2019.

When they got back to the Zephyr, Kevin placed a call to Danny on the Crimson Wraith’s frequency. The gleaming Art Deco luxury car pulled away from the grim edifice of the TCCF, and Danny’s voice came through the Zephyr’s speakers. “Line secure, Specter Prime. This is Crypt. What’s the word?”

“Suspect identified,” said Kevin. He read out the code scribbled in the corner of Betsy’s picture — Betys’s initials and birth year, “ED1968.”

“Confirmed, Spectre Prime. ED1968.”

Beside Kevin in the back seat, Gracie looked at the photograph of Betsy he held — her ordinary face, ordinary smile. Most people couldn’t survive a week of what Betsy had lived with for three decades, and here she was, pushing wheelchairs and posing for her employee ID.

“Elizabeth Declemente. Fifty-one years old. Single, no kids, never married. Employed at Sunset Gardens five years. Nursing degree received in 1999. She worked the hospitals after Zero Hour. Nothing on record about Bobby D’s though.”

“And there might not be,” said Kevin. “Since she was under twenty-one, the TCPD wouldn’t have released her name among the victims. A family business like Bobby D’s might just have paid her under the table, leaving no payroll record either.”

Danny said, “Bobby D’s. Declemente. Damn it, I should have looked into the deli’s history. I should have caught that.”

Kevin said, “It doesn’t matter. We have it now.”

“What do you think something like this does to a person?,” Gracie asked, still holding eye contact with Betsy’s photo. “I’ve lived some pretty fucking fucked-up shit, but this… I just… I just don’t understand how you go on from something like this.”

“Pain can transform into many things,” said Stephen. “Some draw upon it for strength to help others. It depends on the person.”

“What now? Hank recognized her, but that’s not enough, is it?”

“To secure a conviction, no,” said Kevin. “Knowing what we know doesn’t do us good unless we can prove it in court. Danny, send us her address. What are her routines? Is she at work?”

“The Haunt posted at her building saw her leaving for work at 2 PM. Based on her patterns, she’s probably working second shift. Shouldn’t be home before midnight.”

“Giving us time to search her apartment,” said Kevin.

“Us?” said Gracie.

“Yes, I want you to come with me.”

She felt a thump in her chest. So, the time had come to move on from lectures and exercise and continue her vigilante training out in the real world. “Right, okay. So, what’s the plan?”

“First, disguises. Dressing as building maintenance should allow access to her apartment without arousing suspicion. Once inside, we look for hard evidence that will tie her to Edward’s murder, especially any container that may test positive for traces of aconite, the poison she used to kill him.”

Danny’s voice cut in, “Hey, and if you happen across whatever doohickey she used to switch off the cameras, I’d really like to take a look at that thing.”

Gracie said, “Find the poison. Find the doohickey. Then, what, hand those over to Captain Villagrana?”

“If the TCPD were investigating Edward’s murder, perhaps. But with it having appeared that he died of natural causes, we will need her to confess. The evidence we find should help convince her to talk.”

Something about that worried Gracie.

“Isn’t there a chance she says she murdered him because he was the Crimson Wraith?” 

She caught Kevin and Stephen exchanging a glance through the rear view mirror.

“There is.”

“Well then…” It didn’t seem like she should have to point this out. “Doesn’t that risk the secrecy of, you know, this whole operation?”

“It might.” 

He seemed too calm. 

“Okay, then isn’t that a really bad idea?”

Danny said, “Gotta admit, she has a point.”

“We don’t really have an alternative,” said Kevin, and Gracie realized he had understood and accepted that risk well before.

He continued. “This isn’t just about getting justice for Edward. This is about our safety. We need her to show us how much she knows and who else she might have told.”

“To put it another way, Miss Chapel,” said Stephen, “it may be necessary to risk further exposure in order to prevent further exposure.”

“Oh,” said Gracie, “so it’s kinda like, fucked if we do, fucked if we don’t?”

“Maybe not that dire,” said Kevin, “but there’s only one way to find out.”

Stephen said, “I take it I shall be dropping you off at the Sepulchre on my way back home?”

“If you please, Stephen.”

