Incredible Hulk (TV show) | For I Believe in Harbors at the End
For I Believe in Harbors at the End
See the Master Post for story details
“O lost, O far and lonely, where?”
Look Homeward, Angel
* * *
Jack had been surprised, to put it mildly, the first time that John Doe, the Hulk, had contacted him by phone.
“Jack, you've got a call from a guy who says he knows you. He only gave me his first
name,” Judy had told him when she rang his office.
“I'm finishing up a story, and Mark is breathing down my neck for it. Take a message, I'll call him back later.”
“He said it was really important. Said there was a woman's life at stake.”
Jack sighed. “What's his name?”
“John. He's calling from a payphone.”
“Oh, all right. I'll take the call.”
While the call was being transferred, he finished typing the last sentence on the story his editor had strong-armed him into doing on a ghost ship, the Mary English. He was stuck here at the National Register, but he still tried his best to do some actual investigative reporting for his stories.
The fishing schooner went down in a storm in 1932, a mile from Calumet Harbor. All hands but one had perished, and the doomed sailors and ship would reappear every anniversary of the tragedy. Or so the throngs of gullible Chicago sightseers fervently believed. Jack had interviewed the latest batch of true believers, writing the story in true tabloid fashion, but he'd also met with the granddaughter of the one survivor, who related what grandpop had told her about that day, and thrown in some actual facts about the sinking. He had kept some standards when he'd had to take this job.
His editor walked into his office and he handed the story to him. Mark walked out, reading as he went. Mark was the only reason Jack tolerated working at this rag and he gave Jack a thumbs up as Judy told him his caller was on the line.
“Jack McGee?” The man's voice was pleasant, but husky. He did sound familiar.
“Yeah. You said you knew me?” Jack started sorting through the debris on his desk, pitching a half eaten sandwich in the trash.
“Please, I don't know who else to call. A woman is being hurt and I'm afraid her boyfriend is going to kill her one of these days.”
“Why don't you call the police, pal?” Jack asked.
The man said, his voice anxious, “The police are part of the problem, and I can't, I can't--”
Jack dropped the papers he'd gathered to toss in the trash all over his desk.
“John Doe. I'll be damned. No, I guess you don't want to talk to the cops.”
“Jack, please... will you hear me out?”
Jack could hear the near panic in John's voice, as he asked Jack for help. Oh, not for himself. Jack suspected that John would rather swallow live coals than beg him for anything. Except, maybe, for Jack to leave him alone.
“Yeah, John. Talk to me.”
John told him about the woman he'd tried to help. The police and the judge were firmly on her boyfriend's side: every time she left town the cops pulled her over over and arrested her, kept in jail to teach her a lesson. The judge would release her back to the boyfriend, and she'd be trapped again.
John had worked for her boyfriend, delivering flowers. She'd begged for his help, and John had agreed to help her leave town. He told Jack that he'd planned on leaving the van in the next town after smuggling her out, then he'd hitchhike out of the state. The woman was going to catch a bus and go to her sister's house in Nashville.
They were caught. She'd been taken away in a police car and John had turned into the creature when the cops had beat him up. He wasn't sure what had happened with the woman. He'd come back to himself many miles away from where the van had been forced to stop.
“What do you want me to do about this, John?” he'd interrupted.
“Couldn't you get somebody interested in the corruption in that town? Somebody to help her? Please, Jack. He hurts her.”
John had sounded so weary, and Jack had sighed. He wasn't anybody's caped crusader; he was a reporter. But he'd flashed on how John had pulled him on that makeshift sled when they'd both been trapped by wildfire in the mountains, Jack helpless with a broken leg. John had never given up. Jack had called him an idealist.
That had been before he'd seen John transform into the Hulk. Well, he'd seen most of John's amazing transformation. John's face had been bandaged from the car accident that had left him a confused amnesiac.
The Hulk, John, had saved him. Carried him in his huge green arms away from the fire and given him safely to a firefighter fleeing with his family before running off.
He supposed that he owed John for saving him. Even if he hadn't, he didn't think he could turn John away when he asked for help. If he could get John to trust him, he could talk him into turning himself in; Jack would see that John got the help he obviously needed to stop the metamorphosis that kept him a fugitive.
John had sounded relieved when Jack told him he'd look into the allegations against the police and judge in that little Indiana town. And in truth, there was a story there that would sell papers. That would make his editor happy.
Then he'd given John his home phone number.
“No. You'll try to trap me, trace the call.”
Jack had snorted. “And how would I do that?” He leaned back in his chair and stuck his feet on the desk.
“The police--”
“Do you honestly think the cops are going to help me?”
“Well--”
“Use your head, John. I ask the police to trace your call so I can locate a huge green man. Sure, they'd go for it -- when pigs fly.”
There was a sound on the other end that resembled a choked off laugh.
“Look, it would take a day or so, but I could probably get the phone company to tell me where you called from after we hung up, or get a trap and trace, but I know you, John. You'll be long gone by the time we get an address.”
“Then why?” John had sounded puzzled.
“I'll be honest with you. I'd like the chance to talk you into getting help. You're being selfish by keeping such an incredible scientific discovery to yourself. I'd like to change your mind about that, too.”
“What I become would be dangerous knowledge in the wrong hands, Jack.”
John still sounded tired, worn out, his voice as raspy as when Jack had first met him, when his throat had been hurt in the car accident that had left him without his memories.
“Sounds like a rationalization to me.”
“No, it's not. It's the truth.”
“Okay, maybe it's the truth. And maybe you've forgotten what we did together on that mountain, but I haven't. I called you my friend, and you agreed, John.”
“I didn--”
Jack didn't let him finish. “One week together, injured and hungry, cold and tired, remember?”
“I remember.”
“Well, do you remember my hands on you, and how good I made you feel? Do you remember returning the favor? We had the start of something good, John. Maybe I don't want to totally lose what we began.”
“Jack, we can't ever be like that again.”
“I'm not ready to write us off. But forget the sex. You can call when you want to talk to a friend, okay? I'll keep trying to find you, John, but I promise you, talking on the phone won't be the way.”
“You promise. How can I believe you?”
Jack shrugged, not caring if John couldn't see him. “I guess you'll have to trust me.”
“You're asking a lot from me, to trust you.”
“You called me, John. You trust me enough to ask for my help. I'm just saying, you can trust me about the phone calls, too.”
John was silent for a moment until Jack heard him coughing.
Jack said, “Anyway, I'll try to help your friend, and you keep my number. I'm guessing you don't have many friends, the way you keep running.”
“So?”
“With me, you won't have to pretend. I know you're the Hulk. You can call collect if you need to. Call me back in a week and I'll tell you how the investigation into police corruption in Glenhaven is going, and if your friend is safe.”
“But your newspaper will still keep the price on my head?” John might have phrased that as a question, but from his tone of voice, he already knew the answer.
“Yes. If you would just turn yourself in, we can find help for you.”
“No. They'd try to cage me, do experiments, and I wouldn't be able to control what happens to me. I shouldn't even be arrested. The creature didn't kill Dr. Banner or Elaina Marks.”
Jack said, “Then you don't have anything to be concerned about. You're trying to fix this, aren't you?”
John didn't say anything.
“John, you can't figure out a cure on your own, not while you're on the run. You need equipment. How can you pay for it when you can't even pay for your meals sometimes?”
“How did--. Never mind.”
“I promise if you just stop running and turn yourself in, I'll help you.”
“I can't, Jack. I just can't. But thank you.”
He'd hung up then. Jack had gone home and poured himself a stiff drink. He desperately wanted a cigarette, but he'd been trying to cut back. Dealing with John was so God damn frustrating. He doubted he'd ever hear from him again.
But he had.
A week later, John had called him back at home in the evening, the sounds of a highway in the background. Jack had been able to tell him that the woman he'd been worried about was safely housed in a woman's shelter in a different state and that checking into the corruption of the town's officials had opened a huge can of worms. Other people were coming forward with their own tales of ill treatment and coercion, emboldened now that they thought they would be believed.
John had sounded sick, breaking off to cough deeply before asking for more details about the story.
Jack had answered all of his questions before asking one of his own.
“John, just how sick are you? Have you seen a doctor?” Jack was sitting on the side of his bed, the notebook he'd been using to sketch out ideas for a novel abandoned when he'd recognized John's voice.
John had laughed, but there was no mirth to the sound.
“No. I'll be okay.”
“I'm not up on medical things, not like you are, John, but even I can recognize bronchitis or pneumonia when I hear a cough like that. What's the problem? Not enough money?”
John had been silent.
“Well, what about going to a free clinic then?”
“Maybe. I'll see if there's one wherever I end up. Jack, I have to go, I don't have any more change to put in the phone.”
“Give me the number, I'll call you back.”
“Why?” John had sounded puzzled.
“Look. I worry about you. I know you're sick, do you at least have enough money to buy food, pay for a place to stay?”
“You've shot at me with sedative darts but you wonder if I'm hungry,” John said, disbelief and bemusement in his voice. “Jack, you can't act like you're my friend and then try to trap me.”
“I want back what we had in the mountains, John.”
“What we had is gone. You're trying to capture me, Jack!”
“Yes I am. I'm not going to apologize, either. But we clicked, you know we did, and maybe, if you'll give yourself up and let me help you, we can have it back.”
“Oh Jack. No. We can't. Are you forgetting the part where you're trying to catch me?”
