The Wraith (Superhero by Night Book 1)

by Jeffery H. Haskell

  Chapter 20

  The sharp scent of peppermint tea greeted me as I closed the front door. His hallway always unnerved me a little; it had no pictures on the walls, and it was a kill box. I walked cautiously to the end and peeked around the corner. Joseph was sitting in his chair, feet up, reading a book. I moved around the corner and leaned against it.

  “So, do I get an A?” I asked.

  He looked up at me, a shade of a smile on his lips. “It’s pass-fail, Madi, which I always found easier,” he said. “You pass if you live. If you fail…” He shrugged. I opened my mouth to respond, then I realized he’d called me Madi. Three months and a week we had trained together, and he always called me Madisun. For some reason, the little change was more than reward enough. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he said, “get some sleep.”

  Exhaustion caught up with me now that I was in a safe place. I stumbled away, dropped face first on the couch and fell right to sleep, not even bothering to take my boots off.

  I don’t remember the last time I had more than five hours of sleep: she’s always there, waiting for me when I sleep. Things go dark and Sara shows up. Sometimes she’s in her school uniform, other times an outfit I used to wear. Mom and Dad are never with her. I’ve always thought of her as my best friend. Even when my relationship with Mom and Dad was strained, she was always there for me.

  “Hi, sis. What are you doing?” she asked me.

  What was I doing? Oh right. In the dream, I was cleaning guns, lots of guns. So many. Hour after hour. Cleaning blood and gunpowder off them. I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of a white sheet surrounded by firearms of every type. Guns were just one of the weapons The Wraith used to equalize things. He had knives, swords, Tasers, gas, poison, and a few other things he hadn’t shown me yet. I still didn’t know how he dealt with the more powerful threats.

  “Don’t cry,” she said. I wasn’t, or I hadn’t been. I was now. Dreams.

  “I miss you,” I said.

  “It’s okay, I’m in a better place,” she said with her trademark smile.

  “I wished I believed that. I can’t stop seeing you die, Sara. Or Mom and Dad. I close my eyes and I see you all,” I said, shuddering as I tried not to weep. Part of me knew it was a dream—only a dream could feel so real and not at the same time.

  Sara morphed in front of me, to the young woman she would have been, had ISO-1 not killed her. “Oh Madi, look what you’re doing to yourself? You’re killing people. You’re killing yourself.”

  I shrugged. “Those men tonight, Spice, they weren’t people. They were animals. If I could know, with one-hundred percent assurance, that leaving them alive would have resulted in justice, I would have. But you and I both know there is no justice for these people. The man who killed you is still free. I’m not ready to go after him, but when I am, I’m going to take everything from him. I swear.”

  Her sad smile only grew sadder. She wrapped me in a warm hug that pulled at my heart and made me feel her death all over again.

  Daylight streamed through the windows, landing right on my face. I slowly opened my eyes; no jumping or heart racing, just a calm cool resolve. I had killed those men the night before. Me. Madisun Dumas. Shot and killed six men. Well, five—I stabbed one. For some reason, that made me smile.

  “What’s so funny?” Joseph asked from the chair. He looked exactly like he had the night before, even reading the same book. I raised an eyebrow at him. With a yawn, I said, “Did you stay there all night?” I stretched, rolled over, and sat up.

  “No. I got up a couple of times to use the bathroom. Perks of growing old. You don’t have to sleep nearly as much, but you have to use the bathroom like twice as often,” he said with a grin.

  In the morning light, he did look older—older even than when I first met him, but that was only three months ago? He had more gray around the temples, his face was sunken, even his eyes looked old now; they hadn’t before. “Joseph,” I said quietly, “is there something you’re not telling me?”

  He looked away for a moment. “I like you Madi,” he said. “You’ve got it, the fire. I know you’ll carry on my work.” He nodded as if speaking more to himself than me.