The Robinson Street Bridge brought them back over the Brennert River, and they passed once more under the Arch of Memory, to be enveloped by the traffic, skyscrapers, and noise of Titan City. The cloud-heavy sky was bringing night on early. Street lamps lit up in response, adding a rain-slick shimmer to the dark blue of dusk.

As they pulled up to the fenced parking deck of a luxury high-rise condominium, Stephen swiped the platinum membership card that allowed entrance. They drove inside, and Kevin explained, “Sometimes Finn Manor is a bit far away for suiting up. That’s why we have the Sepulchre.”

“Sepulchre, huh?” said Gracie. “That another thing for keeping dead people in?”

“It is.”

“You guys really stick to your theme, don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a theme if we didn’t,” said Stephen. The hint of a smirk hovered at the edge of his moustache. Gracie found that comforting.

A private elevator with shining black walls brought Kevin and Gracie to his condo. When the doors opened, the lights within rose to a soft romantic glow. A circular fire pit in the center of the room ignited itself. Curtains opposite spread open to a stunning view of the city, and jazzy trip-hop music began to play from hidden speakers.

“Let me guess,” said Gracie. “You also shoot pornos here.”

Kevin laughed. “Good Lord, no. There are times when it’s good for me to look like I have an interesting sex life, though. Every now and then, I’ll bring a date up here and make an anonymous tip to paparazzi. The dates themselves are not that exciting.”

“You mean the Crimson Wraith doesn’t play sexy mask games in his free time? Too much like your regular workday?”

“What is this ‘free time’ of which you speak?” Kevin said with a smile, and then, “In Pace Requiescat.”

At that, a kind of metal shielding lowered into place to cover balcony windows. A wall panel and what had appeared to be a leather ottoman swung open to reveal a computer terminal and work table. The fire pit doused itself and rose upward. The battlesuit of the Crimson Wraith hung at the ready in its plexiglass base.

The workbench contained their disguises. Kevin handed her a generic maintenance technician’s jumpsuit. “It’s going to be a little big on you, but no one is really going to think it strange if you roll up your sleeves and pant legs. Suits like this tend to fit awkwardly.”

“I know maintenance workers are pretty invisible, but isn’t there a chance somebody is going to recognize millionaire playboy Kevin Snyder in a jumpsuit?”

He opened a drawer and selected a fake moustache and glasses from the several stored there. From another drawer, he pulled a pair of baseball caps and handed one to Gracie. “Glasses, hat, and a change in facial hair make you almost unrecognizable to most people.”

“Got anything in a goatee? Always wondered if I could rock one of those,” said Gracie. Kevin smiled and handed her one, but before she had a chance to try it on, a light began flashing on the side of the computer terminal. 

“That’s Crypt,” said Kevin. “Danny must have found something.” 

He slid back his sleeve and tapped his wrist communicator. 

“This is Specter Prime. What is it, Crypt?”

There was urgency in Danny’s voice. “News feed. Coming your way.” 

The computer monitor in front of them lit up to show an apartment building with smoke billowing from a burning hole in its side. A reporter was speaking to a woman struggling to hold a cat who did not want to be held. 

“I just thank Heavens she called to say she was going out of town and asked if I could look after her cat. I do that sometimes. He’s a good kitty and gets along real well with mine. If I hadn’t come to get him when I did…”

Danny said, “They’re calling it a gas explosion. It happened right in Subject’s apartment.”

Gracie felt that thump in her chest again. Shit was going down and she didn’t know what it meant yet.

“Where is Subject now?” 

His voice was hard and commanding. Gracie figured that must have meant his pulse had suddenly quickened too.

“Just left her place of employment, headed north. Got a Haunt tailing her.”

“We’ll be right behind. Specter Prime out.”

Gracie shook her head. “She knew we were coming? How?”

He stood before the plexiglass case, fingers resting on its handle, gazing at the skull mask within. It seemed to Gracie like he was looking for something in its eyes — the shadows of those whose lives the Crimson Wraith had touched, whether they felt they had been rescued, ruined, or something in between, and the reckoning owed to each.

“Let’s go ask her.”