Ghost of a Chance Ch. 12

Tom quickly made up his mind, not wanting any time to think it through or change his decision.

He ripped the tarp off the car and checked it to make sure it was still running and equipped, then walked over to the lockers and opened his side. Hanging in the back was his uniform and weapons' belt, his hat and mask sitting on the shelf above.

Stripping off his clothes, he reached in and slowly pulled out the costume that he hadn't worn in almost six years and, taking the mask into his hands, muttered to himself...

"You're needed, old friend... one last time."

* * *

"What the fuck is going on?"

The shout came from Dazzle, the leader of the Red Scorpios, waving his gun and frantically searching all around him for any sign of the one who trashed their home base.

The evening started out fun for them with the Scorpios, about twenty in all, congratulating themselves in getting Portez freed from the judge's grasp and partying with plenty of booze, drugs, and the hookers they had lined up for the night's festivities... that included the judge's young daughter. She was kept in a dark room, tied to a chair and gagged, and held there until Portez waltzed through the doors of the old church the gang used.

'Was' being the appropriate word.

When they were ready for their 'fun', a couple of them notice that some of their members were missing. Thinking they were helping themselves to the ladies before getting the word from the leader, a pissed off Dazzle banged down the door to the room the girls were in... only to find that the room was empty.

He rushed up the stairs to the upper levels of the decrepit church and headed towards the room where the kidnapped girl was, tripping over some debris. The church had seen better days when the neighborhood that it served was not so riddled with crime, and some parts of it were haggard and falling apart while others were gutted and spotted with holes in the floors and walls.

The room with the judge's daughter was empty as well, the chair still sitting in the middle of the floor with ropes dangling off its back.

Ghost, standing in the back of the church unseen, just huffed out a quiet laugh as Dazzle spat out a string of profanities, oblivious to the fact that two of his men watching over her were nowhere in sight with two more of his minions lying behind the back row of pews out cold.

Ghost had taken out the ones guarding the outside easily enough, six all together, and slowly worked his way through the interior of the holy house. One after the other, the gang members were taken out of the picture, rendered unconscious and would be feeling painfully miserable when they awoke. Knowing he wasn't a young man anymore, he made sure that he took his time and didn't overexert himself.

Before the main event started, Ghost made sure the hookers slipped out quietly, one of them telling him where the girl was being held. He took out the two goons guarding the door and freed Jessica, the young daughter of the judge. The girl, no more than sixteen, was stripped down to her underwear and tied up. Ghost cut her loose and grabbed her clothes from the room's corner, fire bursting from his nostrils at how they treated the innocent girl and making him even more furious.

Making her invisible and allowing her to see him, they snuck out the back way undetected. She started shivering when the cold night air touched her skin as she told him that her dad had told her stories about him and his partner, but wasn't sure if they were true. Jessica hugged him, thanking him for saving her life; he handed her the bundle of clothes and laid a hand on her cheek, seeing some of Brenda in the girl's teary brown eyes and simply said, "Your family is waiting for you," he nodded his head towards the church, "I'll take care of them; go home," and disappeared from her sight.

And now, instead of two dozen Scorpios, Ghost was facing nine, all strung out and scared, their guns shaking in their hands. Dazzle, breathing hard through his clenched teeth, searched the main hall of the church and saw nothing but empty rows of worn pews. Some were toppled when Ghost used them to take out some of the members, and pieces of the walls were lying on top of three or four more thanks to a concussion grenade launched from the car's front grill. He reminded himself to thank Stanley later for his contribution.

"Where are you, you motherfuckers?"

One of his guys looked at Dazzle, "Who, man?"

"The cops! They got that little bitch out; now they're tryin' to get us!"

"Didn't see any cop cars outside. Where's Martine?"

Dazzle glanced at another of his gang, "He's hidin' up top; they're comin' for him, too."

"NO!"

The group of Scorpios jumped at the booming echo of an eerie, gravelly voice.

"The police aren't coming... I AM!"

One of the guys pissed himself and started to back away from the pews as Dazzle shouted, "Where are you, asshole? You've got the balls to come in here and mess with me?"

The one with the wet spot on his pants screamed as Dazzle and the rest turned towards it, only to see... nothing.