“I'm not forgetting anything. Okay, when I first went after the Hulk, I didn't know he was you. A man. And you are dangerous. I've seen you when you change. You're so strong, and so angry. I've seen the destruction that follows you.”
“I haven't really hurt anybody though.”
“Except for David Banner and Elaina Marks.”
“I didn't hurt or kill them.” John said it quietly, and if Jack didn't know better, he'd think he was hearing the honest truth. The poor bastard.
“John, you're just hiding the truth from yourself about their deaths.”
“I'm not deluding myself, Jack. I didn't kill them!”
“Look, I know you didn't mean to do it. You don't know what you're doing when you're the Hulk, right? You told me you'd blacked out when you obviously had changed to the Hulk when we were together on the mountain. The rest of the people you've tossed or shoved were lucky they got off with bruises.”
“As far as I know, every time I've done that it was in self-defense.”
“But you can't guarantee that the Hulk won't hurt someone seriously in the future.”
John was silent.
“Stop running, John. There have to be scientists in the government, or maybe back at the Culver Institute, who could help you. Maybe Dr. Banner's research holds the answer.”
John laughed again, a bitter sharp sound that ended in another coughing fit.
“Dr. Banner's research is useless for helping me--”
John's voice was swapped for a dial tone. Jack swore; he couldn't call him back because John hadn't trusted him enough to give him the number to contact him.
He waited by the phone for a while, in case, John scraped up some more change, but when his apartment stayed silent, he gave up and went to bed.
In the dark, he deliberately thought back to John lying dazed in a hospital bed. He'd been soft-spoken, obviously intelligent, and although his features were covered, his hands, his thick dark hair and lean build indicated a man who was still young. Jack had talked his editor into paying to have John evaluated by a specialist in amnesia, since it seemed that John had some knowledge about the Hulk. What a joke the universe had played on both of them, hunter and prey, by causing their plane to crash in the wilderness on the way to see that specialist.
He'd liked John. He was a sweetheart, smart and funny, good-natured, tireless in his attempt to save them both from the fires that were sweeping through the mountains and from the wolves who thought they were easy prey.
Being in a life and death fix like that, inhibitions had dropped away for both of them. Jack didn't let many people know that he mostly liked men for sexual partners. There was the occasional woman, but none of his relationships with girlfriends ever lasted very long. They always figured out fairly soon that there wasn't any kind of a future with him.
He might be flexible when it came to gender, but his attraction to smart people was a constant.
John was brilliant. The things that he'd done to help Jack with his broken leg, making the sled out of the airplane wreckage and in outwitting the wolves, showed how he could adapt, think fast on his feet. Jack had admired him for that. They'd grown close, talking by the fire at night about literature and testing John on what he knew about general knowledge. John couldn't remember his own name, but he had medical know-how, and had a vast knowledge of scientific information and knew classical and modern literature.
The conversation had become personal, especially after they'd slept huddled together to share body heat. Jack was sure he was reading John correctly, that John was as attracted to him as he was to John. Jack began seeing how affectionate he could be with John. John had responded nicely, and had reciprocated.
When Jack had been in pain, though, John had rubbed Jack's back, and pushed down on pressure points on the back of his hand and around his knee. John said that was he was doing was a traditional Chinese method to control leg pain. He talked about meridian channels and when Jack asked him how he knew stuff like that, John grew quiet. He said it was like a door opening and shutting in his mind, and he'd had a glimpse of a blind old Chinese man, who had taught him. He couldn't remember the man's name or where he'd lived, though.
Jack had kissed him as they'd sat on the sled, watching the fire burn. It had felt strange, since John's face was covered in bandages. The doctor had warned that they should stay on, when Jack had asked if they could be taken off so he could look at John. John thought he might know Jack, although Jack had mentioned that feeling might just be from seeing Jack's picture in the paper with his byline.
John was sure it was more than that, though. And sometimes, John had remembered traveling through an area that Jack had also spent time in, following a lead on the Hulk. Jack thought that John might be doing something similar to him - trying to track down the Hulk.
It turned out that John was right. And so was Jack. Their connection had everything to do with the Hulk. He thought, in hindsight, that John had regained his memories before he'd changed into the Hulk to save Jack. He'd acted differently, had been guarded, and the warmth that he'd shown during their week of hell had cooled considerably.
Before that, though, he and John had gone from kissing and hugging to awkward groping and fondling, and they'd exchanged handjobs.
It seemed odd to Jack now that he and John had indulged in sex like that. At the time, though, it had felt more than right. Probably some survival instinct kicking in, to continue the species during dangerous times, even if it had been with a partner that would not make a baby. Instinct only went so far, after all.
If John had experienced sex with other men, Jack didn't think it could have been with too many. It was different to hold another man's penis, and John hadn't seemed to have any real muscle memory to help him find the best places to tip Jack over into coming. His hands hadn't been deft with his touches, not like John had shown with, oh, making a splint for Jack's leg.
He hadn't confronted John, hadn't told him he could tell he was new, or near to new, to having sex with men. Survival had been more important than distracting John with wondering about his sexuality. In a way, John's amnesia had probably freed him from denying his attraction to his own sex. Or at least to Jack. Maybe someday he'd get a chance to ask John about his sexual preferences, past and current.
Jack glanced at his bedside clock. It was very late now, and he needed to sleep. He let his hand wander south, pushing into his briefs, and with slow strokes he built up his orgasm until he couldn't wait anymore. He moved fast then, his hands practiced, and thought of John's awkward touches on his dick, erratic and wonderful. Remembering John's body arcing, the grateful, ecstatic sounds he'd gasped as Jack made him orgasm, Jack came. Slipping off his briefs, he used them to wipe himself clean and tossed them on the floor.
Wondering again if John was all right, he rolled to his side and let himself relax into sleep.
* * *
Jack kept doing his job. Actually, most of his colleagues considered his chasing after stories about the Hulk to be more of an obsession. Maybe he was obsessed. He certainly had enough nightmares about being chased by the creature. The Hulk, John, fascinated him. So he'd drive or fly to whatever new town or place the Hulk had been spotted. He'd interview witnesses, try to learn more about John. He wanted very badly to see John's face, to make him look at Jack. John's eyes had shown nothing but honesty when he'd been a man who didn't know his own name. Jack wondered a lot about what he'd see in those gray eyes now.
* * *
Jack was tired. He'd just gotten back to Chicago from Jenson County where it had been blisteringly hot, and the dust settled on your skin and in your clothes. The South-west was not a part of the country he liked very much. But to find and capture the Hulk, he'd go anywhere.
He unpacked, showered, and had poured himself a scotch and soda over ice when the phone rang. He thought it must be work related. He didn't really have friends who would feel comfortable imposing on him with a late night call.
Holding his drink in one hand, comfortable in a T-shirt and old, slightly ragged jeans, he picked up the phone, and tucked it up between his shoulder and ear as he stretched the cord, sitting down on his bed.
“McGee.” He yawned, took a sip of his drink.
Silence greeted him but he could hear somebody breathing. He rolled his eyes. Great, some punk doing a prank call. He set his drink down on the bedside table, leaned against the headboard, and stretched his legs out on top of the covers.
“Look, kid, if you're trying to scare me with the heavy breathing bit, you can forget it. I don't spook that easily.”
He'd been up close and personal with the Hulk a number of times now. He still had nightmares about the creature. A heavy breather on the phone line was small potatoes in comparison.
“Last chance to talk before I hang up. On the count of three, kid. One, two--”
“Mr. McGee, ah, don't, don't hang up.”
Jack frowned. The voice sounded familiar, but the name belonging to it escaped him.
“Okay, so not a kid. Who are you and what do you want and how did you get my home phone number? I don't give it out to many people, and the ones that do have it don't call me Mr. McGee. They call me Jack.”
He heard a sigh, and that wary, weary sound triggered his memory.
“You gave it to me, Mr. McGee. This is, uh, well you called me-”
“John Doe. I was close this last time, John. To think that two days ago you were standing with the other convicts at that prison work camp. Damn. I probably looked right at you.”
“I was lucky.”
“Uh-huh. You know, I had that man you helped, the one who went bonkers because of a brain tumor, thought he was Hemmingway?”
“So he did have a brain tumor.”
“Yeah, and his doctors gave you the credit for figuring it out.”
“He's okay?”
“He's fine. I had him give your description to a sketch artist, before I realized he was deliberately giving wrong details. Bushy eyebrows, my left foot.”
He took another swallow of his drink, waiting to see if John would say anything. There was nothing but John's breathing on the other line, and it was a little fast.
Jack said, “I run into that a lot, you know.”
“Sorry?”
“People refusing to identify you because they like you. Hell, you know that I like you. But I'll never stop trying to bring you in, John. You need help, even if you can't see it that way. Why did you call me?”
“Mr. McGee--”
“Oh, for crying out loud, John, call me Jack. I've held your dick in my hand and you've held mine. I think that puts us on a first name basis, don't you? And you called me Jack the last two times you called.”
“I know what we did. That's why I think I'd better keep to Mr. McGee, because it's not going to happen again.”
“You've got regrets? Because that was you babbling next to me, wasn't it, when I made you come? You liked it, John. Don't kid yourself. So tell me, now that your mind isn't full of holes anymore, was that your first time with a man?”
“Mr. McGee, that's not any of your business. And it's not the reason I called you.”
“You don't need an actual reason, John. You can just call to talk.”
“Well, I do have a reason. I didn't really see much in the papers about the corruption going on at the prison camp. Are you going to keep the story going, is anybody in the media looking into what was happening there?”
