The Return of Cougaress Ep. 07

In the aftermath you lie atop her warm body, damp and panting, looking down at her wet orchid with its red petals and pink center. You take a deep breath and roll off, then rearrange your body so you're laying beside her again. She turns and puts an arm around you.

"Feeling more positive about things now?" she asks.

You laugh. "I guess I am. Or at least not so worried."

Hellione nods. "Good. I hate to see my friends giving up. There's always another chance."

[]

You didn't intend to sleep the night away, but after giving you two orgasms Hellione gives you a full-body massage which removes the last of your tensions. You drift off without meaning to, and when you wake it's early morning and your guest has let herself out.

You get up, put on the amulet Hellione gave you and fix yourself breakfast. Then you sit down to think about what to do based on the limited information you have. Clearly some sort of crisis is going to happen before tomorrow night. What the crisis will be you have no idea, but the fact it has to do with some sort of "afterlife disruption" and that Hellione thought is was important for you to have an amulet to keep your soul from being shucked out of you like an oyster from its shell tells you that you most likely won't be able to punch your way out of it.

Hellione said she couldn't help, but didn't mention anything about others helping. So you decide the first order of business is to look for backup.

Since it's a mystical threat you try to contact one of the heroes with magical or supernatural powers, but this proves useless. Free Spirit's message says he isn't answering calls as he's off on a vision quest in the wilderness. Mr. Magicalist was last seen somewhere in Nepal and must be outside cell coverage. The Wanderer seems to be attending a wizard conference of some sort, a loud one involving lots of shouting from the sounds of it, and after a few attempts to talk over the noise says to call him back tomorrow and hangs up. You try texting him but hours later he still hasn't texted back. Witchhazel's Twitter feed says she's at the same conference and won't be responding to calls till it's over. You get hold of Mamma Mambo, but she apologizes saying there's no way she could get to you in time (apparently magical travel isn't her thing, and plane schedules from Haiti are pretty unreliable). You even try that smug prick Mentalman, figuring that psychic powers might be close enough, but he's wrapped up in some "sensitive operation" and refuses to help.

When it gets to be noon you give up this approach and next try to think of some other hero who might be of help. Paragon is immune to most things but not to magic, and in any case you have zero desire to ask your ex for a favor. Most of your other old buddies like Iron Knight, Lady Liberty and Steel Eagle would be just as clueless in regards to the supernatural as you are, and none of them has a protective amulet so you'd be putting them at risk if they came with you.

RoboStar on the other hand has no biological components and might be safe. Then again he might not be, and it seems awfully rude to ask him if he's aware whether he's a soulless machine or not. In any case he still wouldn't be able to do anything against a supernatural threat except try punching it, and you can do that yourself.

You rub your temples and sigh. It was looking like you'd have to do this alone. Whatever it was you'd be doing.

The one thing you decide is that you don't want to sit at home waiting for trouble to come to you and possibly wreck the house. You eat a quick lunch, get into uniform and head out into the city.

[]

You don't find a supervillain on a rampage or a crimewave taking over the city. In fact it's a pretty quiet afternoon. Your digital assistant does alert you to a big accident on one of the bridges, with several cars crushed by a semi and one hanging over the edge of the bridge. When you arrive you're able to help some firefighters who can't get the right angle with their "jaws of life" on a crushed vehicle. Your claws and your superior strength make short work of the car door, allowing the victim to be extracted and put in an ambulance.

You also help drag the dangling car back onto the bridge, but the people who'd been in it are already safe. The guy who fell out of the car and into the river below was rescued by a cop who jumped in after him, which was a damned steep drop for somebody who doesn't have any superpowers. You made sure to thank and congratulate the officer where she's getting checked over herself for injury.

"Though if more people like you were around I'd probably be out of a job," you joke. She grins and says she'll ask you for backup if her sergeant comes after her for ruining her bodycam and department-issue phone by getting them soaked.

You hop home around seven for dinner then get back out on the streets, but it doesn't get any busier. Nor do you detect any strange malign influences, evil presences, or any other sign that something supernatural is going down. Even your frequent follower the Watchman doesn't seem to be around tonight. The town seems totally dead, in the dullest possible non-supernatural sense, and as it closes on midnight you're thinking strongly about giving up and turning in early despite Hellione's message.

