2019.

No routes of the Titan Metro Line made their way into the hillsides beyond the Englehart River, but Gracie didn’t really want Stephen to give her a ride all the way to Sprang & Sons. That might raise more questions than she wanted to answer. So, she asked him to bring her to the 6th Avenue station instead.

With just a few days left in October, most of the ads inside the station had a Halloween theme. One proclaimed Chew-Rite gum as the secret to a vampire keeping his fangs sparkly. Another announced the arrival of cinnamon-maple-bacon-flavored Kronos-Kola. A third advertised the pumpkin maze in Keaton Park, promising spooky fun for young and old alike.

Then, Gracie caught sight of a poster that just wouldn’t have merited attention from her before, The Crimson Wraith’s Guide to Safe Trick-or-Treating. A cartoon of the Scarlet Stranger held out its cape, upon which appeared a list of things like, “If you wear a mask, like the Crimson Wraith, take extra care to look both ways when crossing the street…” 

Did the Crimson Wraith get a cut of whoever got paid to print public service announcements with his likeness or, like, a tax write-off? Did whoever made these even consult him? Not like he had an agent for them to contact to negotiate rights or anything — or did he? 

These were the realities of living in a city with its own masked vigilante who had. Growing up with this sort of thing made it seem so commonplace, even silly. It was like having George Washington’s face on the one-dollar bill — the least valuable denomination of paper currency — and forgetting that, not only was he an actual person and a president, but a soldier. In the line of duty, he faced death, dodged it, and visited it upon others only to one day have school kids laugh about how, with his puffy wig, you can turn his head into a mushroom if you fold a dollar just right.

As she settled into her seat on the train, Gracie pulled out her phone. A text message from a blocked number had given her the link to download an app with the name “Tombstone.” It appeared to be a game, its icon a deck of red playing cards with a skull on them.. 

When she opened the app, a simple menu offered access to a video feed, currently listed as “Inactive,” and a chat window with “Crypt” that read: Specter Prime in preparation. Will notify when in motion. No new update since.

The Crimson Wraith had told her that she would receive notifications as his efforts to persuade Zack proceeded, but since she couldn’t just sit there, waiting for her phone to buzz, Gracie pulled open Nights of Justice once more:

As more stories of the Crimson Wraith began to surface, reporters of The Titan Gazette provided him with a variety of names, including the Red Rogue and the Fiendish Fantom. The name Crimson Wraith did not appear until 1944 in connection with a story regarding the theft of a cache of weapons stolen from the U.S. Military, recovered in Titan City’s Little Tokyo area. 

A photograph accompanied this story, the first photograph that showed an image of the Crimson Wraith himself. Although his form appeared grainy and indistinct, being photographed at a distance and in the dark, the pale image of his skull mask could be seen clearly, turned in the direction of the camera. This image captivated the public imagination. So, the name attributed to him in that story was the name by which the public would know him…

Returning to Sprang & Sons felt strange. Her last day had seemed just like another usual shift in her on-going routine, but that routine had been shot to hell. 

Brianna met her with wide, worried eyes at the door. “You should go talk to Rich,” she said. Gracie poked her head into Richard Sprang’s grubby little office, its walls a mottled mass of faded newsprint cartoons and rock show fliers, a stack of disordered boxes with old receipts in the corner. She could tell by his distracted response that her talking to Rich was solely Brianna’s idea. It had nothing to do with him.

He looked up, slightly startled by her return. “Oh, you’re back?”

“I’m back, yeah,” said Gracie.

“Good. Good. You feeling better?”

“Yep,” Gracie realized she could answer vague questions honestly. “Much better.”

“Glad to hear.” Then he turned back to the vintage guitars magazine in his hand.

“What did he say?” Brianna asked Gracie when she came back.

“Nothing really.”

“Guess he doesn’t know then. I wasn’t going to tell him. But you might want to think about getting ahead of that story.”

She blinked. “You think I ought to what now?”

“Oh, Gracie,” Brianna sighed. “I saw, okay?”

“Saw what?” Gracie knew the answer.

“The arrest. Your mugshot. Saw it on the counter at the corner store and… Well, damn, are you okay? I’ve been worried like crazy. What’s been going on? Were you in jail? Did you just get out? I’m asking too many questions. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” Gracie felt bad that Brianna felt bad, but what the hell could she say to her now? “Things lately… They’ve been kind of… complex.”