“I wasn't planning on it. Can't speak for other papers or the news shows.”
“I'm afraid, Mr. McGee, that things will go right back to the way they were unless all of those people are held accountable. If you, your paper were to keep at them, then it has a shot at being stopped for good.”
“Hmph. I didn't go out there for that story, John. I went because you were there. The Hulk.”
“But couldn't you do an expose on it now, Mr. McGee? The prisoners, they don't have anybody to take their side, to look out for their rights. It was wrong for the court system to treat us that way.”
“Maybe I could look into it a little more.”
“The whole judicial system in Jenson County was in on it, you know. The judge, the D.A., the cops, the warden, the ones who benefited from the cheap labor, it wasn't an individual case or two, it was a lot broader than that.”
“Still the idealist, aren't you, John?”
“I'm just trying to do the right thing.” John said, a little defensive.
“By talking me into doing the right thing. You can't risk testifying, can you?”
The only response was the increase in John's breathing.
“What would the police learn if they ran your fingerprints, John? Your real name?”
Silence still.
“Do you have a record, John? Are you wanted for something under your real name?”
John still didn't answer. Jack wasn't surprised.
“Sounds like a big fat yes to me, John.”
“Jack, those men need help.”
“And you can't do it by yourself, can you?”
“No, I can't.” John sounded defeated. “Congratulations, you've figured out that I can't risk talking to the police.”
“Well, the Hulk is wanted, but nobody knows you're the Hulk. I can't even identify you, and we spent a week together. Just what kind of trouble are you in?”
“Jack, do you really think I'm going to tell you?”
“No. But I wish you would. I can help you if you turn yourself in. Because I may not know your name, but I know you. You're a good man, John. If you're in trouble, it wasn't your fault. Why don't you let me help you?”
“Mr. McGee, I can't. It's impossible. But I'm not a criminal. I've done nothing wrong.”
“You've destroyed a lot of property, John. Or do you prefer another alias?”
“What?”
“You've told the cops a couple of times now that your first name is David. They called you Davy at the prison camp. Should I call you Davy?”
“Mr. McGee, are you going to help those men?”
“I think I'll stick with John as your name, until you're ready to tell me your real one. You see, John Doe, he was an honest kind of guy. Do anything to help me, and he was my friend. David, or Davy, he's not my friend. He wouldn't do the things me and John did with each other, would he?”
The operator chimed in, demanding more change or the call would be terminated. John said quickly, “I don't have any more money, please, Mr. McGee, will you do the story?”
“Tell you what, John. Let's make us a little deal. You start by giving me the phone number of where you're at, and I'll call you back. And then we'll negotiate. You see, I'm not an idealist. If I push your story, then I want some things back from you. Up to you, John, but you'd better make up your mind quick. Tick-tock, you know.”
There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of a fist hitting something.
“Damn it, Jack McGee!” John breathed out a long sigh. “Give me your word that you're not having this call traced and I'll give you my number.”
“I give you my word that I'm not having the call traced. Anyway, like I told you before, you're greatly over-estimating my pull with the police department. The Chicago cops don't give a damn about tracking down the Hulk, unless you're running down Michigan Avenue. Now, how about that number?”
John gave it to him and hung up. Jack sipped at his drink and slowly dialed the number John had given him.
“Mr. McGee?” John sounded like he'd regained the calmness he'd showed so much during their time in the mountains when not even hungry wolves had been able to shake him up.
“I want you to talk to me, John. That's my price for sweet talking my editor into letting me do your story.”
“Talk about what?”
“Oh, stop worrying that I'm going to trick you into telling me where you are, or something like that.”
“Jack. This isn't easy for me.”
“Look, I'll find you again the same way I've been doing for the last couple of years. The Hulk isn't a subtle kind of guy, now is he? You'll become him, John, and someone who wants the reward money will call me. You leave Hulk sized holes in brick walls, you run down the middle of streets, huge and green and half-naked, and you jump off buildings with lots of witnesses to see it. You've just been lucky so far.”
“I know.”
“And when I do catch you, I want you to remember that I'm not doing it to hurt you. I'm doing it to help you.”
Jack tried to sound as sincere as he could, and hell, he was telling the truth. He wanted to help John as much as he wanted to keep people from getting hurt by him.
John didn't say anything for a while, the silence growing into a deep chasm between them. Then he sighed again, and Jack read years of resignation in the sound.
John finally said, “That's not what you said to me on the mountain.”
“So what did I say, John?”
“You said that I, the Hulk, would be the way you'd escape working at the Register. You want the fame, a Pulitzer for journalism, to go back to writing a real column. You said that you knew your paper would exploit me, and you don't care about that, Jack. You said people had to make choices and it was you or the other guy.”
John's voice rose in indignation. “I'm the other guy, Jack! You said you wouldn't let me go if you knew who I was. You're the last person on earth I should trust with my secret.”
“I'm being honest with you, John, that's all. And you know, it's you who keep calling me to help you. I think that shows that you do trust me, up to a point.”
“It shows how desperate I am.”
Jack said, “I know you're desperate, but you did come to me. You trust me at least a little, John.“
“Jack, this isn't about me and if I trust you. It's about how those prisoners are being taken advantage of! A lot of those men shouldn't have even been brought up on charges.”
“All right, John. All right. I helped you about the woman, and I'll talk Mark, my editor, into letting me do the prison camp story.”
John's exhale of relief was clear to him. “Thank you, Jack.”
“Uh-huh. Here's my bottom line. I think your story is the most important scientific discovery of this century. I think that you're being selfish by running like you are, keeping this knowledge to yourself.'
“I've told you before, this knowledge is dangerous, Jack.”
“I can see that. You can't handle this by yourself, John. Really, have you figured out a cure?”
“You know I haven't.”
“So let some other smart people take a crack at it.”
“If I find the right person I will.”
“Like Doctor Banner and Doctor Marks? Maybe you need more than just one or two other people. For safety. Their safety.”
“Jack, why won't you believe me? I didn't kill them.”
“I saw the Hulk there that night. He had grabbed Elaina Marks. God, the flames, the heat - I still have nightmares about it. I was dazed, and I regret not stopping Doctor Banner. He might have lived. Instead he ran into the lab to save her. I think the Hulk killed him because of that. Maybe you didn't really understand what you were doing, but you should be held accountable for the deaths you've caused.”
“I'm tired of telling you that I didn't kill them. You're just going to believe what you want to, anyway.” John's voice was dull. He sounded exhausted all of a sudden.
“Look, John, I can appreciate that it's hard to accept. I believe that you believe that you didn't kill them, but that's not the truth.”
“I'm tell-- oh, forget it.”
“I also think that mitigating circumstances should apply. You're not turning into the Hulk on purpose. You need help. Somebody is going to try to kill you when you're the Hulk, because they won't know that you're a man. A good man. As a matter of fact, when you transformed on that boat where that guy was holding you as a hostage, I spoiled the aim of a policeman that was going to blow a hole in your chest.”
“You did? Umm, thanks.”
“I don't want to see you hurt, John. I'm not going to hurt you, not unless you're endangering someone else. When I point a gun at you, it's only to make you go to sleep.”
“And what happens when I wake up? Do you really think the Hulk couldn't tear through any prison walls?”
“Not if you cooperate and explain how to keep you from changing.”
John sighed, and the weight of all his troubles was in that sound. It made Jack want to say something to make him feel better.
“You know, you've saved my life a couple of times now. The first time, in Las Vegas, I was sure that the Hulk did it accidentally, but you carried me out of the fire on the mountain, and I know that was no accident.”
“I never remember what happens when I'm the Hulk. I saved you?”
Jack said, “Yes. Thanks for that, by the way. And before I interview you about the prison camp, I want to know if you got your memory back when we were together.”
“Mmm. I was so confused when I realized I'd blacked out and must have carried you away from where you'd fallen over the edge of the cliff. The last thing I remembered was trying to pull you up. And then, when I came to, I'd lost my shirt and shoes. I told you that, right?”
“Yes. I remember that. I was starting to get lightheaded from the infection in my leg, but that I do remember.”
John said slowly,“I... had some glimpses of things, in my head, but they didn't make sense. I remember that I had trouble deciding if you were my enemy or my friend.”
“Well, you kept right on saving me by pulling me on that sled, so I guess that you decided friend.” Jack paused, thinking. “Actually, you're the type to save an enemy's life, so which was it, John? Friend or enemy?”
John was silent for another long moment, then said quietly, “Friend. I decided you were my friend. I remembered everything a while later, when I went to get water from the stream.”
“Ah, I thought you were acting differently when you came back from there. You said you were annoyed that I hadn't stayed on the sled. I'd re-opened my leg wound.”
“Well, that was part of it. Jack, you're the worst patient in the world. How many times did I tell you to stay put, but would you? Hell, no. Did your leg heal up okay?”
“Yes. Thanks to you, according to the doctors at the hospital.”
“I bet you gave them a hard time, too. I'd bet all the money I've got that you left the hospital early, against medical advice.” John had sounded a little amused and exasperated.
“Keep your money, John. You know me too well.”
“It does feel like it. Okay, what do you want to know about the prison camp?”
After Jack had gotten details on the corruption John had witnessed, Jack decided to make the questions more personal.
“You've been picked up twice now for vagrancy, that I know about. How did it make you, an intelligent, capable man, feel to be considered a bum by the cops?”
“What's that got to do with the story on the camp?” John asked, puzzlement in his voice.