It's that impulse that clues you in that something's not right. You'd set out that day with the grim determination to see this thing through and not bring it home. You try to pin down what you're feeling and find that you're getting a definite impression that you don't want to be where you are right now, no matter how quiet it is.

That realization leads directly to another, that (as they say in the movies) it's not only quiet, it's too quiet. Your roaming has automatically led you into a bad part of town since your patrols so often take you there, and you don't expect to see the late night crowds the city gets near the theaters, clubs, and hot restaurants. But there ought to be some activity on the streets and there just isn't any. None of the usual traffic of streetwalkers, pushers, gang kids, and the other nightlife typical of this neighborhood. There aren't even very many cars or taxis on the streets, and those that you see all act like they're hurrying to be elsewhere. Something weird is definitely going on, and it's telling people that it's unhealthy to be outside in the dark.

You slow down your patrol and start looking more closely for anything you've missed. That's how you spot the first body.

You drop down into the alley and examine the crumpled figure. It's not a sleeping homeless dude as you might have thought if you'd gone quickly past, it's a young guy dressed in the colors of the local street gang. No blood and no obvious injuries, but he looks oddly shrunken in some indefinable way. The corpse is cool, which in most cases means the victim's been lying here for hours, otherwise there would be residual body heat. And his face bears a look of absolute terror, his dead eyes still open and staring at whatever he saw before the end.

You turn slowly, all your senses at high alert, but get nothing. You leave the alley and prowl the streets on foot now, searching for whatever did this.

You don't find a culprit, but you do start finding more bodies. Mostly gang-bangers, mostly younger, mostly male. Some have their weapons in hand, and from the burnt nitrocellulose smell and some bullet splashes on nearby walls a couple of them fired their guns at whatever it was. But never any blood. All the bodies are cold, which is puzzling because the guns themselves smell like they've been fired quite recently. And all seem shriveled and have similar looks of horror on their faces.

Now you're sure you're on the track of the problem Hellione was trying to warn you about. Still no idea what it is, but from the looks of things it has to be extremely lethal. You also still have no idea what you'll be able to do about the problem once you find it, despite the fact that someone somewhere decided you're the one to deal with it.

"Guess I find that out once I meet it," you growl.

"Tony? Tony? You okay?"

It's a young woman's voice, and not much above a whisper, coming from the next alley over. You hurry that way.

Another body, right at the bottom of a fire escape. This one is unusual in that it's naked. Well, naked except for a condom. The corpse is as cold as the others. The rest, including the terrified expression, is also the same.

"Tony, you out there?"

The voice is coming from an open window straight above you on the third story. You swarm up the fire escape to the window.

The woman looking out shrieks and ducks back once she sees you coming. You hold up your empty hands. "It's Cougaress. What happened?"

She'd huddled in bed, sheets drawn up. You suspect she's nude under them. "Did you see Tony? My boyfriend?"

You bite your lip. "Describe him to me."

She does. It removes any lingering doubt that Tony is the dead guy at the bottom of the ladder. "We were, ah, just..."

You nod. "You were doing what lovers do."

"Yeah, that's it. Tony, he makes this strange noise and stops, then he yells 'Get away from me!' to somebody. I can't see what he's talking about because I, ah, I got my face in the pillow, you know? But he jumps off the bed and goes running to the window and slides down the fire escape. And I'm scared 'cause I think somebody's gunning for him, but there ain't no shots or nothing. And nothing is there that I can see."

"When did that happen?"

"Maybe five minutes ago." She stops and looks at you closely. "Didn't you see Tony?"

"Tony didn't make it," you say as gently as you can. "I'm trying to find whatever did this and put a stop to it. Shut your window and stay inside."

Her face crumples. "You find them, then. You find them and stop them."

"I'll do my best, I promise." You drop from the landing to the alley and start searching again. You must be close now, so you walk slowly, relying on your ears.

There. Someone weeping, maybe two streets away. You start running.

