1986.

The Titan Metro ride up to the 6th Avenue station wasn’t exactly comfortable for either Hank or Jasmine. Typically, she didn’t like going out during the day. It never felt safe to dress the way she felt most herself when the sun was out. 

So, she threw on something a boy had left at her apartment one time, left her wig and make-up at home, and told Hank to call her “Jay” while they were in public. 

Hank said he would try to remember. He didn’t want to upset her.

Nothing changed the way she moved or walked though, and it was clear that more than one young man saw her and wanted to call her something very-not-nice. One look at Hank at her side, though, and their tongues kept still. He intimidated plenty even without the Crimson Wraith mask.

Hank wasn’t comfortable because he wasn’t someone who got invited to lunch, and certainly on the West side of town. On top of that, this invitation from Michael seemed to be about Hank taking on the role of the Crimson Wraith, and he didn’t really want to hear someone say he shouldn’t be doing that, thinking they knew better than him. 

But Michael had known the Crimson Wraith who sent him to prison, and that Crimson Wraith had been a good guy. So, Hank was willing to hear him out.

They walked out of the 6th Avenue Titan Metro station to find Michael standing in front of a classic car in lustrous candy-apple red with gleaming chrome accents. 

“Oh, shit,” said Jasmine. “What kind of car is that?”

Michael grinned, “It’s um… It’s a 1939 Lincoln-Zephyr.”

“Zephyr? You mean like…”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

Jasmine lowered her voice. “You named yourself after a car?”

“Hey, it’s a really nice car.”

Hank asked, “Where are we going?”

Michael pointed up to the hillsides West of the river, and Hank nodded. He did not think he was going to like this at all.

As they rode on over and past the 6th Avenue Bridge, up into the wealthy homes of West Titan, Jasmine could not get enough of the car. “It looks like money, feels like money,” she said as she ran her fingers over the seats. “Honey, it even smells like money.” 

“Right?” said Michael. “That’s why I tried to steal it.”

Hank asked, “You stole this car?”

“Tried to,” said Michael. “Only tried to. I was seventeen and thought I knew everything. Ran with a group of guys who operated from Dini Street to Robinson.”

“That’s East Town,” said Hank.

“Sure is.”

“See,” said Jasmine, “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

“Aw, thanks,” said Michael.

Hank said, “You were in a gang?”

“Had to be. Never knew my parents. Couple of aunties raised me. And if you want to make it out there, you don’t do it alone.” 

“You got that right,” said Jasmine.

“We called ourselves the Red Birds,” Michael continued. “Dunno why, really. Maybe the Crimson Wraith made the color red sound cool and dangerous. We didn’t get into heavy stuff. Most hardcore was some B&E, but typically we kept to pickpocketing and a bit of car theft. So, when I saw this beauty…” He patted the steering wheel. “Oh, man… It was everything I could have wanted and more than I could imagine. I thought to myself that if I could jack a car like this, my whole future would be made for me. Guess it turned out that way too. Let’s just say, you steal the Crimson Wraith’s car, you don’t get very far…”

Hank said, “The Crimson Wraith left this car parked in East Town? Between Dini and Robinson?”

“No, see, I’d gone wandering uptown. Found this beauty sitting up on the corner of Warner and 3rd. Although, to be specific, it didn’t really belong to my Crimson Wraith — the one who trained me, the one I was the Wily Wisp for. It belonged — and it still belongs — to the Crimson Wraith who trained him. He’s the one you’re going to meet today. He’d been in town handling things at Finn Industries…”

Jasmine raised a hand. “Hold the damn phone. Finn Industries?”

Michael laughed. “Yeah, Finn Industries. Wow, you guys are gonna be getting a big history lesson today.”

Hank wasn’t interested in history.

“You know what’s cool?” said Michael. “I’ve spent years with all these secrets, keeping them carefully for my safety and everyone else’s. But I meet you two, and even though I don’t know you at all — not as people — I know we’re doing the same work. So, it feels okay being open with you, like we’re long-lost cousins catching up on family stuff gossip.”

Hank said, “Guess you don’t really have to worry about us blabbing to the cops or anything.”

“Right!” Michael laughed.

Hank didn’t laugh.

When the gates of Finn Manor opened for them, Jasmine whistled low. “Like something out of a goddamn fairy tale,” she said.

“I know just what you mean,” said Michael. “Felt the same way when I first saw it.” He parked in front of the manor’s main entryway and opened the front door for them. “Gentlemen,” he said, with a bow, inviting them to enter..

“Lady,” said Jasmine.

“Right, sorry.” Michael turned inside to call out, “Grandpas, I’m home! And I brought company!”