“Nothing. I told you, I want you to talk to me. I could have gotten that other information from other sources, but I want to know about you, John. Remember the deal?”
John went silent.
“I want to know you, John. I think about you a lot.”
“Why?”
“Look, I can't use this for any stories for the Register. Mark already thinks I'm too involved, too obsessed with you. He'd like me to drop the whole thing, transfer the story to somebody else.”
“I suppose I can only hope that happens.”
“It won't. If I'm taken off this story, I'll quit and freelance on it. I'm going to find you, John.”
“Jack, don't you have a life to live, instead of chasing after me?” John said, wryly.
“Not really. So, when you were arrested for sleeping on the beach, I had to think that you found it embarrassing and degrading.”
John laughed, a bitter edge to the sound. “Well, you're not wrong. And I wasn't hurting anything or anybody. They wouldn't let me just move on, either. That felt frustrating. The second time, well, I felt the same way, and helpless. They arrested me on charges on vandalism, trespassing and stealing. That sounds pretty bad,doesn't it?”
“Sort of.”
“Ah, but what actually happened was that I hopped a broken fence in an abandoned looking orchard, where there were no signs posted about no trespassing, and I'll admit to the stealing. I picked an apple off the ground and was eating it when a deputy sheriff on patrol spotted me. I was hungry. I've learned since all of this began just how powerful a force hunger can be. I've watched people prostitute themselves so they can eat.”
“Have you done that, John? I won't judge you if you have.”
“Not yet. But I know that I might, if all other avenues for my survival are blocked. It's not a comforting thought.”
“You know, the cop who arrested you on the beach thought he was doing you a favor, making sure you'd get something to eat, a better place to sleep for the night.”
“And he wanted to run my prints, see if I had any outstanding charges. Cops are suspicious of people, their motives, their actions. That's something else I've learned.”
“Is it all bad, the things you've learned being on the run? I can think of quite a few negative things, like always being a stranger, not having a home, having to leave people and places that you like and not keeping in contact with them, being hungry, like you
pointed out. Not having enough money to pay for shelter or medical care. Are you lonely, John?”
“Yes.” Silence again. “Jack, please, let's talk about something else. I try not to think about those things, you know.”
Jack just kept quiet as he heard David take a couple of deep breaths.
A few heartbeats later, David started to talk again. “I've been grateful for the help people have given me. Some of the people I've met have renewed my faith in the human race. Some have taught me how to get by, how to survive.”
Jack murmured, “Hmm?”and David kept talking.
“When I was in the hotbox, in the camp, the other guy next to me in his hotbox, well, he sang. He sang and it was so beautiful, because they couldn't kill his spirit. He told me the trick about sucking on a pebble so I wouldn't go crazy with thirst. And, well, I've learned a whole new set of job skills over the last couple of years. Some I've liked, but even the ones I don't like I've appreciated since I at least had a job and was able to pay my way.”
He chuckled, an honest sound that Jack liked much better than his earlier, bitter laugh. “I'm very grateful when people I've met won't talk to you about me, actually.”
Jack laughed, amused at John's cheek. “Okay. I know it isn't easy for you to let down your guard and talk to me. Tell you what, I'll let you choose between discussing literature or your sex life. What are you wearing anyway? Me, I've got on an old T-shirt and jeans on, and I'm sprawled out on my bed in my studio apartment. How about you? I assume you're dressed. Are you in a phone booth by the side of the road, or inside somewhere?”
“Jack.” John's voice sounded both disapproving and amused.
“Well? Was I your first man?”
“I pick literature. Um, what's one of your favorite books?”
“Mmm... Look Homeward, Angel. Have you read it, John? I mean, Thomas Wolfe said you can't go home again, and I found that to be true for me. When I went home for my father's funeral, it was like I was a piece that had no place in that puzzle anymore.”
“I haven't been home for a very long time. My father and I are, well, I didn't leave home on good terms with him. Yes, I think Thomas Wolfe was right. Look Homeward, Angel was a favorite of mine, too. I haven't read that book for ages, though.”
“Hang on. There's some quotes and passages I've marked that I'd like to read to you, to hear what you think about them.”
Jack put down the phone and walked quickly to his bookcase, running his hand over the spines of the books till he found the right book. He opened it to one of pages marked with an index card and sat back down on the bed, picked the phone back up.
“You there, John?”
Yes.” Jack was relieved.
“Okay. Listen. But we are the sum of all the moments of our lives--all that is ours is in them: we cannot escape or conceal it. If the writer has used the clay of life to make his book, he has only used what all men must, what none can keep from using. Fiction is not fact, but fiction is fact selected and understood, fiction is fact arranged and charged with purpose. Dr. Johnson remarked that a man would turn over half a library to make a single book: in the same way, a novelist may turn over half the people in a town to make a single figure in his novel. He ruffled some feathers in his home town, you know, writing this story.”
“I see his point. I'm not a writer, but as a scien- never mind. You're the writer. Do you agree?”
“Yes.” Jack had caught John's blunder. He was going to say that he was a scientist. Jack had already figured that out, and he wouldn't spook John into hanging up by telling him that.
John said, “Do you write novels, short stories, or just news stories?”
“I've written some short stories, and I have a couple of failed novels under my belt from my college days. Someday, I'd like to take a crack at writing a book again. Probably non-fiction.”
“Are you collecting characters from meeting people?”
“If I do write a novel again, then yes, I'll mine and scavenge everything I can from what I've learned from people and about them. And in this business, I meet some real characters.”
“Present company excepted, I hope.”
“Present company heading the list. John, you're fascinating.”
“Because of the Hulk.”
“Partly. But I didn't know you were the Hulk, did I, and you intrigued me. So, just plain John Doe is a character, too.”
“Ahh. Thanks. I think.” Jack could hear a smile in those words. It was kind of rewarding, getting John to smile.
“Okay, here's another passage I'd you to hear. If you remember, Ben was the brother who died. Eugene's been flipping out for a while, thinks he sees his brother's ghost, talks to him, that sort of thing.”
He cleared his throat. "And day came, and the song of waking birds, and the Square, bathed in the young pearl light of morning. And a wind stirred lightly in the Square, and, as he looked, Ben, like a fume of smoke, was melted into dawn.
And the angels on Gant's porch were frozen in hard marble silence,
and at a distance life awoke, and there was a rattle of lean
wheels, a slow clangor of shod hoofs. And he heard the whistle
wail along the river.
Yet, as he stood for the last time by the angels of his father's
porch, it seemed as if the Square already were far and lost; or, I
should say, he was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town
he has left, yet does not say 'The town is near,' but turns his
eyes upon the distant soaring ranges."
He heard John draw in a sharp breath and hold it. “John? You all right?”
Another sigh. “I've lost people, people I loved and that just... But you can't stay lost with them, even if you want to, not and try to live. It's just hard, you know.”
“I know.”
“I miss them so much, and I think about them, but I can't let myself be like Eugene, talking to his brother's ghost. It's not really living, you know. Once you've moved on, that time is done, it's over.”
“I'm sorry.” He was. He wanted to engage with John, not stir up painful memories for the man.
“The grief can cripple you, but you keep putting one foot in front of the other even when each step is so painful and you don't think you can do it one more time, but you do.”
“John, I didn't intend to make this hard for you.”
“No... it's okay. I never really talk about things like this with anyone. I don't know them well enough, and the last person that I was really close to, she died, too.”
“John... You remember that I told you I don't have many friends? And I know we can't really be friends, not under these circumstances.”
“I don't see how, either.”
“Wish I'd met you before the Hulk happened to you. But you can talk to me, like this. Whenever you want. If you're lonely or you want to flirt or to just hear the voice of someone who knows you. It's a standing offer.”
“But you'll still try to capture me, won't you?”
“Yes. That can't change, John. But I'll help you if you turn yourself in. I'll get a lawyer for you, a good one.”
“You're really persistent, Mr. McGee. Anybody ever tell you that?”
“All the time, John, all the time. Did you call me Mr. McGee again because I said that about flirting?”
“Maybe... Yes. A reminder to myself not to flirt back.”
“Don't pretend that we didn't have sex together, John. We did. So, was I your first man?”
“Literature, Jack. I picked literature. Tell me what your thoughts are on the book.”
Jack didn't push him anymore, and they discussed Thomas Wolfe's novels until John started yawning and slurring his words.
“You're almost asleep, John. Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
“Mmm. I'm standing in it. It's not very roomy but it'll do. Is the deal done, Jack? I don't think I'm gonna make sense for much longer.”
“Yeah, you kept your side of the bargain; I'll keep mine. Goodnight, John. Stay safe. Don't lose my number.”
“Bye, Jack.” The line went dead and Jack slowly placed the phone back on the receiver.
He'd pitch following up with the prison camp expose to Mark in the morning. He wondered if John would really sleep in that phone booth. He was slender, and not tall, but it would still be uncomfortable. If it was business hours, he might be able to get the phone company to give him an address for the number. John would be gone by morning, though.
Jack got up and put the book back on the shelf. There was an idea stirring in his mind, that John's story was so important that short news accounts of the damage the Hulk did and the people he'd frightened, or in some cases, saved, were inadequate to show the tragedy of John's life. But a novel might. An biography wasn't possible because he didn't have enough details about John to write it. He didn't even know John's real name. But a novel could allow him to fill in the blanks while still getting across John's story. He'd think about it, play with the idea. There was the flavor of Les Miserable about John's life, with John being the good man pursued by him, Javret. If he wrote this, though, he'd want to put in a twist. He'd think about it.
