A Ghost of a Chance Chapter 2 — A Return, of Sorts A Comics Retcon Story by Maggie Finson

Could life, or in my case — unlife — get any weirder? Just yesterday, at least I think it was yesterday, I’d been a tough, self assured guy named David Streeter who specialized in personal security for people who needed guarding. And I was good at the job.

But not, clearly, good enough when things really got down to it. I’d died, something that would completely ruin anyone’s day, believe me. Worse, my client, a woman I’d actually cared for, was killed, too. Me being dead was now a minor inconvenience. Erica being dead was something that broke my heart. Or broke what I had left of one.

Oh, the guys who had killed both of us were dead. I’d seen to that in a really weird time loop kind of thing that is the reason I wasn’t all that sure as to whether those things had happened yesterday or some other time. Nuts, I didn’t even know who, or what I was any more.

But I sure wasn’t David Streeter any longer.

“Diana.” The Voice, the reason I was still wandering around on Earth interrupted my thoughts. “You need to go home. The rent on this room will be up in less than an hour.”

“I don’t have a home to go to.” I pointed out. “David’s old place isn’t somewhere I’d even be allowed to look at much less walk into now.”

“The closet, Diana.” I was told.

Muttering about deals with the devil, or whatever the Voice really was I gingerly pulled open a battered door that had to be the closet. The bathroom, a really nasty one, by the way, didn’t even have a door. Figures.

On deals with the devil. I’d been dead. Really dead and floating — somewhere with no idea about where it was or why I was there when that now horribly familiar voice had offered me a chance to come back. A chance I’d foolishly grabbed.

Only there were a few catches. First, I was now a woman and no amount of arguing or even outright begging was going to change that thing’s mind regarding that. Second, I was that Voice’s physical presence on Earth. It’s avenger. Doomed, it seemed, to be hunting down people who needed a particular kind of punishment. As in dying. At my now delicate appearing hands.

I’d already killed since I’d come back. Three times, in fact. I should have felt something over that. Remorse, elation, something. But I didn’t feel anything other than a sense of one job done.

And I knew there would be others. Probably a lot of others given what the Voice had been telling me.

Now wasn’t that something to look forward to?

“You have got to be kidding me!” I gave the clothing I’d pulled out of the closet a distasteful looking over and shook my head. “I can’t wear that stuff out in public, more to the point, I won’t wear it.”

I was looking at a fine example of hooker haute couture. Short, tight baby blue leather looking skirt that I was sure wasn’t even close to the real thing. A lacy black garter belt with smokey, seamed stockings, an off white, silky looking shell — a sleeveless top, that wouldn’t reach my navel and was cut deeply enough at the neckline to make whoever was wearing it appear next to naked up top. Finish that off with a pair of cheap strappy sandals sporting four inch stiletto heels — in an offwhite that matched the shell, and a tiny purse with a thin shoulder strap.

Then there was the obviously cheap, brassy jewelry.

“This stuff is a disguise, right?” I asked hopefully.

“No, Diana, these are your clothes, now stop arguing and put them on. Your costume would attract attention I’m sure you wouldn’t desire at the moment.”

“Like this — stuff won’t?” I questioned incredulously.

“It will blend nicely with this neighborhood. Your neighborhood, Diana.”

“You’ve made me into a cheap whore.” I accused with anger starting to boil to the surface. “You made me into a FRIGGING WHORE!”

“Only if you choose to be so.” Voice told me. “In this guise you will be able to mingle with the kind of people you need to know to enable you to serve your purpose for me. When there is need, you will have other identities.”

“I’m a damned whore!” I muttered while struggling into the cheap and cheap looking outfit.

“Hell takes many forms, Diana Spectre.”

I didn’t bother to say anything back. It would have been useless, and besides, I had to concentrate on getting those idiot seams on my stockings straight. Not to mention figuring out those stupid garters.

“I look like Lady Death in cheap schlock.” I complained as I checked out my appearance in the not so good mirror. If I pulled the top down to where it was even close to my navel, my breasts tried to fall out of it. My stocking tops showed because the itty bitty skirt, tight enough to leave almost nothing to the imagination in someone without one, was so short it didn’t even try covering them. The big, cheap and brassy looking hoops hanging from my ears were the most annoying part of the whole thing. They swung, banged against my neck when I did things like just breathe, and were generally just something I would much rather have done without. The gold toned choker of big beads, and the clunky bracelets were just icing on that horrible cake.

Oh, yeah, I was still dead, fish belly white on top of all that. And still had those glowing red eyes. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Think of looking human.” Came the advice I’d been expecting.

With a sigh I did. And it was no surprise when it worked. I was still pale, but redhead pale instead of dead pale. And my eyes were a brilliant green instead of red. And I looked young. Too young for a girl to be out on her own in the world, especially in the kind of neighborhood this one was.

The drivers license in the frayed wallet I’d found in the little vinyl purse told me I was Deena Elaine Dawson, age 19, 5 feet three inches tall, and that I weighed in at a whopping 110 pounds. I noted what those initials spelled and wondered for a minute or so about that. Nah, the Voice had NO sense of humor that I’d seen a trace of yet. The alias had to be, just had to be, a coincidence.