They appeared down the hall, emerging from the kitchen. Stephen wore the apron he had been cooking in and, although only in his fifties, Edward walked with the silver Derby handled snakewood cane that he would be holding at the time of his death. 

“Really, Michael?” said Edward. “Must you keep on with the ‘grandpa’ business in front of guests?”

“Forgive the niño, Eddie,” Stephen said with a grin. “He is excited.”

“Darn right!” said Michael, “Now, Grandpa Eddie, Grandpa Stephen, these are Hank and… I’m sorry.”

“Jasmine,” she said.

“Jasmine, right. Hank and Jasmine are the Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp I was telling you about. Hank, Jasmine, these are Eddie and Stephen.”

They each shook hands, and as soon as Hank’s hand clasped Edward’s, he knew. A handshake tells you about the person attached, and it told Hank that this man was a fighter. Even though his last fight may have been years ago, the echoes of that strength, that poise, that readiness, remained. 

And he knew that Edward saw it in him too. Of course he knew. He gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. “It’s good to meet you.”

Hank didn’t have the words.

Stephen said, “Why don’t we all step into the parlor?” He gestured toward a doorway to their left, where fine leather sofas awaited them. Stephen opened an antique globe to reveal a drinks set hidden inside. “Might I offer anyone something to drink?”

Hank shook his head, but Jasmine said, “Oh, you know I’m not gonna say ‘no’ to that.”

“What may I serve you?” said Stephen.

“Well, I don’t exactly know what you folks drink up in these parts. Usually, I’m a Medusa’s Head girl, myself. I ain’t fancy.”

“Rum then?” said Stephen. “Very well. Ice?”

“Maybe just a little.”

Stephen poured her something the same dark, rich tone of the leather and wood grain all around them. “See how this treats you.”

Jasmine took a sip. “Oh, this treats me good. This treats me real good.”

“Excellent.” Stephen then poured for Edward and himself.

“Now,” Michael said to Edward, “how about you tell our guests a story, Grandpa?”

Edward sighed with irritation clearly undercut by amusement. He turned toward Hank and Jasmine, fingers gripping his cane firmly, braced for the impact of history.

“In the year 1940,” he said. “I was kidnapped along with several other orphan boys by a villain who called himself the Blue Banshee. We were rescued by the first Crimson Wraith, William Finn, who later adopted me as his son. In 1948, after much training, he allowed me to fight along his side in a guise of my own creation — the Wily Wisp.” 

Jasmine said, “You came up with the Wily Wisp?”

“I did, and I continued to be the Wily Wisp until 11954, when my father retired from being the Crimson Wraith and passed on the role to me. I served as the Crimson Wraith until my own retirement in 1971. Soon after, I found the man I would train to take it from me.”

“That was Adam O’Neil,” said Michael. “He was my Crimson Wraith. And yours, Hank.”

“What happened to him?” Hank asked.

Stephen said, “Sadly, Adam is no longer with us…”

Anger flashed in Hank, “Someone killed him?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Edward. “It was an accident, a terrible fall one night during an evening’s patrol.”

“Wait,” said Jasmine. “That’s it? He fell?”

“That’s it,” said Michael. A wince of pain fought its way into his smile. “I was there. One minute, he was right on the rooftop beside me. And the next…”

Stephen explained, “Before he began as the Crimson Wraith, Adam received a severe head injury. It affected his hearing and sometimes gave him dizzy spells.”

“My father suffered similar,” said Edward. “But it seems Adam’s injury affected him more severely. Those of us around him saw his spells worsening, but Adam pushed on, regardless. He was a very driven man.”

 Jasmine shook her head. “I can’t believe he just fell.”

“Is that so shocking?” Edward asked. 

“Well, yeah, because… I mean… The Crimson Wraith… He’s Titan City’s own number-one badass superhero supreme.”

“We are not super,” said Edward. “We are just men. If we try, if we fight, and if we fight in the right manner, we may become heroes. But we are only men, nothing more.”

Hearing this, Hank felt something that he would never be able to put into words. It was the recognition of a shared experience, realizing you can understand something very important to someone else because you’ve got something just like it important to you, and realizing that means they may understand you right back.

Eight years before, another fall, another accident, had changed Hank’s life. And the man who caught him, the man who redeemed him, had died just that way too.

“I’m sorry,” Hank said to Michael.

But it wasn’t just for his Crimson Wraith. Not really. The words came from a place deeper than grief for a man he never knew. They were for Carla, too — for the life he couldn’t bring back, for the harm he couldn’t undo.

For years, Hank had only ever said that he didn’t mean to kill her, that it was an accident, that it wasn’t supposed to happen. But he’d never said this, never I’m sorry. Not out loud. Not to anyone.

Until now.