* * *
Chapter Two
See the Master Post for story details
“O lost, O far and lonely, where?”
Look Homeward, Angel
* * *
Jack had been surprised, to put it mildly, the first time that John Doe, the Hulk, had contacted him by phone.
“Jack, you've got a call from a guy who says he knows you. He only gave me his first
name,” Judy had told him when she rang his office.
“I'm finishing up a story, and Mark is breathing down my neck for it. Take a message, I'll call him back later.”
“He said it was really important. Said there was a woman's life at stake.”
Jack sighed. “What's his name?”
“John. He's calling from a payphone.”
“Oh, all right. I'll take the call.”
While the call was being transferred, he finished typing the last sentence on the story his editor had strong-armed him into doing on a ghost ship, the Mary English. He was stuck here at the National Register, but he still tried his best to do some actual investigative reporting for his stories.
The fishing schooner went down in a storm in 1932, a mile from Calumet Harbor. All hands but one had perished, and the doomed sailors and ship would reappear every anniversary of the tragedy. Or so the throngs of gullible Chicago sightseers fervently believed. Jack had interviewed the latest batch of true believers, writing the story in true tabloid fashion, but he'd also met with the granddaughter of the one survivor, who related what grandpop had told her about that day, and thrown in some actual facts about the sinking. He had kept some standards when he'd had to take this job.
His editor walked into his office and he handed the story to him. Mark walked out, reading as he went. Mark was the only reason Jack tolerated working at this rag and he gave Jack a thumbs up as Judy told him his caller was on the line.
“Jack McGee?” The man's voice was pleasant, but husky. He did sound familiar.
“Yeah. You said you knew me?” Jack started sorting through the debris on his desk, pitching a half eaten sandwich in the trash.
“Please, I don't know who else to call. A woman is being hurt and I'm afraid her boyfriend is going to kill her one of these days.”
“Why don't you call the police, pal?” Jack asked.
The man said, his voice anxious, “The police are part of the problem, and I can't, I can't--”
Jack dropped the papers he'd gathered to toss in the trash all over his desk.
“John Doe. I'll be damned. No, I guess you don't want to talk to the cops.”
“Jack, please... will you hear me out?”
Jack could hear the near panic in John's voice, as he asked Jack for help. Oh, not for himself. Jack suspected that John would rather swallow live coals than beg him for anything. Except, maybe, for Jack to leave him alone.
“Yeah, John. Talk to me.”
John told him about the woman he'd tried to help. The police and the judge were firmly on her boyfriend's side: every time she left town the cops pulled her over over and arrested her, kept in jail to teach her a lesson. The judge would release her back to the boyfriend, and she'd be trapped again.
John had worked for her boyfriend, delivering flowers. She'd begged for his help, and John had agreed to help her leave town. He told Jack that he'd planned on leaving the van in the next town after smuggling her out, then he'd hitchhike out of the state. The woman was going to catch a bus and go to her sister's house in Nashville.
They were caught. She'd been taken away in a police car and John had turned into the creature when the cops had beat him up. He wasn't sure what had happened with the woman. He'd come back to himself many miles away from where the van had been forced to stop.
“What do you want me to do about this, John?” he'd interrupted.
“Couldn't you get somebody interested in the corruption in that town? Somebody to help her? Please, Jack. He hurts her.”
John had sounded so weary, and Jack had sighed. He wasn't anybody's caped crusader; he was a reporter. But he'd flashed on how John had pulled him on that makeshift sled when they'd both been trapped by wildfire in the mountains, Jack helpless with a broken leg. John had never given up. Jack had called him an idealist.
That had been before he'd seen John transform into the Hulk. Well, he'd seen most of John's amazing transformation. John's face had been bandaged from the car accident that had left him a confused amnesiac.
The Hulk, John, had saved him. Carried him in his huge green arms away from the fire and given him safely to a firefighter fleeing with his family before running off.
He supposed that he owed John for saving him. Even if he hadn't, he didn't think he could turn John away when he asked for help. If he could get John to trust him, he could talk him into turning himself in; Jack would see that John got the help he obviously needed to stop the metamorphosis that kept him a fugitive.
John had sounded relieved when Jack told him he'd look into the allegations against the police and judge in that little Indiana town. And in truth, there was a story there that would sell papers. That would make his editor happy.
Then he'd given John his home phone number.
“No. You'll try to trap me, trace the call.”
Jack had snorted. “And how would I do that?” He leaned back in his chair and stuck his feet on the desk.
“The police--”
“Do you honestly think the cops are going to help me?”
“Well--”
“Use your head, John. I ask the police to trace your call so I can locate a huge green man. Sure, they'd go for it -- when pigs fly.”
There was a sound on the other end that resembled a choked off laugh.
“Look, it would take a day or so, but I could probably get the phone company to tell me where you called from after we hung up, or get a trap and trace, but I know you, John. You'll be long gone by the time we get an address.”
“Then why?” John had sounded puzzled.
“I'll be honest with you. I'd like the chance to talk you into getting help. You're being selfish by keeping such an incredible scientific discovery to yourself. I'd like to change your mind about that, too.”
“What I become would be dangerous knowledge in the wrong hands, Jack.”
John still sounded tired, worn out, his voice as raspy as when Jack had first met him, when his throat had been hurt in the car accident that had left him without his memories.
“Sounds like a rationalization to me.”
“No, it's not. It's the truth.”
“Okay, maybe it's the truth. And maybe you've forgotten what we did together on that mountain, but I haven't. I called you my friend, and you agreed, John.”
“I didn--”
Jack didn't let him finish. “One week together, injured and hungry, cold and tired, remember?”
“I remember.”
“Well, do you remember my hands on you, and how good I made you feel? Do you remember returning the favor? We had the start of something good, John. Maybe I don't want to totally lose what we began.”
“Jack, we can't ever be like that again.”
“I'm not ready to write us off. But forget the sex. You can call when you want to talk to a friend, okay? I'll keep trying to find you, John, but I promise you, talking on the phone won't be the way.”
“You promise. How can I believe you?”
Jack shrugged, not caring if John couldn't see him. “I guess you'll have to trust me.”
“You're asking a lot from me, to trust you.”
“You called me, John. You trust me enough to ask for my help. I'm just saying, you can trust me about the phone calls, too.”
John was silent for a moment until Jack heard him coughing.
Jack said, “Anyway, I'll try to help your friend, and you keep my number. I'm guessing you don't have many friends, the way you keep running.”
“So?”
“With me, you won't have to pretend. I know you're the Hulk. You can call collect if you need to. Call me back in a week and I'll tell you how the investigation into police corruption in Glenhaven is going, and if your friend is safe.”
“But your newspaper will still keep the price on my head?” John might have phrased that as a question, but from his tone of voice, he already knew the answer.
“Yes. If you would just turn yourself in, we can find help for you.”
“No. They'd try to cage me, do experiments, and I wouldn't be able to control what happens to me. I shouldn't even be arrested. The creature didn't kill Dr. Banner or Elaina Marks.”
Jack said, “Then you don't have anything to be concerned about. You're trying to fix this, aren't you?”
John didn't say anything.
“John, you can't figure out a cure on your own, not while you're on the run. You need equipment. How can you pay for it when you can't even pay for your meals sometimes?”
“How did--. Never mind.”
“I promise if you just stop running and turn yourself in, I'll help you.”
“I can't, Jack. I just can't. But thank you.”
He'd hung up then. Jack had gone home and poured himself a stiff drink. He desperately wanted a cigarette, but he'd been trying to cut back. Dealing with John was so God damn frustrating. He doubted he'd ever hear from him again.
But he had.
A week later, John had called him back at home in the evening, the sounds of a highway in the background. Jack had been able to tell him that the woman he'd been worried about was safely housed in a woman's shelter in a different state and that checking into the corruption of the town's officials had opened a huge can of worms. Other people were coming forward with their own tales of ill treatment and coercion, emboldened now that they thought they would be believed.
John had sounded sick, breaking off to cough deeply before asking for more details about the story.
Jack had answered all of his questions before asking one of his own.
“John, just how sick are you? Have you seen a doctor?” Jack was sitting on the side of his bed, the notebook he'd been using to sketch out ideas for a novel abandoned when he'd recognized John's voice.
John had laughed, but there was no mirth to the sound.
“No. I'll be okay.”
“I'm not up on medical things, not like you are, John, but even I can recognize bronchitis or pneumonia when I hear a cough like that. What's the problem? Not enough money?”
John had been silent.
“Well, what about going to a free clinic then?”
“Maybe. I'll see if there's one wherever I end up. Jack, I have to go, I don't have any more change to put in the phone.”
“Give me the number, I'll call you back.”
“Why?” John had sounded puzzled.
“Look. I worry about you. I know you're sick, do you at least have enough money to buy food, pay for a place to stay?”
“You've shot at me with sedative darts but you wonder if I'm hungry,” John said, disbelief and bemusement in his voice. “Jack, you can't act like you're my friend and then try to trap me.”
“I want back what we had in the mountains, John.”
“What we had is gone. You're trying to capture me, Jack!”
“Yes I am. I'm not going to apologize, either. But we clicked, you know we did, and maybe, if you'll give yourself up and let me help you, we can have it back.”
“Oh Jack. No. We can't. Are you forgetting the part where you're trying to catch me?”
“I'm not forgetting anything. Okay, when I first went after the Hulk, I didn't know he was you. A man. And you are dangerous. I've seen you when you change. You're so strong, and so angry. I've seen the destruction that follows you.”
