Hulk by Peter David (e reader manga TXT) 📕

Betty didn’t comprehend what he was saying at first, for the mention of the knife came from nowhere, and then she did, and she cringed back in horror.

His mother cringed back in horror at first, and then she saw that her husband was eyeing their son, and the horror was replaced by the fierce determination of a mother fighting for her child’s life, and she backpedaled, occupying the door frame between them, and young Bruce clutched the stuffed toys to his chest as he tried to see around his mother, thinking that it was all a game and she was hiding some sort of surprise, that was it, she was suddenly going to turn around and she and his father would yell, “Surprise!” except she wasn’t turning, she was still facing his father, and there was yelling, but it wasn’t “Surprise,” it was a bunch of bad words that he wasn’t supposed to say, and anger, and suddenly there was a shriek and somebody must have been holding a bottle of ketchup between them because red liquid was spilling down the side of her dress. . . .

“But she surprised me. It was as if,” and he spoke in a singsong voice, “as if she and the knife merged into one thing. You can’t imagine—” Betty was wide-eyed as he stared at his empty hand. “—the unbearable finality of it, her life, and mine, suspended at the end of my hand. . . .”

. . . and he flew at his father, who was staring stupefied at the blade, which was still dripping with the blood of his wife, Bruce’s mother, and he remembered at the last moment to bring the knife up, but the boy was upon him then, leaping, knocking the knife clear, and although the monster wasn’t yet unleashed, wasn’t yet anything approaching his full strength, the glimmer of its potential was there, and the father looked into the eyes of the son and knew fear as the boy tore at him like a wildcat, and the boy lost track of his mother, saw her stumble in shock and confusion out the front door, and then his father tried to throw him down so he could get at the knife . . . and . . .

“And in that one moment, I took everything that was dear to me . . .”

. . . he sank his teeth—like an animal, like a berserk, rabid dog—into his father’s neck, and tasted his father’s blood between his teeth, and the father howled and shrieked and the screams of the father blended and overlapped with the howling of sirens . . .

“. . . and transformed it into nothing more than a memory. . . .”

. . . as the MPs swarmed the house, and his father was dragged away and shoved into a car with whirling lights atop it, and Bruce was screaming and pointing in the direction he’d seen his mother stagger off, but no one could understand him because he wasn’t speaking, he was grunting and growling inarticulately, like an ape crying out in distress, and someone was trying to hold him steady and he struggled and yanked and shrieked and the rage seized him and his body started to bubble for a moment and someone yelled “He’s got a swelling here, it’s huge; get some ice packs, stat!” and “We need to sedate him; he’s having a seizure!”

“But you can’t step back from what you create, can you?” said David Banner, apparently oblivious to the look of fear and revulsion on Betty’s face. “No matter how horrifying. My son—he was fated to become . . . what he has now become. No, it’s over for him, and for me too.”

And he shoved them away with a strength that none would have thought he could possess, and he sprinted into the house, grabbing the dolls as he went, and up, up into his room, and feet were pounding up the stairs after him, and he was about to hide under his bed when there was some sort of explosion, some noise, and the sky lit up, and he ran to the window and looked out, saw something that he couldn’t begin to comprehend, something that made it seem as if the world was all new because what was there before had just been wiped clean, clean away, and there was a man in the street in a uniform, and a little girl looking up at him, and he caught a glimpse of his father’s face as everyone froze in a tableau that seared itself into his mind and then buried itself deep, but it was back, back to torment him, and the images were swirling every which way, and suddenly his father was old, the connection reestablished, his hair graying, and the girl was grown and it was Betty, and her father was next to her, and they were all looking up at him, and he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand knowing what was coming, couldn’t stand the pain, the agony, it was unfair, it was so unfair, why had it happened, why couldn’t he have had a normal life, why WHY WHY because it made him want to—makes us want to—makes me want to just . . . just . . .

“That’s why I’ve come to you, to ask you for a last, simple favor,” he said, his voice quavering. “Miss Ross, do you think you could persuade your father—as a man, as a father himself—to let me see my son, for one last time, if I turn myself in peacefully? And then he can put me away forever. Could you do that for me?” asked David Banner, and then he started to weep. . . .

. . . just . . . smash him . . . smash his crying face; I can see him;