"Help! Help me!" The shout came from thin air, his cohorts not knowing where he was. Then a cry of fright was heard, and the goon suddenly appeared sailing over the front pew rows and crashing into them. Ghost rolled away and down to the floor, getting out of the line of gunfire that was sure to come. Right on cue, Dazzle and the others fired at the general spot where their friend first emerged.

That's it, he thought; waste those bullets.

Ghost repeated the maneuver, making the gang waste even more ammo and not smart enough to figure out that they were being tricked. They were now down to five.

"When I find you, you're dead!" Dazzle screamed.

"Who is this guy, Dazz?"

"It's that motherfuckin' Ghost dude, man!"

"Can't be; nobody's seen him in years!"

Another one was taken out; his jaw slammed by a fist and sent down to the altar steps. Dazzle whirled onto the area, but still saw nothing.

Still unseen, Ghost shook his now sore hand, the brass knuckles under his glove not doing much to protect it. His joints were starting to ache and rebel, but he did his best to ignore the signals his body was sending him.

This used to be easier, he thought, and a lot less painful. Then he chuckled to himself remembering what Brenda would always say when he said something like that.

"You chicken shit fucker!" Dazzle roared, "Why don't you come out and face me?"

"Give me a minute." was the reply.

The sudden burst from the flash pellets made the remaining four gang members cried out in pain as their vision was pierced with blinding light. One dropped to the floor screaming when his ankle was broken, the other two whacked in their heads with a baton, and all three were down for the count. That just left Dazzle, quivering and trying to steady his shaking gun hand while attempting to get his eyes working again. Then his whole body stiffened when something touched his shoulder. He turned to see...

"Boo."

Dazzle screeched in fear, rearing back and tripping himself up at the sight of a skull staring back at him with fire red eyes. He landed on his butt and fired his gun, two shots... and that was it; his gun was empty. The haunting laughter that boomed throughout the hall made him lose his bladder, too. He was just about on his feet when he was grabbed by his shirt and hauled the rest of the way up, Ghost materializing in front of him again and making his eyes bug out.

Ghost tinted eye lenses glinted red in the paltry light of the candles scattered everywhere, his skull face a mixture of harsh light and shadowed angles, "You wanted me to face you; here I am!"

Panting uncontrollably, Dazzle managed to find his voice and said, "I'll kill you; my boys will cut you to pieces!"

Ghost ignored the empty threat, knowing his gang was out of commission, "Martine Portez," he growled.

"You won't get to him, man," Dazzle replied, still breathing hard.

Ghost hauled the lowlife up the stairs to the third level of the church; no easy task, considering his age, but he managed by prodding Dazzle with a couple of whacks with his baton. He dragged him over to an outside wall with a huge hole in it where a window used to be... and hung half of the gang leader's body out of it.

"You... you won't kill me, you chicken shit," whimpered Dazzle.

"The fall won't kill you; cripple you, maybe," Ghost grumbled, then got in his face and growled, "Where is he?"

Fearing for his own life and to Hell with Portez, Dazzle meekly pointed up.

"Thank you," Ghost edged closer to him, "Your gang is hereby disbanded. Try to reorganize it... and I find out," even though Dazzle couldn't see it under the mask, Ghost sneered, "the next fall will be higher."

Ghost released him, Dazzle screaming and trying to grab at anything to keep him from plummeting to the ground, but didn't succeed. He fell and landed flat out on the wet ground below, the pain that flashed through his body causing him to black out. Ghost would learn later on that Dazzle spent the next eight months in a body cast and another year learning how to walk again, but his Red Scorpio days were over; his gang disappearing to other venues and abandoning him once their wounded bodies healed... and all of them still scared.

Ghost worked his way up to the only other place not searched yet: the bell tower. The climb was starting to take its toll on him, being over a hundred feet high, and he stopped to catch his breath at the final level under the bell cradle area, accessible only by a ladder to a hatch in the floor. That's where he knew Portez was hiding.

Ghost leaned out the open window under the bell area and fired his grappler, clasping it to a metal overhang and hearing a gasp from inside the bell room; it made him smile. He hoisted himself up and peered inside.