And saying it, even if it wasn’t to the person who needed to hear it, even if it was wrapped in another man’s sorrow, felt like stepping into a quiet place he hadn’t known was there, a place without weight, without the constant press of guilt behind every breath.

It felt clean, like forgiveness might not be so impossible or so far away.

“Thanks,” Michael said. “It’s been almost two years now and it’s still… It’s hard.” Then he shook it off, “But now, you’re here! You both are! The Crimson Wraith rises again!”

Hank made himself smile. He knew it was a kind thing Michael was trying to say, but suddenly, he found that being hailed as the new Crimson Wraith felt as unsettling as being told he wasn’t fit to bear the mantle. Either way, was the mask truly his? 

“And now,” said Stephen, “it is time for the Crimson Wraith to eat again. Eddie, Michael, will you show our guests to the dining hall?”

The dining table offered far beyond what the five of them required. It could have  comfortably sat four times as many, so they gathered at one end, with Edward at the head, an empty space for Stephen at his right and Michael sitting beside. Hank sat to Edward’s left, with Jasmine to his. 

Along either side of the table hung two massive paintings chronicling the history of Titan City. One depicted the West Titan hillsides in a wilder time, thick with greenery not seen in over a century. The other showed a towering whaling ship offloading its bloody bounty onto the Titan City docks, the name Perseverance written upon its hull. And behind Edward loomed a vast, dark fireplace, cold and empty, with the marble bust of a somber, bearded man watching from the mantle above.

“Curious about our silent dining companion?” Edward asked Hank..

He must have been staring. Hank pointed to the bust. “Who is he?”

“That, technically speaking, is my great-great grandfather Archibald Finn, a man to whom I have no relation.”

“You ain’t got no relation to your great-great granddaddy?” said Jasmine.

“Blood relation, no. As I said, I am an orphan, the adopted son of another orphan, William Finn, who was adopted by Josiah Finn, son of Cornelius Finn, son of Archibald Finn, whose image you see there.” Edward pointed behind Hank, “That ship was his, the Perseverance.  It made the fortune which allowed him to purchase this land,” he pointed toward the painting across from Hank, “on which Finn Manor now stands.”

“An orphan,” said Hank. “And the son of an orphan.”

“That’s right,” said Edward. “So, you can imagine I don’t put much stock in bloodlines, not the way that some old Titan families do. In my family, my real family, we pass along things more precious than blood. We pass along a code, a calling, a mission — things that seem now to have passed on to you.” He looked meaningfully toward Hank.

Then, Stephen wheeled in a tray with their lunch. “I took the liberty,” he said, “of being somewhat playful with the menu, drawing inspiration from a summer picnic.” 

Upon the center of the table, he began to place dishes heaped with fried chicken, deviled eggs, corn on the cob, potato salad, and some sort of broccoli salad. 

“I thought we might eat family style,” said Stephen.

Edward nodded. “A wonderful job, Stephen. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Eddie.” And he squeezed Edward’s shoulder affectionately as he took his seat. Jasmine smiled knowingly. She tried to catch Hank’s attention, but the gesture seemed to have passed his notice.

“This really looks like something else,” Jasmine said. “You got boxes for us to take home leftovers?”

Stephen smiled, “I would be quite flattered if you did.”

For whatever differences there may have been in their lifestyles, the five of them found plenty of common ground in their love for the city they protected, and none of them had ever expected to find themselves a part of the Crimson Wraith’s legacy. 

Edward had many tales of past adventures — occasionally prompted by Stephen, occasionally corrected by Michael. They added texture to the tales the Hank and Jasmine had heard growing up, back when the Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp’s faces seemed to be everywhere — on cereal boxes, on every kind of plastic toy, on television, telling the children of Titan City that they could be heroes just by remembering to brush their teeth. 

But Edward clearly did not want to do all of the talking. “How long would you say that you were working up Queen Cleopatra’s chain of command before you got to her?” he asked.

Jasmine looked at Hank. “When was it I told you Mandy came asking about us? That was the Tuesday before, right?”

“Six days?” said Michael. “You got to her in six days?”

“Six days. Yeah,” said Hank.

“I spent six weeks tracking drug shipments back to that club!”

Jasmine said, “Well, we knew we had to act right away when poor Tamara went missing. That girl did not have long.”

“Regardless,” said Edward, “that is some impressive detective work.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” said Jasmine, “We just talked to people. And people wanted to talk. They was scared of Queen Cleopatra. Seemed everyone wanted her gone.”

Michael frowned. “Guess I didn’t find people feeling quite as chatty.”

“Well, no offense, ‘cause I know you from the street like us, but it’s been a little while since you been walking East Town, know what I mean?”

“Suppose you’re right,” said Michael. “Something to be said for really being street level.”

