The Wraith (Superhero by Night Book 1)

by Jeffery H. Haskell

  Her article had said as much… but… I had read all the stories I could find on him: the eyewitness accounts, the blogs, everything. From what I could tell, that wasn’t the first time he had dealt with gunshots and I just didn’t believe he was really dead. Maybe for my own selfish need or maybe because it didn’t seem right.

  “Can you give me a list of places he was most commonly sighted?” I asked. An idea formed in my head. If I could narrow down where he had patrolled most, maybe I could find his base.

  “Sure, sure. Listen, though. I want to tell your story. Can I?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  She frowned, sucking in her lips and biting down on them, giving herself a bizarre, lip-less appearance. “Listen, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m not really great at ‘no.’ How about, ‘not right now, but soon?’ I like that a lot better.” As she spoke, she nodded to herself more than to me.

  “Uh, okay, but not until I say you can,” I said. I didn’t think there was a way out of her writing my story, but maybe I could get her to put it off until I could be sure she wouldn’t give away where I was. The last thing I needed was more bodies on my conscience.

  “Oh sure, totally, Scouts honor,” she said, crossing her heart like a Catholic.

  “I don’t think that’s how that goes…” I said to her. “Can you tell me what I need to know now?” I asked. She shimmied herself back across the office to her desk, hit a few buttons on her keyboard, clicked the mouse a few times and then a printer I hadn’t seen sprang to life, spitting out a sheet of white paper with a list of addresses.

  “Before I give this to you, I just want to tell you, you’re not the first person to come and look for him. If he’s still alive, and I stress the ‘if,’ he doesn’t want to be found.”

  I snatched the paper from her hand and stood. “I have nowhere else to go,” I said. Without another word, I left the bizarre woman's office. She was nice enough but weird to the extreme.

  The paper had every address he’d ever been sighted at more than once. And it was a lot. It was covered in addresses in eight-point font and double-sided. I stopped at the elevator and hit the button a few times distractedly as I went down the list. I needed a map. A real map—not my phone. This was going to require time to figure out.

  Time… I had plenty of that. Rage too.

  Chapter 9

  “Are you telling me she disappeared?” Henry asked the man sitting behind the mahogany desk. Ever since he’d taken over as ADA things were going so well. ISO-1 threw low-level crooks from other organizations his way and he looked like a hero. As long as they were using New Orleans to traffic in drugs and women, it was relatively easy to manipulate the statistics to show crime was down. Because it was. What they didn’t need, what he didn’t need, was the bitch of his ex-wife ruining everything.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Smith,” Sanchez El Cochran said. He was the PI Henry hired to find Madisun after she escaped New Orleans, and he was supposed to be the best in the business. “I followed her trail to New York. From there she could have gone anywhere. The only time I’ve seen this kind of cold trail is when the quarry realizes they’re being followed and heads somewhere new—somewhere with no family or connections, somewhere they’ve never lived before. If she’s done that, there really is no finding her until she re-surfaces through a credit card or some other mistake.”

  “Fine. Don’t expect a bonus.” Henry turned around to face the window overlooking the City Offices. If she were to come back she could… The man hadn’t left yet. Henry didn’t turn around when he spoke. “You can go now. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Sanchez departed without another word, leaving Henry alone with his thoughts. He knew he had crossed a line—a bad one. It was one thing to have his boss murdered, but he hadn’t intended Madi and Sara to die. Madi was no great loss; as pleasing to the eye as she was, he couldn’t stand her. Sara though… he felt, well, not sad, but annoyed that she had to die.

  Ever since he got in bed with that underage hooker in Mexico, his life had gone from bad to worse. If only he hadn’t… once he had, ISO-1 had him. Of course, that was their whole plan. Bribe who they could, blackmail who they couldn’t bribe, kill who they couldn’t blackmail.

  This was all Madi’s fault. If she had been a better wife he wouldn’t have had to leave and he wouldn’t have ended up on vacation in Cancun hooking up with an underage girl while he was still technically married.

  He kicked his chair in frustration, then kicked it again. If only she had just died in the fire. Or if they had listened to him and killed her in the hospital before she woke up. However, they had a point. Even they had limits. Making her family’s death appear to be an accident had cost time and money. And they weren’t willing to throw away even more money by killing her in the hospital when they might not need too.

  How the hell had she escaped? It wasn’t like she was a soldier or something… she was one damn step away from being a stripper.

  Frustration boiled up in him, causing his stomach to hurt. He pulled open the desk and threw a handful of antacids in his mouth. Well, he didn’t have time to worry about this now. If she was on the run, let her run. It wasn’t like she could survive without help. Her best case was to end up as a hooker.

  A chuckle escaped his lips as he pondered that turn of events. Maybe he’d even pay her a visit before they snuffed her.

  Chapter 10

  Women’s shelters aren’t the easiest places to live in but they’re warm and dry and they don’t ask a lot of questions. Since I was technically on the run from my ex-husband, they had no problem taking me in and giving me a bed. City of Hope Family Shelter provided two meals a day and a warm place to sleep. More than enough. More than I needed.

