well," he said after a while, "way I see it, you've got a story where Spider-Man's helped the Hulk escape from the Thunderbolts and the National Guard."
"What?!?" I almost choked on my coffee. "But that's not what happened!"
"You don't know that for sure." I started to protest, but he held his hands up. "Listen, kid, you're new at this, right?"
"I've been doing this for 18 months," I said, lifting the coffee back up to my mouth.
"You're still wet behind the ears with J. Jonah," Max said. "What you saw all points to an escape and it slanders the web guy. You ever been on page one?"
"You're kidding me."
"Jameson'd give it to ya," said Max, "if you write a good article and push the right buttons."
I sat for a moment, stunned by the prospect of fudging an article and getting on page one.
"Look," said Max, standing up, "I'm gonna go get these developed at the Bugle," he said, gesturing with the camera. "If you get that story done and down to the Bugle by 2:30, You might be able to be front page on the first edition. I'll give the night crew a heads up, but the sooner the better man. Write."
He turned the laptop back to face me and left the diner without either of us saying another word.
What would Phil Sheldon do?
What would Phil Sheldon do?
I wasn't sure what Pop would have done in that situation. I wasn't even sure what I should have done in that situation. But, I did what I did.
I left the Bugle feeling like I had sold my soul. I had, I sold out and wrote an article making unfounded accusations. J.J. Jameson loved it. The woke him up at home and read him the article, getting his enthusiastic support on front page. He even came in at 3 in the morning with a fresh editorial for the early edition of the Daily Bugle.
I was the Bugle's golden boy, even if I was just a freelancer. Another nail in Spider-Man's coffin.
What would Phil Sheldon do?
I drove home in the rain that was still pouring down and ended up catching a couple hours of sleep before my alarm clock screamed at 5:30. A quick shower later, I was walking down to the corner store, the rain still coming down hard.
I looked at the newsrack while I paid for my coffee and there it was, in a big, bold headline, "SPIDEY HELPS FUGITIVE ESCAPE" and my photo of Spider-Man and Hulk disappearing into that weird ball. Of course, Max got the photo credits.
I grabbed a couple copies and paid for them. Pop wanted his Bugle every morning, and I wasn't going to deny him that because I gave up. The other copy was for me. Principles or not, I was on the front page.
I took my time getting to the hospital, realizing that I had cheated death enough while driving through this storm to bother risking it now.
I stared at the headline as I waited for the elevator to reach the floor.
"SPIDEY HELPS FUGITIVE ESCAPE," by Josh Anderson.
What would Phil Sheldon do?
I could write a correction. Yeah, Jameson would really go for that. Maybe a follow up. Yeah, it's run page ten, but it'd be there. Problem, I'm a freelancer. I write for them when they ask. Maybe next time.
The elevator doors open and I step out, pausing a moment as a bed is wheeled by.
What would Phil Sheldon do?
I walked down the hall toward his room and decided I'd have to ask him. Maybe he'll have some hints or advice. I'm sure he went through something like this early on. Yeah, everyone does right?
I turned into his room. Balloons, cards, flowers, same old stuff. But, no noise. The various beeps and hisses are silent. The bed, empty. I paused for a moment. Did he have a check up or something?
"Excuse me, nurse?" I said, catching a nurse as she passed by. "Did Mr. Sheldon have an appointment?"
"I'm not certain, sir," she said. "I can check if you'd like?"
"Um, no," I said, realizing Mom and Granny would probably be in the waiting room. "Thanks though."
I hurried down the hall, eager to find out what's up. I mean, he had to have an appointment. I would have been paged otherwise. I turned into the waiting room and saw a few people who, mostly strangers, then I saw Mom and Aunt Jen who had arrived some time last night, I guessed.
"Mom?"
They were both crying, comforting each other. Something was wrong.
It was a hard way of finding out my beeper wasn't waterproof.
What would Phil Sheldon do?
What would you have done, Pop? How did you do it? How did you survive from day to day with the tales you had? Did you ever have to question yourself, your principles, your integrity?
How would Phil Sheldon get out of this mess? How would he make right what was wrong?
I'll never really know.
The events described in this story take place in the real Marvel universe during the Heroes Reborn: The Return mini-series and before the actual Marvel Volume One continuity.
This series is based off the concept presented in the Marvels mini-series from Marvel Comics in 1994.
Thanks to Randy Lander and Mark Bousquet for helping me set this series up and get it started. Let's see what I can do with it.