“Her mother,” said Edward, “was an adversary of mine too, you know. She went by Queen Cleopatra as well. Although it was a different time, a little more innocent perhaps. She also ran girls, but they flaunted their sexuality as part of social protests, covering their naked bodies in wet paint and then assaulting city officials who opposed equal rights for women. We had our final showdown in a disco. She surrendered after I defeated her in a dance competition. I must admit, I cheated — I made her my dance partner.”

“Bet you swept her right off her feet, Grandpa,” said Michael.

Stephen smirked.

“Ain’t that a bitch,” said Jasmine, smacking Hank’s shoulder. “Now why the hell can’t we be Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp for a dance competition instead of somebody coming at me with a damn live cobra?”

But before Hank could respond, Edward said, “I wish to come to my point in having Michael invite you here. The work you are doing, you are doing in my name, and as such it represents a lineage of secret protectors who have fought for Titan City and its citizens for generations.”

Hank tensed. 

“That being the case,” Edward continued, “I feel as though I have a right to a certain amount of interest in your campaign and its success. Therefore, I would like to ask, what can we do for you?”

“What?” Hank wasn’t expecting that. 

“To support you. The both of you. How can we help?”

Glancing at Jasmine, Hank saw her surprise and excitement but wasn’t sure what to do with that. “I think we’re okay. Thanks.”

“Now, young man, please, I don’t want you to simply be polite. My offer is sincere. Whatever way we can make it easier for you to do what you do, it would be my pleasure.”

“Ok. Yeah, I think we’re all right.”

Michael said, “He’s serious, Hank. Money, legal assistance, doctor bills — whatever we can give you, we’d be more than happy.”

“Thanks,” said Hank. “I just can’t really think of anything.”

Jasmine gave Hank the look that he knew accompanied her saying, Have you lost your damn mind?

Stephen said, “Well, should something occur to you later that we could help with, you will let us know, I hope? I’ll make sure to get you a card with the private number here — the very private number.”

The rest of the meal continued pleasantly, and Edward and Stephen gave warm and friendly farewells after. The two Crimson Wraiths, past and present, parted with a firm handshake.

“You sound as though you’re doing good work,” said Edward. “I believe my father would be proud. I only wish that he could see his legacy being carried in such good hands.

“Thank you,” said Hank. His face felt very warm. It was hard to imagine the first Crimson Wraith would really approve of a killer crusading in his name.

The drive back to the 6th Avenue Metro station was a quiet one. When Michael dropped them off, he said, “See you around, maybe? Figure we might end up crossing paths again.”

“Maybe,” said Hank.

Michael extended a card with a phone number — no name, just the number. On the back was written the words, Where we met. “That’s the ‘very private’ line. Whoever answers will ask where we met and you’ll say…”

Hank blanked, but Jasmine answered for him, “The Golden Sphinx. I’ll hold onto that, thank you.” She pocketed the phone number. “And you will be hearing from me. Believe that. A girl’s got rent to pay.”

Michael nodded. “Absolutely. The offer still stands. Whatever you need.”

As soon as he drove away, one Zephyr zooming into the hillsides with another Zephyr at the wheel, Jasmine turned to Hank and smacked him on the shoulder, hard. “What the hell? Ain’t you got no sense at all?”

“Don’t hit me,” he said.

“They were offering us money — money, fool! I don’t even know how much, but you saw how those boys living up there! Family as old as the goddamn city itself, wanting to hand you a blank check, and you’re all ‘No thanks. We good.’ I mean, did you get dropped on your damn head?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, for the second time that day.

Jasmine clenched her fists and shouted at the sky in frustration. “No, you know what? You and your sorry self can have it your way, but this girl,” she held up the phone number like a winning lottery ticket. “This girl is getting paid. And next time you need stitches, you better believe I am pulling out this card to reach out and touch somebody instead of having to get my manicured fingers all up in your bloody insides. Again.”

“Ok.”

“Ok,” she said. And then, having at least gotten Hank to agree to that much, she softened, “You really don’t want anything? Not one damn thing money can buy?”

“This isn’t a job,” said Hank. “I’ve got a job. It pays me. I’ve got a roof and food and I can buy new shoes when the old ones wear out. What we do at night, that’s something else. It’s about making things right. Trying to. Because I made a promise.”

“But… money…”

“Money can’t buy what I want.”

There wasn’t a person alive who knew Hank better than Jasmine. Maybe there never was. And the weight of sadness she saw in his eyes was so much, yet she also knew he wasn’t a man who could let that sadness flow away with tears. Instead she felt her own eyes well up on his behalf.

“You are an idiot, you know that?” She kissed him on the cheek. “A big, dumb, beautiful idiot.”