“Look, I get it. Whatever is going on, maybe talking would make it feel too real. You may not even want to hear yourself say the words.” She put a hand on Gracie’s arm. “But you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Thank you. But it’s okay now. Or it’s going to be. Soon. You don’t have to worry.” 

“Oh?” said Brianna. “Well, okay then. Good. I’m glad to hear it. Just don’t forget, if there is anything else you need…”

“I’ll let you know. I promise.” 

It was sweet. Maybe telling her about it wouldn’t have been so bad, if things had gone differently. Maybe Brianna would have called Gracie in jail, maybe let Gracie sleep on her couch when she got out. 

But things were different now. She’d met a man at midnight.

Gracie felt thankful for having work to keep her occupied, but before the day was out, she felt her phone buzz. Sure enough, it was Tombstone. She opened up the app to see a message from Crypt: Subject has left the house. Following. 

She now found access to a live video feed and a stream of stills captured every ten seconds. Scrolling through these, she saw Zack leave the apartment, walk to his car, and enter. The live feed showed Zack’s car in motion on the road, the camera following him from some distance above. 

Spying on Zack like this was the definition of creepy, and Gracie wondered if she should have moral qualms about it, but she didn’t. Knowing this was Zack, all Gracie felt was excitement. He was a bad guy. He did bad things. And now, they were going to stop him, even if it meant being creepy. Was this how it felt to be CIA?

A question appeared on her screen: Do you know where he may be going?

Gracie typed her reply: He drives for a rideshare app. Heading uptown to pick up commuters.

Good. Can use that. Beginning to access his mobile device.

Access his mobile device? Definitely CIA shit.

After closing Sprang & Sons, Gracie headed over to Titan Community Polytechnic, grabbing some falafel from a street vendor on the way. Today was supposed to be about revisiting routine, the Crimson Wraith had told her, and that meant going to class.

By the time she arrived, Tombstone had begun displaying the screen of Zack’s mobile phone, showing which rides he was taking and his location on a map.

Gracie typed in the chat window: Class starting. I’ll be away for the next 3 hours. 

Crypt responded: Message when free.

As hard as it was while knowing the Crimson Wraith was out there stalking Zack, Gracie paid the best attention she could to the video the instructor showed about the history of Japanese-American internment camps during the Second World War. 

In the discussion that followed she spoke more and raised her hand more often just because doing something, anything, made the time go by more easily. Her instructor let her know after class how good it was to hear from her, and Gracie thought, “Dude, if you only knew…”

As soon as she made it out of the classroom, Gracie had her phone open once more. She messaged one word: Ready.

A new ride showed up on Zack’s screen. Crypt said: That is Specter Prime. He will collect subject at that address.

Suddenly, Gracie realized that Crypt was not the Crimson Wraith and wondered how the masked vigilante managed to have a secretary. 

She messaged back: Ok. Headed to club. 

The Crimson Wraith had said she should be out and be seen, so she brought a change of clothes to switch to in the college bathroom, clothes that were a little more attention-getting — crop top and black leggings, black lipstick, some sparkly eye make-up, and a pair of hoop earrings, all with her same black leather jacket and biker boots, just with a little more shine on them. 

Another student commented, “Girl, you fierce,” as she headed out the door. Gracie smiled.

Apparently, the Crimson Wraith made contact with Zack while she was changing, and when she checked her phone on the Metro elevated train to Terpsichoria, she found the video from above Zack’s car no longer broadcasting. Instead, it showed a new feed from the back seat of the car, aimed at the dashboard. 

The Crimson Wraith must have been wearing some kind of “plain clothes” disguise to be picked up by Zack. Maybe he had a camera hidden in a tie pin like old spy movies. At the bottom of the screen appeared a transcribed conversation, with no speaker attributed:

My wife, she took the car. Took everything.

That’s awful. Just awful.

Not married are you?

Me? Oh, no. Oh, hell, no.

Never do it. Just a trap.

Yeah, man, I hear you. Got this girl now. She thinks I’m a fucking god.

Don’t do it. Don’t marry her. You’ll regret it.

No, I’d never marry her. See, I got her wrapped around my finger. She pays for everything. Does whatever I say. Got a real sweet deal. 

You got to be kidding me. Doesn’t she make you buy flowers and all?