“I haven't really hurt anybody though.”
“Except for David Banner and Elaina Marks.”
“I didn't hurt or kill them.” John said it quietly, and if Jack didn't know better, he'd think he was hearing the honest truth. The poor bastard.
“John, you're just hiding the truth from yourself about their deaths.”
“I'm not deluding myself, Jack. I didn't kill them!”
“Look, I know you didn't mean to do it. You don't know what you're doing when you're the Hulk, right? You told me you'd blacked out when you obviously had changed to the Hulk when we were together on the mountain. The rest of the people you've tossed or shoved were lucky they got off with bruises.”
“As far as I know, every time I've done that it was in self-defense.”
“But you can't guarantee that the Hulk won't hurt someone seriously in the future.”
John was silent.
“Stop running, John. There have to be scientists in the government, or maybe back at the Culver Institute, who could help you. Maybe Dr. Banner's research holds the answer.”
John laughed again, a bitter sharp sound that ended in another coughing fit.
“Dr. Banner's research is useless for helping me--”
John's voice was swapped for a dial tone. Jack swore; he couldn't call him back because John hadn't trusted him enough to give him the number to contact him.
He waited by the phone for a while, in case, John scraped up some more change, but when his apartment stayed silent, he gave up and went to bed.
In the dark, he deliberately thought back to John lying dazed in a hospital bed. He'd been soft-spoken, obviously intelligent, and although his features were covered, his hands, his thick dark hair and lean build indicated a man who was still young. Jack had talked his editor into paying to have John evaluated by a specialist in amnesia, since it seemed that John had some knowledge about the Hulk. What a joke the universe had played on both of them, hunter and prey, by causing their plane to crash in the wilderness on the way to see that specialist.
He'd liked John. He was a sweetheart, smart and funny, good-natured, tireless in his attempt to save them both from the fires that were sweeping through the mountains and from the wolves who thought they were easy prey.
Being in a life and death fix like that, inhibitions had dropped away for both of them. Jack didn't let many people know that he mostly liked men for sexual partners. There was the occasional woman, but none of his relationships with girlfriends ever lasted very long. They always figured out fairly soon that there wasn't any kind of a future with him.
He might be flexible when it came to gender, but his attraction to smart people was a constant.
John was brilliant. The things that he'd done to help Jack with his broken leg, making the sled out of the airplane wreckage and in outwitting the wolves, showed how he could adapt, think fast on his feet. Jack had admired him for that. They'd grown close, talking by the fire at night about literature and testing John on what he knew about general knowledge. John couldn't remember his own name, but he had medical know-how, and had a vast knowledge of scientific information and knew classical and modern literature.
The conversation had become personal, especially after they'd slept huddled together to share body heat. Jack was sure he was reading John correctly, that John was as attracted to him as he was to John. Jack began seeing how affectionate he could be with John. John had responded nicely, and had reciprocated.
When Jack had been in pain, though, John had rubbed Jack's back, and pushed down on pressure points on the back of his hand and around his knee. John said that was he was doing was a traditional Chinese method to control leg pain. He talked about meridian channels and when Jack asked him how he knew stuff like that, John grew quiet. He said it was like a door opening and shutting in his mind, and he'd had a glimpse of a blind old Chinese man, who had taught him. He couldn't remember the man's name or where he'd lived, though.
Jack had kissed him as they'd sat on the sled, watching the fire burn. It had felt strange, since John's face was covered in bandages. The doctor had warned that they should stay on, when Jack had asked if they could be taken off so he could look at John. John thought he might know Jack, although Jack had mentioned that feeling might just be from seeing Jack's picture in the paper with his byline.
John was sure it was more than that, though. And sometimes, John had remembered traveling through an area that Jack had also spent time in, following a lead on the Hulk. Jack thought that John might be doing something similar to him - trying to track down the Hulk.
It turned out that John was right. And so was Jack. Their connection had everything to do with the Hulk. He thought, in hindsight, that John had regained his memories before he'd changed into the Hulk to save Jack. He'd acted differently, had been guarded, and the warmth that he'd shown during their week of hell had cooled considerably.
Before that, though, he and John had gone from kissing and hugging to awkward groping and fondling, and they'd exchanged handjobs.
It seemed odd to Jack now that he and John had indulged in sex like that. At the time, though, it had felt more than right. Probably some survival instinct kicking in, to continue the species during dangerous times, even if it had been with a partner that would not make a baby. Instinct only went so far, after all.
If John had experienced sex with other men, Jack didn't think it could have been with too many. It was different to hold another man's penis, and John hadn't seemed to have any real muscle memory to help him find the best places to tip Jack over into coming. His hands hadn't been deft with his touches, not like John had shown with, oh, making a splint for Jack's leg.
He hadn't confronted John, hadn't told him he could tell he was new, or near to new, to having sex with men. Survival had been more important than distracting John with wondering about his sexuality. In a way, John's amnesia had probably freed him from denying his attraction to his own sex. Or at least to Jack. Maybe someday he'd get a chance to ask John about his sexual preferences, past and current.
Jack glanced at his bedside clock. It was very late now, and he needed to sleep. He let his hand wander south, pushing into his briefs, and with slow strokes he built up his orgasm until he couldn't wait anymore. He moved fast then, his hands practiced, and thought of John's awkward touches on his dick, erratic and wonderful. Remembering John's body arcing, the grateful, ecstatic sounds he'd gasped as Jack made him orgasm, Jack came. Slipping off his briefs, he used them to wipe himself clean and tossed them on the floor.
Wondering again if John was all right, he rolled to his side and let himself relax into sleep.
* * *
Jack kept doing his job. Actually, most of his colleagues considered his chasing after stories about the Hulk to be more of an obsession. Maybe he was obsessed. He certainly had enough nightmares about being chased by the creature. The Hulk, John, fascinated him. So he'd drive or fly to whatever new town or place the Hulk had been spotted. He'd interview witnesses, try to learn more about John. He wanted very badly to see John's face, to make him look at Jack. John's eyes had shown nothing but honesty when he'd been a man who didn't know his own name. Jack wondered a lot about what he'd see in those gray eyes now.
* * *
Jack was tired. He'd just gotten back to Chicago from Jenson County where it had been blisteringly hot, and the dust settled on your skin and in your clothes. The South-west was not a part of the country he liked very much. But to find and capture the Hulk, he'd go anywhere.
He unpacked, showered, and had poured himself a scotch and soda over ice when the phone rang. He thought it must be work related. He didn't really have friends who would feel comfortable imposing on him with a late night call.
Holding his drink in one hand, comfortable in a T-shirt and old, slightly ragged jeans, he picked up the phone, and tucked it up between his shoulder and ear as he stretched the cord, sitting down on his bed.
“McGee.” He yawned, took a sip of his drink.
Silence greeted him but he could hear somebody breathing. He rolled his eyes. Great, some punk doing a prank call. He set his drink down on the bedside table, leaned against the headboard, and stretched his legs out on top of the covers.
“Look, kid, if you're trying to scare me with the heavy breathing bit, you can forget it. I don't spook that easily.”
He'd been up close and personal with the Hulk a number of times now. He still had nightmares about the creature. A heavy breather on the phone line was small potatoes in comparison.
“Last chance to talk before I hang up. On the count of three, kid. One, two--”
“Mr. McGee, ah, don't, don't hang up.”
Jack frowned. The voice sounded familiar, but the name belonging to it escaped him.
“Okay, so not a kid. Who are you and what do you want and how did you get my home phone number? I don't give it out to many people, and the ones that do have it don't call me Mr. McGee. They call me Jack.”
He heard a sigh, and that wary, weary sound triggered his memory.
“You gave it to me, Mr. McGee. This is, uh, well you called me-”
“John Doe. I was close this last time, John. To think that two days ago you were standing with the other convicts at that prison work camp. Damn. I probably looked right at you.”
“I was lucky.”
“Uh-huh. You know, I had that man you helped, the one who went bonkers because of a brain tumor, thought he was Hemmingway?”
“So he did have a brain tumor.”
“Yeah, and his doctors gave you the credit for figuring it out.”
“He's okay?”
“He's fine. I had him give your description to a sketch artist, before I realized he was deliberately giving wrong details. Bushy eyebrows, my left foot.”
He took another swallow of his drink, waiting to see if John would say anything. There was nothing but John's breathing on the other line, and it was a little fast.
Jack said, “I run into that a lot, you know.”
“Sorry?”
“People refusing to identify you because they like you. Hell, you know that I like you. But I'll never stop trying to bring you in, John. You need help, even if you can't see it that way. Why did you call me?”
“Mr. McGee--”
“Oh, for crying out loud, John, call me Jack. I've held your dick in my hand and you've held mine. I think that puts us on a first name basis, don't you? And you called me Jack the last two times you called.”
“I know what we did. That's why I think I'd better keep to Mr. McGee, because it's not going to happen again.”
“You've got regrets? Because that was you babbling next to me, wasn't it, when I made you come? You liked it, John. Don't kid yourself. So tell me, now that your mind isn't full of holes anymore, was that your first time with a man?”
“Mr. McGee, that's not any of your business. And it's not the reason I called you.”
“You don't need an actual reason, John. You can just call to talk.”
“Well, I do have a reason. I didn't really see much in the papers about the corruption going on at the prison camp. Are you going to keep the story going, is anybody in the media looking into what was happening there?”
“I wasn't planning on it. Can't speak for other papers or the news shows.”