It's happening right in the street, backlit by a storefront. A man is on his knees, crying and pleading. He's facing something about eight feet from him. It's man-sized and roughly man-shaped, but all you can see is a swirling mass of dull dark fabric, like a ragged shroud flailing in winds that touch nothing else. It has a hooded head looking down at the kneeling man and the suggestion of two arms at its sides, but no feet under the hem of the shroud. It stands perfectly still but there's a sense of tension, like it could swoop at any moment. It smells of nothing at all.

"Look, I'm telling you, man, I'm innocent! You can't kill me," the guy on his knees is quavering.

"You are not innocent," a hollow voice moans from the thing. "You deal drugs."

"I sell fucking pot, okay? That's all!" the guy shrieks. "It's even legal if you have a prescription, for fuck's sake! I don't sell the hard stuff!"

"You're selling it illegally so you are not innocent. You must die."

"Hey, pick on someone your own size," you yell. Not original, but it's all you can think of on short notice. You grab a hubcap someone's lost and chuck it at the phantom like a frisbee. It goes right through the thing, same as the bullets probably did, but the act gets its attention and gives you time to close more of the gap.

"Do not interfere with justice," the specter moans. There's nothing inside the hood except darkness, but now that you're getting a better look the whole thing looks kind of cheesy. It's not a hologram, you've seen those and this isn't one, but there's something a little hokey about its appearance. Sort of like it's the Hollywood version of an actual evil ghost.

You get between the phantom and its intended victim. "I don't see any justice, I see someone appointing himself judge, jury, and executioner."

"That is my role. That is my purpose."

"Then you're going to have to get past me, first," you say boldly. Though how in hell you're going to stop something immaterial you have no idea.

"Good luck, I'm out of here," weepy pot-dealer dude says behind you, and scrams. You hear his rapid footsteps pattering off into the distance.

The phantom starts floating after him and you move to intercept. It stops. "You are a hero. You should be on my side," it says.

"You have a really bad idea of what being a hero is all about, then," you counter.

"You are wrong, I know what a hero is. I am one."

This comes from so far out of left field it shakes a laugh out of you. "You, a hero? Heroes don't go around murdering people, and I've counted seven corpses so far tonight that sure look like they have your name on them."

"They were guilty and deserved to die."

"Bullshit. They looked like street thugs, and I'll admit maybe some of them deserved a few years of time-out to reconsider their life options. But in case you haven't noticed, we don't have the death penalty in this state."

The phantom slowly shakes its head. "I am above the law. I am the law."

"Then you really don't know what a hero is."

Its empty hood stares at you. "If you oppose me, you must die as well."

You can't help feeling scared, but you try not to let it show. "Bring it on, fucker."

It rushes at you suddenly. You leap up and flip, striking with your claws more out of hope than expectation it will do anything. You hand passes through a cold nothingness that makes it tingle. When you land the phantom isn't where you expect it to be. As you scan the shadows you feel a chill at your back.

"Boo," the spectre says, and two cold arms wrap around you.

There's a sort of internal tearing feeling that you're never able to describe later, though for a second you're scared nearly witless by the compelling impression that you're about to die. But then the amulet hanging between your breasts gets warmer and the feeling stops. You twirl and slash with both hands at the phantom, which makes him dissolve for a moment before he moves out of reach and reconstitutes.

"I taste your soul but cannot drink it," it says, obviously puzzled. "I cannot kill you."

You don't answer, not wanting to give it any clues as to why it failed. Instead you grab a small self-igniting magnesium flare off your belt and throw it at the figure. The blazing light makes the phantom flinch but otherwise doesn't seem to harm it any. Well, so much for that idea.

"If I cannot kill you it must mean I am not meant to," the phantom concludes. "I should go in search of my true prey. Farewell."

"Wait!" you say desperately, trying to think of some way of at least delay the lethal bastard. "You, umm, you haven't even told me who you are. If you're a hero then you must want people to know your name!"

"Very true," the phantom says portentously. "You may tell everyone I am... Captain Cadaver!"

It pauses. "No, wait. Now that I say it out loud it doesn't sound very heroic. Tell them I'm, uh, Shadow-man? No, there's already that Grey Shadow guy, can't use that. The Ghostinator?"