There was assorted makeup, a hairbrush, and about a hundred dollars and change in there too. And that was all. Must have been a good night, for little Deena. With a shrug that still did things to the feelings I received from this body that I didn’t much care for, I used the hairbrush on the still flame red mane I now had and gave myself a careful looking over.

Pretty, no check that one. The girl I had become was gorgeous even in the cheap clothes and jewelry and overly done makeup. Oh yeah, makeup. It hadn’t obligingly appeared when I decided to look human. Oh no that would have been waaay to easy. I had to put the stuff on myself. But the body seemed to know how to do it and after I’d almost lost an eye to a mascara brush I let it go on auto-pilot to finish.

Putting on the vinyl bolero jacket matching the skirt and slinging the little purse over one shoulder so the strap angled crossways from one hip to the opposite shoulder, I gave my pretty butt a little shake to make sure everything was settled just right and sashayed out the door as if I’d been shaking and shimmying like that all my life. I only got propositioned four times on my way ‘home’. That was a relief but somehow disappointing all at the same time.

Deena’s, okay my, apartment was better than the motel room had been. Marginally.

Okay, to be fair it was actually a decent little studio type place with carefully chosen furniture showing signs of loving care even if it had obviously come from second hand dealers and thrift shops. The walls had been painted in soothing pastels mixed with neutral tones, mostly light blues, greens, and a light tan, while strategically placed pictures and posters covered the cracks in the plaster that couldn’t be hidden with the paint.

Giving the cheap reproductions of pastoral scenes, and posters of boy bands and male actors a roll of my eyes, I noted a rack of music CD’s beside a fairly impressive boom box, a small but reasonably new television with a DVD player beside it, and then got out of my hooker gear.

There were books on a couple of sagging plastic shelving units, mostly paperbacks and not sappy romances to my surprise. Oh there were a few fantasy novels I thought might qualify for sappy, but most of the books were on subjects ranging from basic budgeting, economics and business and on into marketing. The girl, me, obviously had interests that precluded being a hooker for the rest of her life, much to my relief.

“Yes, Deena had many good things going for her.” The Voice had returned as I was staring at textbooks set on a small scratched desk. “And was working to get out of the life she had been in.”

“Secretarial School?” I questioned while giving the books a looking over.

“Business school.” Came the counter. “One has to start somewhere, after all, to improve do you not agree?”

“Well, I did complain about being a cheap whore.” I sighed.

“Diana,” Voice chided, “the girl you are now was never cheap, simply disadvantaged and quite determined to do better for herself.”

“So this Deena used to be alive, and real before I came along?”

“Yes, Diana, she was. Killed by a mugger the night your old self died. I simply fixed things enough that her body didn’t die so you could occupy it.”

All of sudden I felt bad about all the complaining I’d been doing regarding my new status and surroundings. I had a fleeting thought that not only had I stepped, even if unwillingly, into someone else’s interrupted life, but that the fact gave the girl I now was some kind of chance to be better. Maybe better than I’d ever managed myself. It was kind of like getting a second chance for both of us in a backhanded way.

Looking at the cheery little apartment with eyes that now saw it a different way, I promised myself, and the original Deena, that I’d do my best for both of us.

“You begin to learn already, Diana.” Voice told me with something I was sure was satisfaction in its tones.

Stepping into someone else’s life wasn’t easy even with the remaining memory cues the girl body I now had to help. At least I got about a week to ‘settle in’ before much else happened.

The news had been full of things regarding a multiple homicide that had occurred in an uptown penthouse, but the consensus — even from the police — was that Ignace Forester had finally run up against an enemy that had gotten back for what the slime had done to someone. They were right, just not in the way they thought. Quite.

But still new sensation, metahumans as they were called still remained on the top of the news even after the length of time the first one, Jade, had appeared. I’d kept track of the known ones and briefly wondered what most of them would think of me in my other guise. And decided that would be something best left until I had no choice. I didn’t think Jade and company would be all that pleased with my vigilante actions considering the results I was sure they had already shown and would keep producing. The good guys generally took a really dim view of someone leaving a pile of dead bodies behind them, even if those bodies had been bad guys. But the bad ones like Superia were just the kind that my alter ego was set to get rid of.

That Cat Woman — maybe, but I wasn’t anxious to find out in any case.

I was in a used book store perusing Science Fiction and Fantasy novels, along with other business related subjects when the call came.

“You are needed, Ms. Spectre.”

“Oh, great.” I sighed, running my hands over the snug jeans and plain cotton top I was wearing. “And me with my costume at the cleaners right now.”

It wasn’t really at the cleaners, but stashed in my apartment, a good twenty minutes away by bus, which was all I could afford for transportation other than walking. I put my selections back on the shelves and walked out of the store, looking for somewhere I could do the change without half the city seeing it.

I had found that I could ‘call’ the skimpy outfit I called my costume to me at need through experimentation, trial and error and sheer cussedness. I’d be damned if was going to physically change clothes every time my alter ego showed up.