The old bell had been removed from its hanger years ago with the wooden frame draped in cobwebs, the rope opening below it covered with plywood. And standing in the corner, shaking and terrified, was Martine Portez pointing his gun at the hatch.

Ghost activated Ghoul's favorite toy, next to the shock glove which he was also wearing: a collapsible quarterstaff, a thin segmented pole six feet long when extended and able to retract down to one foot when not in use. She had kissed Lydia for her gift to the Ghoul; a birthday present for Brenda, and spent hours together practicing with it.

Making it invisible, he dipped the end into a crack in the wooden hatch and swiftly flipped it open. Portez wasted no time emptying the magazine of his gun into the hatch, riddling it with bullets and practically shredding it. Once he realized that there was no one there and his gun was now out of ammunition, he started to hyperventilate and sweat profusely despite the chill in the air.

He cried out in pain and terror as the gun was knocked out of his hand with a crack of the quarterstaff, and cradled his aching wrist as he shouted, "Where are you? Come out!"

Another shot of pain lanced through him as his knee was taken out from under him. He went down screaming in agony, then tried to get up onto his good leg that didn't stay 'good' for long. The other kneecap was shattered, and Portez shrieked.

"Stop it! Stop it, whoever you are! I'll do anything you want; just stop!"

His tormentor didn't listen.

More of Portez's bones were broken, first his forearm, then ankle, then two of his ribs. Portez begged and pleaded as his body popped and cracked with the sounds of him being slowly beaten to a pulp, but finally had the chance to draw his breath when it stopped. Not because of mercy, but because Ghost was getting fatigued.

Damn, I hate getting old.

"You purposely attacked the elderly, thinking they were easy targets for you to prey on," Ghost rumbled, "Who's the 'easy target' now?"

Portez, whimpering and blubbering and trying to keep control of his broken body despite it falling apart, struggled to get out, "What... what do you want? God, don't... don't hurt me anymore... please."

"I'm not going to." Ghost removed his ring and shimmered into view, his 'prey' blanching white upon seeing the horrid skull staring back at him and reaching for him. Portez cried out again, his body racked with pain, as he was hauled up off the floor and manhandled over to the open archway of the tower. Ghost winced with every other step dragging the murdering psychopath, his muscles and joints protesting with sharp barbs of pain.

"Who... who are you?" Portez asked, still simpering.

"Don't you punks ever pay attention to the legends? I'm... the Ghost." He tightened his grip on him.

"What the fuck... do you want from me?" whined Portez.

Ghost pushed his battered body closer to the opening as Portez tried to grab the sides of the opening, but his broken arms wouldn't let him. Whatever was left in his bladder and bowels was released into his pants, knowing what was coming next, and screamed, "Why? Tell... tell me that; WHY!?"

Ghost released a fist from the Portez and pulled out a picture from his pocket, his other arm and fist straining to keep their grip. It was a photo of an elderly couple, the man sitting on a stump and the woman next to him holding his hand and sitting in a wheelchair, and Ghost shoved it in his face.

Portez looked at and recognized the pair in the shot, "Yeah, so what? Some old lady I did in when her old man jumped me last week. So what? She was a cripple; she wasn't any good to anyone."

Ghost roared and shoved his body further out of the opening, his arm starting to tire.

"Stop! Stop! What... what the fuck is it to you? She was... I didn't... I didn't even know her!"

Ghost reached up and removed his mask, the chilly wind blowing through the opening and biting into his face, then flashed the picture again... and Portez's eyes went wide with shock when he looked at Tom's face, and then to the photo, then back again.

And whatever blood was left in Portez's face drained away when Tom, fire blasting out of his nose and his eyes as red as the ones on his mask, bellowed, "I... DID!"

Tom was about to release Portez and sent him down to the main church steps below when his meek whimpering stopped him.

"You... you won't do it," he squeaked out, "I do... remember you... you don't kill anyone. You... never do," he glanced down at the steps, and continued as his words made Tom pause, "You do this... and you'll be as bad... as me. You won't take... a human life..."

"You're not human," Tom grumbled, the wind whipping his gray streaked hair, "You're a rabid animal; you're garbage. You don't deserve to live, not after taking the lives of innocent people... taking the only thing I loved away from me... and not even caring. I'm going to make sure that you never hurt anyone ever again."