  I don’t know what possessed me, but I asked the question that constantly nagged me. “Why did you stop? And don’t tell me it’s because you got old…”

  His eyes went to the mantle where pictures of his family decorated the top. His wife was a pretty, mousy-haired woman with thick glasses. She could have been a school teacher or a librarian. His twin daughters were even prettier, with their mixed-race features. I glanced around the room, realizing for the first time that of all the pictures he had of his family, he wasn’t present in any of them. Not a single one.

  “There’s a lot I haven’t told you…” he closed his eyes pushing against them with his fingers. “How do you feel about the men you killed last night?”

  His question caught me by surprise. I sat up, stretching my sore muscles as I did so. “If you think I’m upset about it, I’m not. I don’t have any hang-ups about saving Krisan’s life. They were all bad men. I didn’t kill them, they killed themselves by choosing to go to her apartment and kill her.”

  “I thought you might say that. There may come a time when you grow tired of the killing, of the endless slaughter. Where one body blurs into the next and you start having trouble telling the difference between the good guys and the bad guys.”

  I suppressed a shudder. How would that even be possible? “The bad guys are the ones shooting at you,” I said.

  “And when the cops shoot at you?” he asked.

  “I… uh… hadn’t thought about that.”

  “How about when the cops are on the take, helping the mob? Could you kill them then? Or the politicians? The district attorneys? The governor? Where do you stop?”

  I opened my mouth to respond but stopped. I didn’t know. “Okay, so the grunts aren’t the problem. It’s the people giving the orders. I take it they’re not as easy to find as the men carrying out the orders?”

  “No, they’re like fleas on a black dog. You can’t see them, you can’t find them, but you sure as hell can feel them. And if you make a move that’s a mistake, you kill an innocent person.”

  I nodded. Wow, I hadn’t really considered that. The people who killed Sara—the ones I wanted dead— were the enforcers, the grunts, the low-people on the totem pole. Also, the easiest to replace and the least consequential. I needed to kill them, of course, but I also needed their bosses, and their bosses, all the way up the food chain until there was no one left to give the orders.

  “What you’re figuring out right now, is why I quit. It took me ten years to realize it, and by then… I was tired. Tired of the killing, of the violence. Tired of it not making a difference. I was bailing out the Titanic with a teacup,” he said with a sad smile.

  All the books I’d studied over the last few months, on strategy, war, subterfuge—they all started to make a lot more sense. He wanted me to fight a real war, not soldier against soldier, but go after the sickness at the source.

  “I won’t let you down,” I said.

  “I know you won’t. Now, grab your backpack, it’s time to run.”

  Chapter 21

  A few days later he gave me a rare day off. I still went running that morning, no backpack, just a fun little five mile run down by the lake. There was a deep exhilaration in what I had crafted my body into. Between the running, hand-to-hand combat, and parkour, I had muscles I didn’t even know existed. My abs had hit ‘washboard’ status. The only downside was that my boobs shrunk as I continued to shed body fat. It wasn’t like I was going to go out on a date or anything, but as a model, a lot of my identity was wrapped up in those two girls. Of course, now that I thought of it, my butt was spectacular.

  That brought a smile to my lips. It wasn’t important anymore—I wasn’t interested in that future. The old Madi may have wanted to get married someday, settle down, have kids, but the new Madi
wasn’t interested in any of that.

  I pressed my fingers against the scar that bastard left on my chest, and ran my fingers along it to remind myself what I was doing. The dreams hadn’t stopped, but ever since I saved the reporter, they had quieted down.

  Krisan… I know Joseph said warning her was a waste of time but maybe if she knew…

  Her office wasn’t that far away, and the least I could do was buy her a cup of coffee for the help she offered me. I knew I had looked like a wild-eyed crazy woman all those months ago and she chose to help me anyway.

  I turned west and sprinted. Downtown was only two miles away—I could sprint three miles in fifteen minutes. No time like the present to practice.

  It was amazing how different I saw everything. Corners were potential ambush sites, cars were cover, burned out houses were opportunities to lose a tail. I carried at least one gun and one knife everywhere now. Joseph wanted me to carry more and more as time went on. At first, I resisted; guns seemed so damn awkward—I couldn’t imagine anyone wearing a holster all the time.