“Haste is required, Diana.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I answered irritably. It was that time of the month for me, and memories that came with this body notwithstanding, it was my first. So I was a bit grouchy. “You want the whole town to know I’m two people? Give me a sec here.”

A convenient alley offered the best chance and I inanely wondered if I’d have been using phone booths if any of those were still in use, as I entered it.

“Well hello babe.” A smooth, if bit growly voice interrupted me once I’d reached the midpoint of the alley between streets and was preparing to change. Mental note number fifty-six here. Check dark, dingy alleys before entering in future.

There were two of them. Some kind of gang related thugs who thought they were tough, and willing to prove that to anyone stupid enough to argue. I shook my head and gave them an annoyed look. “What are a couple of stupid white boys like you doing in this neighborhood?”

“Seen you strutting that fine ass at night, baby.” The one who had spoken added. “I want some of it.”

His companion, nodded with a yellow, toothy grin.

“If you’ve seen me, and haven’t asked.” I glared at them. “You can’t afford me. Go away. I’m not in the mood for this right now.”

“Who needs to pay, sweet cheeks?” The second one grinned wider and showed me a knife.

That was it, not the knife, not the wanting to rape me on the spot. Nooo, what really pissed me off was being called sweet cheeks. “I so don’t have time for this right now, guys, and you really don’t want to try this. Trust me.”

Pretty little Deena knew martial arts. Go figure.

The fact that I was a lot stronger than I looked probably helped out, too.

Let’s just say that those two idiots wouldn’t be in any shape to threaten another girl for awhile and leave things at that, okay? I SAID I was grouchy, didn’t I?

I was floating in midair. Again. At least I’d been practicing so wasn’t scared out of my wits by then. I'd had several runs with middling bad guys, in the shadows and without witnesses during the past week so had the mechanics regarding some things I could do figured out.

What I was looking at was a hostage situation, a nasty one. Police vehicles, swat teams, one bank full of employees and customers, six masked men carrying shotguns and stubby little submachine guns. It looked like someone was going to end up dead over this one for sure without a little intervention. Some innocents had already been shot or beaten and I felt a halfway familiar purpose begin to surface from deep within me.

“Kind of public isn’t it?” I questioned while checking the newest addition to my costume. A belt slung low on my hips to carry the holstered Taurus nine millimeter I’d taken from Iggy’s goon that first night. Okay, I was fast, really tough, could go insubstantial if I had to. But getting shot, or beaten on in a close up physical fight hurts. Even if I did heal almost as fast as I got injured.

Besides, old habits die hard and I felt naked going into trouble without a firearm even though I suspected that I really didn’t need one. As for the naked comment — don’t even think about going there. I just had to figure out a better costume for myself. Later.

“No matter.” Voice told me. “Those six are going to kill everyone in that bank lobby without direct intervention stopping it. The police won’t be able to stop it happening when they do move. Plus it is time the world knows that my avenger is among them.”

“Right.” Sighing, I did another thing I hadn’t realized I could that first night. Willed myself inside the place.

Only to discover that I couldn’t even annoy the bad guys in my insubstantial, invisible form.

“So much for that idea.” I grumbled after a flat of the hand strike passed through one of the robbers’ head without so much as a flinch out of the guy. “This is going to get messy.”

With a flap of sound that was almost like a thunderclap in that echoing lobby from my cloak, I went substantial. One of these days I had to work out a way to do that without the cheesy announcement.

Oh, I broke the one guy’s neck before he even had time to turn. Then had my pistol out and had dropped two more in the time it took him to fall enough to give me a clear shot.

As those bodies were still deciding to hit the floor I transferred my attention to one of the bad guys holding a terrified teller with a gun to her head. I was on him before I’d even finished the thought and another one was down for the good. The poor girl he’d been threatening backed away wearing a look of sheer terror on her pretty face. It dawned on me that I was the one she was afraid of just then and that hurt more than the bullets that slammed into my back at that moment.

I turned, staggering a little under the hail of fire from the two remaining bad guys, but didn’t lose either my footing or my purpose. “You can’t kill the dead, fools.”

And finished the thing with two precise shots. Just like that.

People were still screaming, and giving me a lot of space. It saddened me that they were as frightened of me as they had been of the robbers. I shook my head and replaced the pistol in its holster. “The innocent have no reason to fear me.”

“But let all others know that Retribution is HERE!” I finished, and yes, I’d actually capitalized that one word, much to my internal embarrassment. Then pulled my vanishing trick just before the cops stormed the place.

“Yes, in the alley between Twentieth and Twenty-first off Logan Avenue.” I repeated to the 911 operator. “Two of them, pretty beat up.”

After shutting off my phone I returned to the bookstore to finish my shopping. Ambulance and police sirens were getting close as I entered the store. Hey, I wasn’t completely heartless.

“Holy shit!” Someone loudly said and I glanced up at the live news coverage of what was going on at the bank I’d helped out a few minutes earlier. I caught just a glimpse of the security cameras’ views of my alter ego and shuddered.

Whoa! I was one really scary looking bitch with those ember like red eyes and face shadowed by the hood of my cloak. Pretty hot looking, too. Yeah, I really had to change that costume.