1939.

Will had anticipated much of that night: the point in the secret passage where Chubby would also wear the cloak and mask to block Robert’s escape, the blanks he had loaded into his father’s pistol, the mannequin lowered from the roof to make him appear to float outside the window, the disabled car starters, the smoke machine under the Zephyr’s seat, and the pouch of flash pellets on his belt. Every step was planned.

What he did not know was just how sensitive his hearing had been made by his icy plunge in the Englehart, nor how it made Robert’s scream throb within his skull. The disorientation nearly undid him.

But what he could least anticipate was not a weakness but a strength. Will was no murderer. It was not in him to resolve a problem with death, someone else’s or his own. 

He could not yet foresee that, finally trapped on the 6th Avenue Bridge, Robert would want to end his own life. It was a lesson he would consider how to learn from later. In the meantime, Will had a life to reclaim.

The next morning, the story hit the front page of The Titan Gazette, packed with murder, intrigue, a madman’s suicide — and the miraculous return of a lost heir, rescued by a humble tugboat captain.

It was several days of phone calls, interviews, and public appearances before Will had the chance to escape his formal duties as new CEO of Finn Industries to go visit Chubby once more. He planned on inviting his old friend to come work for him, tending the garage at Finn Manor. Will did not know if it might offend Chubby’s pride, but he wanted to do something.

After all, how can you repay someone who saves you from the brink of death, then helps restore the life you lost? But maybe Chubby could feel he was earning his keep and permit Will to lavish him with an income and lifestyle far beyond what the tugboat could offer. As far as Will was concerned, that was just what Chubby deserved.

It was about dinner time when Will pulled up to the boathouse. Maybe he could take Chubby out to celebrate over a couple of steaks and some nice, cold beer. But when Chubby answered the door, Will’s celebratory mood left him.

His face, a purple mass of lumps, appeared horrific even silhouetted by the lamplight behind him. The way Chubby leaned hard on his left leg looked like his right had been banged up badly too, maybe broken. He had it wrapped in a homemade splint, not having means for a hospital visit. 

“Gosh, Will,” Chubby said weakly. “It sure is good to see you.”

“Chubby! What in the world?”

“After the story broke, I guess some guys figured you must’ve given me some kind of big reward,” said Chubby, “And, gosh, when I told them it wasn’t like that, they didn’t exactly believe me. Not at first, anyway. Not until after they worked me over.”

Will could feel something rising within him. “Who did this?”

“These boys call themselves the Titan Pike Gang. Real rough characters. Not the kind I would have anything to do with, but I guess that doesn’t keep them wanting something to do with me.”

From his nights of brawling for sport in those underground London fighting rings, Will could read the story written in Chubby’s injuries — what implement must have been used to create this or that bruise, how much force had been behind it. He had learned the language of injury after patching himself over and over again, but the difference was that Will had always chosen to put himself in those fights. Chubby had not been given a choice.

Why had he done that to himself anyway? It was not just that he felt undeserving of the wealth that had become his and needed to reconnect with the grime of his roots. No, there was something else. 

Too much was wrong with the world. Dangerous people, like Donny and his gang waiting in the shadows of the alley beside Regent theater, and cruel people, like Kelly Winchester who, even with his class and family money, delighted in humiliating someone who had never harmed him nor wished to. He saw those faces in the men who squared off against him, filling him with rage over the wrongs in this world that Will did not know how to right, wrongs that fueled his fight. 

Yet, twice now, Will had made something right, not just with his fists but with cunning and planning and a cloak and a mask. These had given him what he needed to do what he felt must be done — to defend the defenseless.

“Coming after you was the Titan Pike Gang’s last mistake,” said Will. “I believe a certain ghost shall rise again, old friend. And I promise that ghost will not rest until he sees justice served for all who might need him.”