1988.

As far as Hank could tell, there didn’t appear to be anything different about the two doors. No light came from under either doorway. No sound. Not a growl. Not a whimper.  

Nothing but the words painted overhead distinguished the two. Was there some small detail in the lettering to give away the right answer? Maybe the shade of red paint he used? When he described the gory display left at Bobby D’s, Stephen barely took a breath before decoding it all. Michael seemed to have an eye for those details too. Hell, Jasmine herself was always catching things he didn’t pick up on. 

By himself, Hank didn’t think he had much chance to answer this riddle. But he had to pick one to have any chance of saving his Wily Wisp. 

He decided it probably would be too obvious to put Jasmine behind LADY? With nothing else to go on, Hank stepped toward the door that read TIGER?

“You’ve made your choice already?” asked the Troubador.

Hank stopped. “Yes.”

“But are you sure? Think carefully now. This is the most important decision you’ve ever made — the most important decision you might ever make, as it is very likely to be your last.”

Casting a glance over his shoulder, Hank saw the Troubador’s grin. “You’re enjoying this.”

“How could I not? This is high drama — the climactic confrontation between fiendish villain and noble hero!”

Noble hero. This Troubadour knew Hank’s name. He knew where Hank worked. But did he really know Hank at all? 

Did he know anything about how it felt to realize he had killed his own wife? About his prison fights and being told he wasn’t worth a beating? About returning to the world and being told there wasn’t a place for him in it? About how much it meant being welcomed even just to wash dishes at Bobby D’s? About finding Jasmine that fateful night and coming up with the plan for the two of them to do something more meaningful than he’d ever imagined on his own?

But Hank had already made his most important choice. He wore the mask of the Crimson Wraith. He chose to take part in that legacy, and that legacy was about taking action. He reached for the door.

It was locked. 

Hank tried again, harder. The door would not budge. 

Behind him, the Troubador circled with his camera. “Yes, let us see how this affects you, even through the mask — the confusion, the frustration. This tale has a few more twists to it doesn’t it?”

“Why is it locked?” Hank growled.

With a shrug, the Troubador said, “Sometimes a door is just locked.” But the twinkle in his eye betrayed his sinister glee.

Hank glared right into the Troubador’s camera.

“You had better try the other,” said the Troubador.

If there was any chance of rescuing Jasmine, Hank knew had to keep playing. He walked to the other door that read LADY?, carefully gripped the handle, and pulled.

The door opened. 

Slowly, the gap widened, revealing more and more of the space within. But no lady. And no tiger. There was just a roll-top writing desk with a lamp illuminating the crowbar resting on its surface.

“There’s nothing here,” said Hank.

“Oh, no! Are you sure?” The Troubador’s feigned surprise dripped with barely restrained delight. “But I could have sworn… Well, you’d better have a closer look, just to be sure…”

Hank entered the boxcar. The Troubador followed, narrating for the camera. “And now, though confusion fills him, the hero steps forward, bravely doing his duty, undeterred by uncertainty…”

A string attached a paper tag to the crowbar, and on that tag was written one word: OOPS.

“What’s this?” The Troubador drew in closer. “He puzzles out the last piece of this mystery —  the most mysterious mystery of his crimefighting career. Whatever can it mean?”

But from the corner of his eye, Hank saw the gun in the Troubador’s hand had lowered. His attention had turned away from it and toward the camera. 

That shift in his opponent’s attention was all Hank needed. He spun on the Troubador, grabbing his gun arm by the wrist and wrenching the weapon free, before driving him up against the wall and pressing the crowbar into his throat.

“Where is she?” Hank roared.

“I can’t see,” the Troubador croaked. “The camera… Please… Let the camera see…”

“I’m done with your bullshit!” He pushed harder against the crowbar.  “Tell me!”

Even struggling to breathe, the Troubadour choked out a feeble chuckle. “It seems I made a mistake, didn’t I? The way it was written, the lady and the tiger were supposed to be placed in two separate rooms. But, can’t you tell what happened? I must have goofed.”

“What do you mean? Where is she?”

When the Troubador only laughed in response, Hank drove the crowbar into his gut. Even doubled over, he never dropped his camera. “They’re in the same room!” the Troubador screeched, “The lady and the tiger! They’re in the same room together!”