What? No way. That’s some loser bullshit right there. Oh sorry. Didn’t mean to curse.

No, go ahead. You are right. That’s what it is.

That’s what it is. It’s all bullshit.

So you don’t buy flowers. You don’t get her gifts. She pays for everything? And does whatever you say? Like she’s at your command?

You got it. I’m not saying she’s my slave. [laughs] Okay, maybe I am.

Got to tell me your secret. How do you do it?

How do I what?

How do you make her do everything for you?

She knows who’s in charge.

Yeah?

Oh, yeah.

Never questions your authority?

Not if she knows what’s good for her.

And if she doesn’t?

[laughs] Then I have to remind her, don’t I?

In a flash of anger, Gracie punched a metal bar inside the Metro car. It sang out as a ring on her finger struck it, and eyes turned toward her. A few passengers shifted away. Gracie decided that pocketing her phone for the time being would be a good idea. 

She was waiting in line at Terpsichoria when she felt the phone buzz in her jacket. A notification on the screen read: Subject acquired. 

“Subject acquired”? Holy shit! It was happening!

Luckily, the midweek crowd didn’t keep her in line for long. Gracie got checked-in and went right to the bar, ordering a whisky sour and taking it with her to a dark corner where she could look at her phone without others seeing her screen.

Tombstone wasn’t offering any video feeds, just a status update: Specter Prime and subject in motion.

Going back through the screenshots, she found the action they depicted was blurry, difficult to make out. But Gracie kept rewinding and figured out that some kind of fog had filled Zack’s car. She watched it clear away in reverse, disappearing up the sleeve of the person who wore the camera, the Crimson Wraith. The last clear frame showed his hand covering Zack’s face, an expression of terror peeking through his fingers.

Still, Gracie scrolled backwards, seeing the hand release Zack, his expression return to ignorance. Finally, there appeared at the bottom of the screen the last two lines of transcribed conversation:

You sure this is your stop, man?

No. It’s yours.

Earlier…

Before leaving their conversation at the Finn Mausoleum, Gracie had asked, “So, what, are you going to kidnap him to some ‘undisclosed location’ where no one can hear him scream, tie him to a chair, and cut off his ear?”

“You’ve been watching too many movies.” The Crimson Wraith’s mask and augmented voice kept her from being able to tell if he was amused or not.

“He will leave our conversation unharmed, physically.”

“So, no killing?”

“No killing.”

“Not even a little killing?”

“The dead cannot face justice. They don’t get to learn from their wrongs nor do they get to suffer for them.”

“Right, but if you aren’t going to kick his ass, then how are you going to stop him hurting Kristen? Hell, how do you stop him even if you do kick his ass? Obviously, this son-of-a-bitch can just brush off an ass kicking and go right on son-of-a-bitching.”

“We show him that his actions matter. We show him that he is not above receiving their consequences. We let him know that someone is watching and holding him accountable.”

“Few broken ribs could go a long way toward accountability.”

“If it has to be that way, but we reserve that course of action in case he puts us into a position where it is a necessity.” This is where the Crimson Wraith started sounding a bit too “fortune cookie” for Gracie’s liking. “There is no joy in this. Taking pleasure in returning suffering for suffering is vengeance, not justice.”

“Ok, you’re the professional masked weirdo here, but that sounds like total bullshit.”

“That may be. But let’s say Zack does go missing before your case goes to trail. How would that look to a judge?”

“Maybe like I murdered him.”

“And if he were to come to the DA with a change of heart and new injuries, it would appear he had been coerced, and that would open a new investigation that Captain Villagrana would have to pursue thoroughly. Neither of us wants that. We want Zack to tell the District Attorney that he’s had a change of heart, that he lied when he said you used a weapon against him unprovoked. We give Bradley a chance to argue that you defended yourself against him with appropriate force.”

“How are you going to make Zack say that without kicking the shit out of him?”

“I intend to take a psychological approach.”

“You’re gonna lay him down on a couch and make him talk about his feelings?”

“Not quite. Tell me, how do you think Zack feels about being in the dark? Or restrained? Or maybe high places?”

Later…

The view from the Snyder-Finn Building gave an almost god-like perspective on Titan City. By night, the streets’ grid lines transformed into valleys of light reflecting against the glass of skyscrapers and framed by concrete darkness. The motion of so many lives below merged into a single flow, like the murmuration of birds. 

