2019.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, Edward was murdered.”

“You guys were talking like he was real old, so I just thought, you know, ‘natural causes.’”

“He was eighty-seven years old, but someone felt like going ahead and murdering him anyway.”

“What the fuck? Who would do that?”

“We don’t know yet. Kevin thinks it was someone working on the retirement home staff — ease of entry and all that. We’ve been watching the likely suspects for weeks with cameras and audio, even gone through their trash. Just shy of breaking in. Kevin doesn’t like to cross that line without a solid reason. Kind of like cops needing probable cause before they can search a place. Nothing’s turned up yet, but we’ve got a lead, and soon as it’s visiting day…”

“Visiting day?”

Danny nodded. He turned back to the computer and opened a file.
“Crimson Wraith number four. Henry Mills. Goes by ‘Hank.’”

A faded image appeared on the screen of a thick-jawed man in a red-hooded sweatshirt, streaked with what might have been dried blood. His shoulders slumped, and though his gaze met the camera, it seemed a heavy weight to lift. The wall behind him showed height markers, and a placard before him read HENRY MILLS, 03-01-1988, and a record number. It was Hank’s mugshot.

“He’s in prison,” Danny said.

“Wait, so one Crimson Wraith ended up in a mental hospital and another got arrested?”

“Yep. Killed someone. That was how he retired from being the Crimson Wraith. Convicted of murder. Got a life sentence. That’s where he is now.”

“Who did he murder?”

“A bad guy,” said Danny. “Someone who deserved it.”

He clicked again, pulling up the photo of Edward’s refrigerator from the Haunts. “Whoever killed Edward moved these photos aside to get a better look at this one.” He pointed to the image of Edward, Stephen, and Michael at Bobby D’s Delicatessen with Hank visible in the kitchen background. “Kevin noticed it’s the only photo with Hank. The others show Edward with different people. So he figures the killer recognized Hank, maybe even knew him back in the day. We’re hoping Hank can help ID whoever’s behind this.”

“Right. So, visiting day, huh?”

“Yup. Visiting day.” Danny looked over at Gracie. “So hearing all this — seeing how the Crimson Wraith’s mission can land you in prison, an institution, or the grave — are you sure you still want in?”

Gracie looked at the screen, at Hank’s mugshot. Something in his eyes — their hollow, hardened expression — hit her right in the gut. She knew that look. It was the same one she’d worn after the fight with Zack, when she’d come close to thinking she wanted to kill someone too. A bad guy. Just like Hank had. 

“You know,” she said, “all that stuff you were listing over breakfast, all the messed-up things in my background? I get that it looks bad, but you gotta understand, that’s my ‘normal.’ There’s been so many nights of being out on the street or, like, just barely off it. Not knowing when I’ll eat next. Not knowing who’s coming at me next. Sitting right there on the edge of surviving.” She shrugged. “I’m kinda used to that. Everything you have here — peace and quiet, people giving a damn about each other, not living with the threat of losing the roof over your head — this is the stuff that feels really weird to me. 

“I’m not trying to say I’m a badass, like ‘Danger is my middle name’ or some shit. I’m saying that thinking everything could go real bad, real fast — that’s nothing new. So, you showing me the risks that come with the Crimson Wraith? It’s a relief. At least then I know what’s in front of me. And I’d rather take it head-on than sit around wondering where it’s coming from or why I can’t see it. It’s better when the danger’s in your face instead of hiding somewhere out there.

“And along the way, if I get to be useful?” She laughed softly. “Holy shit. Useful. That’s not something anyone ever called me — not for anything I actually wanted to be useful for. But if I can help people, prove I’m not just…” She shook her head. “Yeah. I want this. I want all of it. If it can be mine, I’ll take it, wherever it takes me.”

She looked at Danny. His expression was controlled, steady. He kept looking, just taking her in. The silence stretched until the computer’s quiet hum filled the air. 

He was assessing her. Again. Like he had when she and Stephen pulled up that first night and while he made his fried bologna. This time, though, Gracie understood what he was doing and why he was doing it. And she also knew what was at stake. For both of them.

Danny’s gaze softened, and he looked down. “Coming at you like that… It wasn’t… I mean.” And when he looked up to meet Gracie’s eyes again, she could see the remorse. “I was outta line. And I’m sorry.”

Gracie nodded. “I think I get why you feel like you have to be such a hard ass…”

“A hard ass?” He smirked like it was a compliment.

“Yeah, dude,” she said with a laugh, “like Spanish Inquisition and shit. But, I mean, you said it.” She gestured to the image of Hank’s mug shot. “This is some serious shit. And you want other people to take it seriously too. I get that. And I do. I really fucking do.”

And, as Danny nodded, Gracie could see that he saw just how serious it was for her. “All right,” he said, “Then you’ll have me backing you up all the way.”