“I'm afraid, Mr. McGee, that things will go right back to the way they were unless all of those people are held accountable. If you, your paper were to keep at them, then it has a shot at being stopped for good.”
“Hmph. I didn't go out there for that story, John. I went because you were there. The Hulk.”
“But couldn't you do an expose on it now, Mr. McGee? The prisoners, they don't have anybody to take their side, to look out for their rights. It was wrong for the court system to treat us that way.”
“Maybe I could look into it a little more.”
“The whole judicial system in Jenson County was in on it, you know. The judge, the D.A., the cops, the warden, the ones who benefited from the cheap labor, it wasn't an individual case or two, it was a lot broader than that.”
“Still the idealist, aren't you, John?”
“I'm just trying to do the right thing.” John said, a little defensive.
“By talking me into doing the right thing. You can't risk testifying, can you?”
The only response was the increase in John's breathing.
“What would the police learn if they ran your fingerprints, John? Your real name?”
Silence still.
“Do you have a record, John? Are you wanted for something under your real name?”
John still didn't answer. Jack wasn't surprised.
“Sounds like a big fat yes to me, John.”
“Jack, those men need help.”
“And you can't do it by yourself, can you?”
“No, I can't.” John sounded defeated. “Congratulations, you've figured out that I can't risk talking to the police.”
“Well, the Hulk is wanted, but nobody knows you're the Hulk. I can't even identify you, and we spent a week together. Just what kind of trouble are you in?”
“Jack, do you really think I'm going to tell you?”
“No. But I wish you would. I can help you if you turn yourself in. Because I may not know your name, but I know you. You're a good man, John. If you're in trouble, it wasn't your fault. Why don't you let me help you?”
“Mr. McGee, I can't. It's impossible. But I'm not a criminal. I've done nothing wrong.”
“You've destroyed a lot of property, John. Or do you prefer another alias?”
“What?”
“You've told the cops a couple of times now that your first name is David. They called you Davy at the prison camp. Should I call you Davy?”
“Mr. McGee, are you going to help those men?”
“I think I'll stick with John as your name, until you're ready to tell me your real one. You see, John Doe, he was an honest kind of guy. Do anything to help me, and he was my friend. David, or Davy, he's not my friend. He wouldn't do the things me and John did with each other, would he?”
The operator chimed in, demanding more change or the call would be terminated. John said quickly, “I don't have any more money, please, Mr. McGee, will you do the story?”
“Tell you what, John. Let's make us a little deal. You start by giving me the phone number of where you're at, and I'll call you back. And then we'll negotiate. You see, I'm not an idealist. If I push your story, then I want some things back from you. Up to you, John, but you'd better make up your mind quick. Tick-tock, you know.”
There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of a fist hitting something.
“Damn it, Jack McGee!” John breathed out a long sigh. “Give me your word that you're not having this call traced and I'll give you my number.”
“I give you my word that I'm not having the call traced. Anyway, like I told you before, you're greatly over-estimating my pull with the police department. The Chicago cops don't give a damn about tracking down the Hulk, unless you're running down Michigan Avenue. Now, how about that number?”
John gave it to him and hung up. Jack sipped at his drink and slowly dialed the number John had given him.
“Mr. McGee?” John sounded like he'd regained the calmness he'd showed so much during their time in the mountains when not even hungry wolves had been able to shake him up.
“I want you to talk to me, John. That's my price for sweet talking my editor into letting me do your story.”
“Talk about what?”
“Oh, stop worrying that I'm going to trick you into telling me where you are, or something like that.”
“Jack. This isn't easy for me.”
“Look, I'll find you again the same way I've been doing for the last couple of years. The Hulk isn't a subtle kind of guy, now is he? You'll become him, John, and someone who wants the reward money will call me. You leave Hulk sized holes in brick walls, you run down the middle of streets, huge and green and half-naked, and you jump off buildings with lots of witnesses to see it. You've just been lucky so far.”
“I know.”
“And when I do catch you, I want you to remember that I'm not doing it to hurt you. I'm doing it to help you.”
Jack tried to sound as sincere as he could, and hell, he was telling the truth. He wanted to help John as much as he wanted to keep people from getting hurt by him.
John didn't say anything for a while, the silence growing into a deep chasm between them. Then he sighed again, and Jack read years of resignation in the sound.
John finally said, “That's not what you said to me on the mountain.”
“So what did I say, John?”
“You said that I, the Hulk, would be the way you'd escape working at the Register. You want the fame, a Pulitzer for journalism, to go back to writing a real column. You said that you knew your paper would exploit me, and you don't care about that, Jack. You said people had to make choices and it was you or the other guy.”
John's voice rose in indignation. “I'm the other guy, Jack! You said you wouldn't let me go if you knew who I was. You're the last person on earth I should trust with my secret.”
“I'm being honest with you, John, that's all. And you know, it's you who keep calling me to help you. I think that shows that you do trust me, up to a point.”
“It shows how desperate I am.”
Jack said, “I know you're desperate, but you did come to me. You trust me at least a little, John.“
“Jack, this isn't about me and if I trust you. It's about how those prisoners are being taken advantage of! A lot of those men shouldn't have even been brought up on charges.”
“All right, John. All right. I helped you about the woman, and I'll talk Mark, my editor, into letting me do the prison camp story.”
John's exhale of relief was clear to him. “Thank you, Jack.”
“Uh-huh. Here's my bottom line. I think your story is the most important scientific discovery of this century. I think that you're being selfish by running like you are, keeping this knowledge to yourself.'
“I've told you before, this knowledge is dangerous, Jack.”
“I can see that. You can't handle this by yourself, John. Really, have you figured out a cure?”
“You know I haven't.”
“So let some other smart people take a crack at it.”
“If I find the right person I will.”
“Like Doctor Banner and Doctor Marks? Maybe you need more than just one or two other people. For safety. Their safety.”
“Jack, why won't you believe me? I didn't kill them.”
“I saw the Hulk there that night. He had grabbed Elaina Marks. God, the flames, the heat - I still have nightmares about it. I was dazed, and I regret not stopping Doctor Banner. He might have lived. Instead he ran into the lab to save her. I think the Hulk killed him because of that. Maybe you didn't really understand what you were doing, but you should be held accountable for the deaths you've caused.”
“I'm tired of telling you that I didn't kill them. You're just going to believe what you want to, anyway.” John's voice was dull. He sounded exhausted all of a sudden.
“Look, John, I can appreciate that it's hard to accept. I believe that you believe that you didn't kill them, but that's not the truth.”
“I'm tell-- oh, forget it.”
“I also think that mitigating circumstances should apply. You're not turning into the Hulk on purpose. You need help. Somebody is going to try to kill you when you're the Hulk, because they won't know that you're a man. A good man. As a matter of fact, when you transformed on that boat where that guy was holding you as a hostage, I spoiled the aim of a policeman that was going to blow a hole in your chest.”
“You did? Umm, thanks.”
“I don't want to see you hurt, John. I'm not going to hurt you, not unless you're endangering someone else. When I point a gun at you, it's only to make you go to sleep.”
“And what happens when I wake up? Do you really think the Hulk couldn't tear through any prison walls?”
“Not if you cooperate and explain how to keep you from changing.”
John sighed, and the weight of all his troubles was in that sound. It made Jack want to say something to make him feel better.
“You know, you've saved my life a couple of times now. The first time, in Las Vegas, I was sure that the Hulk did it accidentally, but you carried me out of the fire on the mountain, and I know that was no accident.”
“I never remember what happens when I'm the Hulk. I saved you?”
Jack said, “Yes. Thanks for that, by the way. And before I interview you about the prison camp, I want to know if you got your memory back when we were together.”
“Mmm. I was so confused when I realized I'd blacked out and must have carried you away from where you'd fallen over the edge of the cliff. The last thing I remembered was trying to pull you up. And then, when I came to, I'd lost my shirt and shoes. I told you that, right?”
“Yes. I remember that. I was starting to get lightheaded from the infection in my leg, but that I do remember.”
John said slowly,“I... had some glimpses of things, in my head, but they didn't make sense. I remember that I had trouble deciding if you were my enemy or my friend.”
“Well, you kept right on saving me by pulling me on that sled, so I guess that you decided friend.” Jack paused, thinking. “Actually, you're the type to save an enemy's life, so which was it, John? Friend or enemy?”
John was silent for another long moment, then said quietly, “Friend. I decided you were my friend. I remembered everything a while later, when I went to get water from the stream.”
“Ah, I thought you were acting differently when you came back from there. You said you were annoyed that I hadn't stayed on the sled. I'd re-opened my leg wound.”
“Well, that was part of it. Jack, you're the worst patient in the world. How many times did I tell you to stay put, but would you? Hell, no. Did your leg heal up okay?”
“Yes. Thanks to you, according to the doctors at the hospital.”
“I bet you gave them a hard time, too. I'd bet all the money I've got that you left the hospital early, against medical advice.” John had sounded a little amused and exasperated.
“Keep your money, John. You know me too well.”
“It does feel like it. Okay, what do you want to know about the prison camp?”
After Jack had gotten details on the corruption John had witnessed, Jack decided to make the questions more personal.
“You've been picked up twice now for vagrancy, that I know about. How did it make you, an intelligent, capable man, feel to be considered a bum by the cops?”
“What's that got to do with the story on the camp?” John asked, puzzlement in his voice.
“Nothing. I told you, I want you to talk to me. I could have gotten that other information from other sources, but I want to know about you, John. Remember the deal?”