  The last three months had taught me how wrong I was. The little H&K 9mm fit a special holster built into the skintight white workout shirt I wore. The shirt was thick, capable of shedding sweat like skin, and incredibly comfortable.

  The P30 pistol fit snugly into a pocket with only the handle easily accessible. Flared bottom yoga pants around mountain climbing shoes concealed the spring-loaded four-inch tactical knife strapped to my ankle. Over my shirt, I wore a Detroit Lions zipper hoodie.

  From the outside, I looked like a middle-class suburban housewife out for a jog. Though no middle-class suburban housewife would actually jog in Detroit, so that did make me stick out a little—but I was okay with that. I was pretty confident in my new-found skills.

  I slowed down as I approached the DFS building and stopped in a store to grab a bottle of water. These days I kept my hair on a tight leash, pulled back as hard as I could, if I shook it out it would be down to my shoulders. However, sweat still accumulated in it, driving me nuts. I drank half the water and poured the other half over my head, letting it drain off while I was bent over.

  That’s when I noticed him. He was nonchalantly sitting on a bench drinking a cup of coffee, but I would never— ever— forget what he looked like.

  Ghost.

  The murdering bastard who’d killed Sara. Suddenly all my control and confidence flew right out the damn window and I wanted nothing more than to pull my H&K and unload it into his arrogant face. That, or run away—I wasn’t sure. He had superpowers after all, and I had no idea how those powers worked. Would guns even hurt him?

  Probably not. Attacking now would be stupid. And if there was one thing Wraith had taught me, it was ‘don’t be stupid.’ Know thy enemy, know thyself. A thought hit me like a bolt of lightning. Was he here because of me?

  No. There’s no possible way he could know I’m in Detroit. And if he did, he wouldn’t be sitting on a park bench like a tool.

  I pulled out my cell phone and drew my hood down over my face as much as I could without looking like a B-movie villain. Pretending I was taking pictures of myself, when in fact I was snapping pics of him, I struck a pose. I guess my movements caught his eye because he looked right over at me. Between the camera in front of my face, and the hood, he didn’t recognize me. Though through the screen, I could see him leering a bit.

  Bastard.

  This was a start. At least I would have a photo reference if I couldn’t find him in the database the government kept of people with superpowers. At least then I would have a better understanding of his abilities.

  When I was sure he wasn’t looking at me, I turned and went the opposite direction toward Krisan’s office. I probably should have canceled my plans, but this was the only day off I had since I started my training. I really wanted a friendly face to talk to… besides, I still felt the need to warn her.

  I found her office exactly where it was the last time, tucked away in the corner in a room full of cubicles, mostly empty. I knocked on her door. She looked up blankly at me, her eyes searching for something familiar. She hadn’t changed much, other than she’d died her hair a shade of dark purple that was becoming on her. The clothes she wore still reeked of discount, not that I could judge. The only concession she made to the fall weather was a silky red scarf that was as long as she was tall draped around her neck.

  “Madisun?” she said with a raised eyebrow.

  “My friends call me Madi. I was wondering if you wanted to go grab a cup of coffee?”

  “Are you talking to me?”

  I laughed. “Is there someone else who helped me out when I needed it?”

  She smiled. “I guess not. Sure, let me save my work… and done. Let’s go!”

  I followed her out of the office with my hood pulled up, my senses working overdrive to scan everyone in sight for weapons or threatening behavior that might tip their hand.

  I shook my head. Joseph had really drilled it into me. It was second nature now to look for threats. The old Madi would’ve never spotted Ghost across the street on a bench.

  “You okay?” she asked as we exited the building and headed for the cross-walk.

  “Sure,” I said looking behind us to see if anyone followed us out of the lobby.

  “You just… I spent two years covering the war in Australia. You have the bearing of a soldier, always looking around, checking your six… oh my god, you found him!”

  I snapped around to glare at her. “Shh. Quiet until we’re inside.” She practically ran to the coffee shop—her eagerness to know the story was refreshing.