Dangling upside-down and rotating slowly, Zack was in both the best and the worst position to appreciate that sight. 

The voice of the Crimson Wraith in his ear echoed like the high-altitude winds around them, “I want you to know that you are being held securely.”

Zack’s wrists had been zip-tied behind him. The rope around his ankle looped around a concrete gargoyle who seemed to mock his precarious position. At the end of the rope stood the Crimson Wraith, gripping it firmly in both hands.

Zack moaned, still groggy from the Crimson Wraith’s knock-out gas. “For fuck’s sake, man, just let me go…”

“I’m not going to let you go. That’s why you are not going to fall, not unless you make me.”

“Why are you doing this? I didn’t do nothin’…”

“Don’t act surprised, Zack. You haven’t exactly been a model citizen, have you? I know that you like to throw your weight around, throw your fists around too. And when people don’t give you what you want, you take it. Isn’t that right?”

“No, man. Not me. I swear…”

A tremor seized Zack’s whole body, the force of an electrical shock making him flail and jerk in a way that did not seem at all safe, given his position. 

The Crimson Wraith’s voice howled with unholy distortion, “Do not lie to me!”

The convulsions shuddered their way out of Zack’s body, and he whimpered, “I’m sorry. God damn it, I’m sorry, man. I swear.”

“I am not sure that you are. I don’t know if you know what that feels like. What you’re feeling now is fear. You are afraid, Zack, aren’t you?”

“I just… I just want to get down. Please. Please, tell me what you want.”

“Somewhere in your life, you learned that fear is powerful, didn’t you? Someone taught you that lesson, and you took it well.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want you to know that I am sorry,” the Crimson Wraith said. “I’m sorry for whatever made you become this.”

“Made me become what?”

A drop of three inches was all it took to start Zack screaming again.

The Crimson Wraith continued calmly. “You are cruel, Zack. That is why you are here right now. You have shown this is the only form of communication you respect. I would rather it weren’t this way. But you won’t listen to anything else, and you need to listen to this.”

Zack shrieked, “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to make me a promise. You are going to keep that promise because you know now that I am watching you, and I can always bring you right back here.”

“I promise! Anything! I promise!”

“Kristen. Your relationship with her is over. You will never have anything to do with her again. You will not see her. You will not speak to her. You will not message her. If she is ever again hurt in this life, it will not be by your hand. Promise me that.”

“Yes! I promise!”

“Say that it is over between you.”

“It is over, man! Me and her are done!”

“And then you will contact the District Attorney. You will inform her that you wish to change your statement regarding your fight with Gracie Chapel. You will let her know that you were the first to pick up a weapon. You were the one to escalate the confrontation, and she only took up her own in response.”

“Fine! I’ll do that!”

“You’ll do what, Zack? I want you to say the words.”

“I’m the one! I was the first to grab a weapon!”

“And is that the truth?”

“It is!”

“Then the truth,” said the Crimson Wraith, “will set you free.” He drew Zack close, away from the spiraling vertigo, back to the ledge of the Snyder-Finn Building. “Now, sleep. And remember.” 

Just as he had done earlier, the Crimson Wraith held his gauntlet over Zack’s face, and a cloud of sweetly smelling mist poured from his hand. Zack’s eyes fluttered and closed as his body went limp with unconsciousness.

“That should do it,” said the Crimson Wraith. 

Miles away, Gracie sat by herself in a corner at Terpsichoria, her face lit up by the phone in her hand, seemingly no more transfixed than anyone else doing the same.

While she had been there, some had come up trying to start a conversation — nothing rude or obscene. A few were acquaintances she’d made there before. Gracie had brushed them all off, placing her phone face down to hide the screen as they approached.

What Gracie kept hidden was a video feed in night vision green, broadcast by a camera in the Crimson Wraith’s mask. She had seen it all, right from the Scarlet Stranger’s perspective, while a speech-to-text transcription appeared below.

Then Zack made his promises and was sent off to dreamland. The video feed went black. A message from Crypt read: Subject being returned to his vehicle. 

Gracie clamped her hand over her mouth. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream. She wanted to dance. Fortunately, there was a dance floor nearby. 

Every mix the DJ spun seemed perfect, and all the other dancers, fun and full of life. A fierce joy that she had not felt in years, maybe not ever, pulsed through her body in time with the beat.