Your eyes open wide. "Tyrell? Is that you?"

The swirling cerements fade away, revealing the spectral figure of a tall, slender young man in jeans and a t-shirt. "Uh, yeah. Hi, Cougaress. Still looking good," he says in a much less sepulchral voice.

"Oh, Tyrell! What happened? Electric Eel told me he'd killed you."

Tyrell grimaces. "Yeah, he did. My first time out as a hero, too. That sucked."

"But you're still here. How?"

"It's kind of a long story."

"I've got time," you say. "C'mon, tell me what happened."

He gives a ghostly sigh. "Okay, I told you before about how much I wanted to be a hero, right? Well, I'm not stupid, and a couple years ago I told myself to grow up and think about what I should do in my life since it didn't seem like I was about to gain any powers. I took some college classes and figured if I worked hard I could become an EMT, maybe even a paramedic. And that would be a way of helping people even if I couldn't be a hero."

"But then I met you that first time, and after that night I just couldn't stop thinking about how great it would be if I were a superhero. And, um, get closer to you. I was worse about it than when I was a kid."

Another sigh. "There's this dude, Jehizkiah? Everybody calls him Jizz. Anyway, he sells stuff to the gangs, like weapons and drugs and shit. Not ordinary stuff, he has contacts where he can get his hands on some of the things supervillains make, like ultrasonic beams and hypnotic rings and things like that. Not all of it works, but some of it does and he keeps a bunch of the weapons for himself so even when he sells something that doesn't pan out as advertised nobody is going to ask him for a refund. So anyway, Jizz had this bottle of something he said was one of the potions Diabolicale gave to his minions to turn them into werewolves. It was in the right sort of container, that weird crystal Diabolicale always uses, and I thought to myself, hey, werewolf powers could be pretty good for a hero. So I borrowed the couple thou my brother had in his secret stash and I bought it."

You shake your head. "Tyrell, what were you thinking? You would have become a bloodthirsty maniac every full moon!"

"Yeah, I know, but I figured I could find some way of not losing my mind, or maybe just lock myself up when I had to. It wasn't the werewolf potion anyway, when I drank it the shit tasted horrible and I got really sick and ended up in bed for two days, but I didn't grow fangs or get all hairy or anything. So I thought I was back to square one. Then I met you the second time and I, um, borrowed the glue gun."

"You stole it, Tyrell."

He grimaces again. "Yeah. But at the time I told myself it would be okay, that I would make up for it once I was a hero. About a month later I heard from the grapevine that this Electric Eel guy, the one who had robbed those banks out in the suburbs, was hiding out in the docks. I decided since he was a newbie too he would be a good first opponent for me. That didn't work out so good, but I guess you already heard about that."

"He shocked me and I got blasted off my feet and fell into the water. I couldn't move at all, I just sank, and pretty soon everything got dark. The next thing I know I'm standing on the wharf watching the harbor police fish a corpse out of the water, except the corpse looks like me. Which was really confusing, though I realized pretty quick I was a ghost or something. For one thing nobody could see or hear me, and I couldn't move more than a few steps from that spot, the place where I died."

"I wondered why it happened, then I remembered the potion I'd drank. Now I think it really was one of Diabolicale's creations, just not the werewolf one. It must have been the lotion he uses on dead guys to make them rise up as zombies, except I drank it instead of putting it on my skin and I was still alive when I used it. So instead of my dead body walking around without a soul, when I actually died my soul was trapped outside my body."

"I thought not being a hero sucked, but being dead sucked a LOT harder! Weeks went by and I could feel myself sort of fading as the potion wore off, I could tell that before long I would just dwindle away to nothing. Meanwhile I couldn't do anything, go anywhere, talk to anyone, I couldn't even fall asleep and dream something better. All I could do was stand there on that stupid wharf."

He shakes his head. "Then one night I was feeling extra angry, I mean really hating everybody in the world, and I kicked this seagull and the seagull fell over dead. Which scared the crap out of me at first, but then I realized I felt a tiny bit stronger, like I was more real again. I started practicing on the seagulls and rats that were around at night, and after a long time I could do it pretty easy. And I was definitely getting stronger, I could move farther from the place where I died."