  The room wasn’t much more than a musty bunk bed, a sink, and a toilet, all shared with another woman who was also on the run. That was okay, though, any port in the storm. And after the last few days, I just needed to sleep for a week.

  Six hours would have to do. I awoke with a start, something I was growing accustomed too. My heart pounded, and I was covered in sweat. The images of Sara’s last few seconds ran through my brain. Would the nightmares ever end? Probably not.

  I pulled my aching body out of bed. All I had were the clothes I came in with, and they were starting to smell. No worries though, since I didn’t care. I dressed and made my way down to the little kitchen they offered in the shelter.

  “What happened to your hand?” The woman next to me in line for food saw me pick up a muffin. I snatched my hand back and slid it deep into my coat pocket.

  “Nothing,” I said to her. She didn’t need to know, and I didn’t need to go running from ISO-1 again. Besides, I could imagine what would happen if they showed up here in this place full of women and children.

  Three bran muffins and powdered milk later and I was on the move. I didn’t have time to rest or plan; I just needed to move forward. I had the printout with me and swiped a pen from the front desk on the way out. I could use this as a guide, checking off each address until I had searched them all. I stuffed a muffin in my pocket for lunch.

  I went outside into the rapidly warming air, checking my phone as I went. I wouldn’t have service for much longer, and I needed to take advantage of it while I could. The first address I wanted to check was on Helen and Mack, almost two miles away. I started walking.

  In the cold light of day, Detroit was even more of a dump than I thought. The farther I moved from downtown, the worse it got. Abandoned businesses were just the start. As I crossed over Lafayette Park it looked like no one had cleaned the streets in a decade. Despite the heat, I pulled my hood up to hide my face. I also started hustling—I needed to get in and out as fast as I could.

  Halfway there I was breathing hard, gulping for air, and I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I was certainly going to need to exercise more.

  I reached Mack Ave and turned northeast, heading for Helen. Mack was a
two-lane road with cracked pavement and huge potholes. It looked like it hadn’t seen any maintenance in years. Half the time the sidewalk was nonexistent and I had to walk on the shoulder. Traffic was busy enough that a car went by every few minutes… at least until I hit Helen St. Then no more cars, and I see why.

  The entire block was a husk of burned out buildings. Well, not the entire block, but the vast majority of it. One house in the middle of the block had a green lawn and a wrought iron fence. Other than that one anomaly, the block was devoid of life.

  I checked the address on the paper, and the house was actually it. The one house surviving in the whole neighborhood? That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  I checked my phone for the story. Sure enough, Krisan had printed them out in chronological order. This was the location of the first appearance of The Wraith; a home invasion gone bad—as if there was a good home invasion. Two little girls and the mom were killed and the dad was shot multiple times before The Wraith showed up and killed all the attackers… with a kitchen knife. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to push that image out of my head.

  Eyewitnesses swore he took several rounds to the chest but kept on going. Either he had crazy good armor, or he was bulletproof. For a long, wistful second, I thought of Sara. If only I had superpowers—I could have saved her. Even if the cops were there and ready for those two freaks who showed up at Mom and Dad’s house that night, they couldn’t have stopped them. The Ghost walked through walls, and the other one—she was living fire. Regular cops would have been as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

  If only I could have done… something.

  It wasn’t my fault, I knew, but I had felt so… useless. I still did.

  I doubted the man who survived still lived here, but it was worth a shot. I walked up the fence, undid the latch on the gate, and made my way to the door where I rang the bell.

  Nothing.

  I rang it again. The soft thumps of movement echoed through the wooden frame. The blinds next to the door opened and a pair of brilliant blue eyes stared out the tinted window at me.

  “What do you want,” a man’s muffled voice said.

  That was an excellent question. Anything that would help me find The Wraith was the answer, but I wasn’t sure that would get me the information I was looking for. I thought quickly and manufactured a story on the spot.

  “I’m looking into a crime that was committed. I have this address from the Detroit Free Press as the location of the first sighting of The Wraith. Is that true?” I ask him.

  The blinds closed. “The Wraith is an urban legend. Go away.”

  So much for that.

  Loud music echoed down the block; all I could hear was the ‘thump-thump’ of the bass as I left the property, careful to close the gate behind me.

  I crossed this address off my list in red ink. This part of the city was mostly condemned and there wasn’t much beyond burned out houses, decrepit buildings, and yards overgrown with weeds. I wasn’t going to find what I was looking for here.

  The next sighting was three blocks south of here. Time to keep walking.

  The loud music continued down the streets behind me, accompanied by the rev of an engine. There wasn’t a ton of traffic this time of the morning in this neighborhood. Who would possibly want to come here? I tried to ignore it and hoped that it would just drive on by. I cursed silently as the music grew louder behind me while the engine grew quieter.

  Great.

  Unless they were superpowered freaks with blades, they’d have a hard time intimidating me. After the crap I had seen the last few days, a couple of guys in a—minivan?— weren’t really going to scare me.

  “Hey honey, you need a ride?” Laughing followed. There was more than one. I decided my best bet would be to just keep walking. “Hey, I’m talking you, the least you could do is look at me.”