Portez just stared at him, "You'll be a killer... a murderer," he coughed up blood, splattering it on his face, "You won't be... the hero anymore."

Tom looked him in the eye, gazing upon pure evil and letting his words get under his skin. What Portez was saying was true: he would be considered a murderer if the Ghost ever crossed that line. Tom eased the punk back inside slightly, but still in danger of being dropped, as his conscience was burning inside of his head.

"You can't... do it, can you," Portez hissed, "You can't do... what I do," his hiss turned into a weak laugh; "If you do... you won't be... the Ghost anymore. The Ghost will be... a killer."

Tom then shut his eyes, listening to the murdering scum laugh at him and thought about it for a moment.

The Ghost would be a killer, the Ghost would be no more... the Ghost... would be...

He opened his eyes, staring directly into the lowlife's face, and whispered, "'He' can live with that."...and let go of Portez.

He kept his eyes focused on the falling body, listening to Portez screaming in pure terror as the concrete steps of the church came up to swiftly meet him. Tom just glared and listened to him crying out all the way down as his useless limbs fluttered all about him, and didn't even flinch when Portez's body smashed into the steps with a gut churning crunch.

Tom just peered out the tower opening, looking down to see Portez's mangled and twisted body, his blood splattered all over the steps... and knew it was finally over.

He didn't think, didn't show emotion... didn't even look back at the carnage left behind at the old church as he made his way home. Robot-like, he drove down the dirt road and flipped the switch, lifting the false hill and slipped down into the tunnel. The hill closed and Tom coasted into the underground base, weakly tapping the brakes and creeping to a stop.

Tom removed his uniform, dropping the weapons' belt to the floor along with the rest of his disguise, his mask plopping on top of his boots. It was the last time he ever touched the costume again.

Slowly and mechanically, he sauntered up the ramp into the basement, not bothering to close the secret door, and climbed the steps into the kitchen.

He walked out into the back yard, naked and bruised, and the cold wind bit into his skin as he felt tiny dots of ice touch him; it was starting to snow, strangely early for October.

He didn't care.

He wearily sat down on the stump and looked up to see a few stars peeking out from behind the clouds... and cried for the first time since Brenda's death.

Tom didn't know how long he was out there, his skin starting to get numb from the cold, the tears freeze drying on his cheeks. Before getting himself inside, he stared up at the night sky watching the flakes drift down and sobbed, "Brenda... please... forgive me."

* * *

There was no one in sight as Tom walked the worn path up to the spot he chose earlier in the day. Parking his car in an office building lot, he walked the rest of the two blocks in solitude.

Of all the places to choose from, the spot he closed in on was the most appropriate one for him to perform the final phase of his plan, the last thing he had to do before finally turning the Ghost and Ghoul into history.

The park was being converged upon by the new buildings being erected nearby; soon the parkland itself might disappear in the near future in the name of progress.

It had gone through a few changes over the years but still kept its tranquil dignity. The center fountain, that was built a year after Tom and Brenda's 'first date', had a new statue in place every five years since, though it seemed like every other year they changed it in Tom's view. The yellow guard posts, especially the one on the far end where he and Brenda made love for the first time outdoors (using the rings, of course), had long since been removed and replaced with a charging rail for the convenience of those with hybrid and/or electric vehicles.

But the bushes were gone, dug up and paved over almost a decade ago. It saddened him that some of the things that reminded him of those fun times were gone, but those missing bushes hurt most of all; they were reminders of the most fun they had in the park that one summer. After romping nude through the park unseen, they became visible hidden behind one set of bushes and, with no clothes on, streaked through the park heading for the other set. His favorite memory of Brenda was the smile on her face as they ran naked down the path with onlookers cheering them on, and a few that through them disapproving sneers. They almost got caught by the police, the look on her face when she saw the officers chasing after them priceless. They became invisible behind the other bushes, Brenda desperately holding in a fit of giggles, and escaped capture. Tom laughed so hard he almost lost control of the car on the way home.

Except for their honeymoon, that was the best time he had ever spent with someone, Brenda saying the same thing. It was his favorite memory of their good times together.