John went silent.
“I want to know you, John. I think about you a lot.”
“Why?”
“Look, I can't use this for any stories for the Register. Mark already thinks I'm too involved, too obsessed with you. He'd like me to drop the whole thing, transfer the story to somebody else.”
“I suppose I can only hope that happens.”
“It won't. If I'm taken off this story, I'll quit and freelance on it. I'm going to find you, John.”
“Jack, don't you have a life to live, instead of chasing after me?” John said, wryly.
“Not really. So, when you were arrested for sleeping on the beach, I had to think that you found it embarrassing and degrading.”
John laughed, a bitter edge to the sound. “Well, you're not wrong. And I wasn't hurting anything or anybody. They wouldn't let me just move on, either. That felt frustrating. The second time, well, I felt the same way, and helpless. They arrested me on charges on vandalism, trespassing and stealing. That sounds pretty bad,doesn't it?”
“Sort of.”
“Ah, but what actually happened was that I hopped a broken fence in an abandoned looking orchard, where there were no signs posted about no trespassing, and I'll admit to the stealing. I picked an apple off the ground and was eating it when a deputy sheriff on patrol spotted me. I was hungry. I've learned since all of this began just how powerful a force hunger can be. I've watched people prostitute themselves so they can eat.”
“Have you done that, John? I won't judge you if you have.”
“Not yet. But I know that I might, if all other avenues for my survival are blocked. It's not a comforting thought.”
“You know, the cop who arrested you on the beach thought he was doing you a favor, making sure you'd get something to eat, a better place to sleep for the night.”
“And he wanted to run my prints, see if I had any outstanding charges. Cops are suspicious of people, their motives, their actions. That's something else I've learned.”
“Is it all bad, the things you've learned being on the run? I can think of quite a few negative things, like always being a stranger, not having a home, having to leave people and places that you like and not keeping in contact with them, being hungry, like you
pointed out. Not having enough money to pay for shelter or medical care. Are you lonely, John?”
“Yes.” Silence again. “Jack, please, let's talk about something else. I try not to think about those things, you know.”
Jack just kept quiet as he heard David take a couple of deep breaths.
A few heartbeats later, David started to talk again. “I've been grateful for the help people have given me. Some of the people I've met have renewed my faith in the human race. Some have taught me how to get by, how to survive.”
Jack murmured, “Hmm?”and David kept talking.
“When I was in the hotbox, in the camp, the other guy next to me in his hotbox, well, he sang. He sang and it was so beautiful, because they couldn't kill his spirit. He told me the trick about sucking on a pebble so I wouldn't go crazy with thirst. And, well, I've learned a whole new set of job skills over the last couple of years. Some I've liked, but even the ones I don't like I've appreciated since I at least had a job and was able to pay my way.”
He chuckled, an honest sound that Jack liked much better than his earlier, bitter laugh. “I'm very grateful when people I've met won't talk to you about me, actually.”
Jack laughed, amused at John's cheek. “Okay. I know it isn't easy for you to let down your guard and talk to me. Tell you what, I'll let you choose between discussing literature or your sex life. What are you wearing anyway? Me, I've got on an old T-shirt and jeans on, and I'm sprawled out on my bed in my studio apartment. How about you? I assume you're dressed. Are you in a phone booth by the side of the road, or inside somewhere?”
“Jack.” John's voice sounded both disapproving and amused.
“Well? Was I your first man?”
“I pick literature. Um, what's one of your favorite books?”
“Mmm... Look Homeward, Angel. Have you read it, John? I mean, Thomas Wolfe said you can't go home again, and I found that to be true for me. When I went home for my father's funeral, it was like I was a piece that had no place in that puzzle anymore.”
“I haven't been home for a very long time. My father and I are, well, I didn't leave home on good terms with him. Yes, I think Thomas Wolfe was right. Look Homeward, Angel was a favorite of mine, too. I haven't read that book for ages, though.”
“Hang on. There's some quotes and passages I've marked that I'd like to read to you, to hear what you think about them.”
Jack put down the phone and walked quickly to his bookcase, running his hand over the spines of the books till he found the right book. He opened it to one of pages marked with an index card and sat back down on the bed, picked the phone back up.
“You there, John?”
Yes.” Jack was relieved.
“Okay. Listen. But we are the sum of all the moments of our lives--all that is ours is in them: we cannot escape or conceal it. If the writer has used the clay of life to make his book, he has only used what all men must, what none can keep from using. Fiction is not fact, but fiction is fact selected and understood, fiction is fact arranged and charged with purpose. Dr. Johnson remarked that a man would turn over half a library to make a single book: in the same way, a novelist may turn over half the people in a town to make a single figure in his novel. He ruffled some feathers in his home town, you know, writing this story.”
“I see his point. I'm not a writer, but as a scien- never mind. You're the writer. Do you agree?”
“Yes.” Jack had caught John's blunder. He was going to say that he was a scientist. Jack had already figured that out, and he wouldn't spook John into hanging up by telling him that.
John said, “Do you write novels, short stories, or just news stories?”
“I've written some short stories, and I have a couple of failed novels under my belt from my college days. Someday, I'd like to take a crack at writing a book again. Probably non-fiction.”
“Are you collecting characters from meeting people?”
“If I do write a novel again, then yes, I'll mine and scavenge everything I can from what I've learned from people and about them. And in this business, I meet some real characters.”
“Present company excepted, I hope.”
“Present company heading the list. John, you're fascinating.”
“Because of the Hulk.”
“Partly. But I didn't know you were the Hulk, did I, and you intrigued me. So, just plain John Doe is a character, too.”
“Ahh. Thanks. I think.” Jack could hear a smile in those words. It was kind of rewarding, getting John to smile.
“Okay, here's another passage I'd you to hear. If you remember, Ben was the brother who died. Eugene's been flipping out for a while, thinks he sees his brother's ghost, talks to him, that sort of thing.”
He cleared his throat. "And day came, and the song of waking birds, and the Square, bathed in the young pearl light of morning. And a wind stirred lightly in the Square, and, as he looked, Ben, like a fume of smoke, was melted into dawn.
And the angels on Gant's porch were frozen in hard marble silence,
and at a distance life awoke, and there was a rattle of lean
wheels, a slow clangor of shod hoofs. And he heard the whistle
wail along the river.
Yet, as he stood for the last time by the angels of his father's
porch, it seemed as if the Square already were far and lost; or, I
should say, he was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town
he has left, yet does not say 'The town is near,' but turns his
eyes upon the distant soaring ranges."
He heard John draw in a sharp breath and hold it. “John? You all right?”
Another sigh. “I've lost people, people I loved and that just... But you can't stay lost with them, even if you want to, not and try to live. It's just hard, you know.”
“I know.”
“I miss them so much, and I think about them, but I can't let myself be like Eugene, talking to his brother's ghost. It's not really living, you know. Once you've moved on, that time is done, it's over.”
“I'm sorry.” He was. He wanted to engage with John, not stir up painful memories for the man.
“The grief can cripple you, but you keep putting one foot in front of the other even when each step is so painful and you don't think you can do it one more time, but you do.”
“John, I didn't intend to make this hard for you.”
“No... it's okay. I never really talk about things like this with anyone. I don't know them well enough, and the last person that I was really close to, she died, too.”
“John... You remember that I told you I don't have many friends? And I know we can't really be friends, not under these circumstances.”
“I don't see how, either.”
“Wish I'd met you before the Hulk happened to you. But you can talk to me, like this. Whenever you want. If you're lonely or you want to flirt or to just hear the voice of someone who knows you. It's a standing offer.”
“But you'll still try to capture me, won't you?”
“Yes. That can't change, John. But I'll help you if you turn yourself in. I'll get a lawyer for you, a good one.”
“You're really persistent, Mr. McGee. Anybody ever tell you that?”
“All the time, John, all the time. Did you call me Mr. McGee again because I said that about flirting?”
“Maybe... Yes. A reminder to myself not to flirt back.”
“Don't pretend that we didn't have sex together, John. We did. So, was I your first man?”
“Literature, Jack. I picked literature. Tell me what your thoughts are on the book.”
Jack didn't push him anymore, and they discussed Thomas Wolfe's novels until John started yawning and slurring his words.
“You're almost asleep, John. Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
“Mmm. I'm standing in it. It's not very roomy but it'll do. Is the deal done, Jack? I don't think I'm gonna make sense for much longer.”
“Yeah, you kept your side of the bargain; I'll keep mine. Goodnight, John. Stay safe. Don't lose my number.”
“Bye, Jack.” The line went dead and Jack slowly placed the phone back on the receiver.
He'd pitch following up with the prison camp expose to Mark in the morning. He wondered if John would really sleep in that phone booth. He was slender, and not tall, but it would still be uncomfortable. If it was business hours, he might be able to get the phone company to give him an address for the number. John would be gone by morning, though.
Jack got up and put the book back on the shelf. There was an idea stirring in his mind, that John's story was so important that short news accounts of the damage the Hulk did and the people he'd frightened, or in some cases, saved, were inadequate to show the tragedy of John's life. But a novel might. An biography wasn't possible because he didn't have enough details about John to write it. He didn't even know John's real name. But a novel could allow him to fill in the blanks while still getting across John's story. He'd think about it, play with the idea. There was the flavor of Les Miserable about John's life, with John being the good man pursued by him, Javret. If he wrote this, though, he'd want to put in a twist. He'd think about it.
* * *
Chapter Two