  Once inside, I had a Venti espresso and she went with the fancy caramel coffee that might as well be a milkshake. She remained silent while I found us a table in the back corner with a clear line of sight to the front door. I sat with my back to the wall with her opposite me.

  “Okay, I waited long enough, spill!”

  I did. I told her the whole story, leaving nothing out. I really wanted to impress on her the danger she was in. The only thing I left out was Joseph’s name and address. I told her about his age, and surreal blue eyes, along with all the wisdom he had taught me.

  When I got to the part about the other night at her apartment I stopped to sip my coffee. “Listen, Krisan, I’ve told you all this for a reason.”

  “Because it’s an awesome story and it’s going to win me a Pulitzer?”

  “What? No, you can’t write any of this,” I said to her.

  “You know I’m no good with no.” She looked around the shop, leaning closer as if it would make a difference. “I don’t have to write it tomorrow, but someday. When you’re ready.” She gave me an exaggerated wink like we were co-conspirators.

  “Right, okay. Well, I told you all this so you would understand how serious it is.” Here went nothing. “The other night six men came to your apartment to kill you. They were going to make it look like suicide and leave a note—essentially discrediting everything you’ve ever written about ISO-1.”

  I expected shock, or anger, or some kind of extreme emotion. Instead, she took a long drink of her caramel delight and smiled.

  “Oh, is that all. Pshaw. Happens all the time. Though I had wondered about all the blood on the stairs the other day. Did he do that?”

  Oh my God. This woman was bat-guano crazy. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

  “Yep. Every word. How did he do it?”

  I shook my head. Too stunned to understand why she wasn’t freaking out. Then again, I hadn’t when I killed them.

  “He didn’t do it,” I said.

  Her eyes went wide with surprise, then a slow smile spread across her lips.

  “Sooo… even more interesting. Are you going to take over for him?”

  I shook my head. “Not here. I have my own city that needs cleaning up. I do plan on wiping ISO-1 from the face of the Earth, though.”

  She took out her phone and started typing as if we were in an intervi
ew. “Uh, what are you doing?”

  She didn’t look up at me as she spoke. “Writing all this down while it’s fresh in my memory. When the time comes, I don’t want to get anything wrong.”

  I shook my head again. “Krisan, you’re either very brave or very stupid.”

  “You know what they say…,” she said letting her voice drift off.

  “I don’t actually—”

  “Oh, I was hoping you did. I’m sure someone has a saying for this kind of situation.” She shrugged and went back to typing on her phone.

  The complete non-sequitur broke the bizarre spell that had me partially stunned. “Okay, cray-cray it is.”

  “You say tomato, I say cornbread,” she said with a shrug.

  “You’re not going to stop writing your stories, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  “How about you leave town for a couple of days?”

  “Nope,” she said with a grin. “Would you?” She finally looked up at me with her big brown eyes and I realized she was right. I wouldn’t.

  Then he walked in.

  Chapter 22

  I don’t think he saw me. If he did, he’s a better actor than I am. Reaching up, I slid my hood down as casually as I could, obscuring my face. Krisan continued to talk while I repositioned myself so I could reach behind me and pull the P-30. The funny thing was, all that fear and anger I felt upon seeing him earlier didn’t come back. Just a calm, cool reserve that allowed me to start planning my exit.

  “Krisan—”

  “Well, I was just saying that if we used fake names for your story—”

  “Krisan,” I raised my voice just a little. She looked up at me sharply.

  “What? Was I going on? I do that sometimes, it’s really annoying. My last boyfriend couldn’t stand—”

  I reached up and put my finger to her lips. “I don’t want to alarm you, but the man who killed my little sister—” I tried not to let that choke me up, but it wasn’t possible, “—just entered the shop. I don’t think he’s here for me. As far as they know, I’m not in Detroit.” Over three months had passed since I fled New Orleans. My hair was shorter, I was bulkier, and he was middle eastern—to him, I would probably look like any other black woman… as long as he couldn’t see my face. So far, he wasn’t looking over here… so far.