  This was a trap. If I didn’t look at him, he would become frustrated and angry at me for being rude. If I did look at him, he would take that as a sign to keep trying. All I could do was hope they went away.

  I stopped to check the map I was following, and they took the opportunity to gun the engine and screech to a halt right next to me.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me, but this is our neighborhood and you have to pay a tax walking around like this,” the driver said with a lecherous grin on his face. I can only imagine the tax. I needed to run but there wasn’t really anywhere to run to. Maybe back to the house I just left, but I seriously doubt that guy would let me in.

  I was so sick of running: I ran from the hospital, I ran from New Orleans, and I ran from New York. I didn’t want to run without a fight. A cool calm settled over my mind, a detachment. My heart raced and my breathing ran out of control, but my mind was calm. There were three men in the car and they all had the same lecherous look that spoke volumes. I knew what was coming—they weren’t going to ask me for my phone number.

  I turned to face them, taking my hands out of my pockets. I said nothing, just stood there with my hands at my side and glared at them.

  “Are you trying to stare us to death?” the driver asked. He turned to his buddies and said something I couldn’t hear that elicited a laugh from them. “Well, she ain’t sayin’ no boys!” Three doors opened as one. They were all large men, shaved heads, dark complexions, and enough black ink on their skin to print a book.

  I had one shot, and one only. As soon as the driver’s foot touched pavement I ran right at him. He barely had a second to register shock at my surprise move when I jumped, feet first, into his door. He only had one leg out and the door slammed against it, pinning his leg. He screamed over the crack of bone breaking. I didn’t have time to relish the agony on his face, I had to run.

  My feet hit the pavement hard as I took off back the way I’d come. I was a hundred feet away and already breathing hard when the squeal of tires warned me they were coming. I dodged across the street just past the one standing house and down the alley that ran beside it.

  The blare of a horn startled me, and I lost my footing. My arms pinwheeled as I tried to keep my balance, but it was no use. I fell to my knees on the dirt alley and rolled a few times. Before I could get up, they were on me.

  The passenger kicked me in the stomach. I felt something break and I coughed up blood when he kicked me the second time. I was wrong, there were four men in the minivan, I guess I hadn’t seen the last one.

  I still would have done it. The driver hopped on one foot holding the door for balance as he cheered on his friends. “Don’t hurt her too much, I want her awake when we drag her ass back to the shack.”

  They all had a good laugh at that.

  Strong arms grabbed mine and yanked me up. I tried to pry them loose but he just backhanded me across the face hard enough to see stars. I was in so much trouble.

  “If you’d just gone along with us we would have been nice about it, even showed you a good time…” The man yelling in my face outweighed me by hundreds of pounds and was a good eight inches taller than me. The funniest thing happened: in that moment, I wasn’t afraid. Angry, yes, afraid, no. No matter what they did to me, it couldn’t be worse than having Sara killed in my arms.

  And since it couldn’t get worse for me, I decided to kick him in the nuts. My foot connected and he howled, his knees buckling as he collapsed to the ground. That is when I saw him. The man with the brilliant blue eyes dressed like Mr. Rogers, coming up behind the driver.

  “What smells like pot and screams like a girl,” blue eyes said to the driver. He looked behind him just as the man’s foot connected with his already broken leg. He did indeed scream like a girl. As the driver collapsed forward, Blue Eyes snapped his palm up, catching the driver in the face and sending him sprawling into the van’s interior. The guy holding me up let go, and I dropped like a rock when my legs refused to hold me.

  My face hit the ground and I couldn’t see what was going on, but it was over quick. When I managed to push myself up, all four men
were down and not moving.

  “W— who are you?” I managed to ask right before I passed out from the pain.

  Chapter 11

  The whistle of a teapot brought me out of my pain induced oblivion. The last thing I remembered was the thugs trying to… take me… then…

  Oh!

  I leaped up, hands in front of me defensively. The man with the piercing blue eyes walked into the room and stopped, a look of mild surprise on his face. He was older than I thought, with gray around his temples and a haggard face. Everything about him seemed… old… except for his eyes. His eyes were much younger looking than the rest of him. I hadn’t really seen him when I had knocked and he had refused to open the door.

  “You’re up,” he said. He held two steaming cups; tea, I assumed, since I didn’t smell coffee. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He wasn’t what I expected from the blue eyes that had stared at me through the window. I’d never met anyone of Asian descent with eyes that color.

  “Thank you,” I said holding out my hand. He handed me the tea. “How did you…?” I asked with a nod toward the exit. His eyes flashed as I spoke, he hid his smile with the teacup and a sip.

  “Surprise. It’s a powerful ally,” he said. “I’m sorry I was rude to you earlier, I just… well, I don’t get a lot of visitors these days.”

  I let out a long sigh and glanced at one of the two recliners in the room. I looked at him and he stiffened, then nodded.

  “Go ahead and have a seat.”

  The chair was as comfortable as it looked and it called to me. Being knocked unconscious doesn’t really count as sleep. Alarm ran through me. I pulled out my phone to check the time.