When I was growing up, my grandmother would always tell me that I was going to Hell in a hand-basket. To this day I don’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound like the kind of thing a grandmother should say to a little girl. She was partly right though. It wasn’t in a hand-basket, but I ended up going to Hell. But don’t worry about me, I managed to get out. I had to earn the name Hellcat somehow.

You shouldn’t bother asking me how I got out of Hell. It’s not that I’d rather not talk about, even though I wouldn’t. Thinking about it makes my head hurt, and most of the time I’m not sure how it happened. Something about the Defenders and a sword kind of killing my husband, the Lord of Hell, maybe. That or I sneaked out the back, all stealthy like. Yeah, I’ll go with that. Hellcat sneaked out of Hell, out from under her husband’s nose. Because that part about him being Lord of Hell is true. Wow, do I keep marrying badly.

If you’re wondering about the rather large and ugly man bleeding at my feet, that’s Robert Baxter, my first husband. He wasn’t always that ugly, not until he underwent some experiments by his employers in the Brand Corporation. After that he went by the name Mad Dog because of his enhanced sense of smell and new teeth, and maybe some other stuff. Maybe I should feel guilty, because I think he underwent the procedure out of envy for my abilities, but I don’t. Robert was a bad husband. Not as bad as Damien, but still.

Oh, you want to know about my powers? Well, on account of my costume I’m stronger and faster than most people, enough that I was able to beat up my own super-human ex-husband. No, I can’t tell you how the costume works, though it might have something to do with Cat People who Tigra is involved with. Oh, Tigra was once the Cat and had a costume like mine but now….ah, there’s the pain in my head again.

I was also trained by a friend named Moondragon to expand my mind. When I try hard I can know what others are thinking, move stuff without touching it, and even get flashes of the future. The last has never been very useful, and I haven’t been too adept at the others. That means skilled, practiced, strong in The Force, etceteras. Right now though I’m picking up a lot from his guy I saved from Mad Dog. I don’t even have to try, its like the thoughts I just coming out of his head.

Well, now you kind of know the situation. My ex-husband Mad Dog was trying to kill a guy, and I stopped him. But as to why this guy was getting attacked, and why I was about to save him…well, I’ll get to that in a bit. A lot of it has to do with what his mind is telling me. So maybe I’ll start there.

---

Ah, back to the old family homestead. A little bigger than I remember, mainly because my father had bought the place after I’d grown up and gone off on my own. That was where Myron Billis started his quest to…wait, this writer’s name is Myron Billis? Damn, no wonder he writes for Marvel Comics. With that name he would have gotten a beating every day growing up. Its like the names of two bad writers got smushed together.

All right, I need to focus and read this guy’s mind. Myron’s mind. Myron Billis, who the previous day visited my father’s home. Obviously he would have been greeted by my father.

“Mr. Billis, I’m so pleased to meet you,” greeted Hedy Wolfe as she met Myron by the door. Hedy? What the hell is my old childhood friend doing there? Did my father get married again? Is this bitch my new mommy? “We spoke on the phone. I’m Hedy Wolfe, caretaker.”

Oh, thank goodness. Or rather, thank god. I’ve been in Hell, I’ve earned the right to use the Lord’s name in vain. And call him an ass if I want, but I won’t because I’m not in Hell anymore and would rather not go back. So caretaker, that’s not so bad. Unless she’s helping out my dad with the intention of winning a ring, the gold digging slut. I never did like her all those years we had remarkable adventures, inspired to press forward whatever the odds by the strength of our friendship. All lies.

“Yes, Ms. Wolfe. Hi.” Myron talked to Hedy and shook her hand like a guy who’s not used to doing these things with a girl. God, it’s not like Hedy’s attractive. She’s my age only not as preserved. There are some lines under her eyes, a faded sheen in her hair, a little sag in the breasts. “Thank you for agreeing to my visit.”

“Oh, it was no problem. I was so glad to hear that my good friend Patsy’s adventures and mine were being reprinted. If there’s anything in Mrs. Walker’s old notes that can be of help you, you’re more than welcome to use it.”

Oh yeah, that was what started this whole thing. Myron Billis isn’t a writer, he’s an editor, working on a collection Marvel Comics is doing of that old series my mom wrote about me. Hunh, I haven’t read those in years. Maybe I’ll look at that collection when it comes out. Marvel had better send me my royalties for it. Er, send it to my estate, as I’m legally dead. Hmmm, I wonder who’s in charge of that? Probably my dad, or Hedy’s caretaker duties might go that far.

“The town gave this house historical preservation status after Patsy’s father died,” Hedy was explaining to Myron. Okay, I will not lose it over my daddy’s death. Important stuff to do now, like follow this editor’s life up the point where I’m here in a library over my beaten ex-husband reading this editor’s mind. Later I’ll grieve. “Not exactly accurate, but the town council was convinced after I moved Mrs. Walker’s writings in here. A lot of them used to love reading Patsy’s comic growing up.”

“That sure was fortunate,” Myron said. Who in the world says “sure was fortunate” these days? Hedy led him into what looked a lot like my dad’s office, converted to look like, well, my mom’s office I guess. How can one make an office gender-specific? With cats. That or its to tell people this is the posthumous office of the woman who wrote about the young gal who later became Hellcat. “Wow, this looks really good.”

Yeah, it really did. Covers of my old comic book were framed on the walls, and some of my mom’s things were in glass cases. I really wish I could have looked around better, but its all through Myron’s eyes. This guy should really look into a mirror so I can see what he looks like. Wait, the guy is actually standing right in front of me while I’m doing this mind-reading thing. Yuck, he sure looks like a guy who’d be named Myron.

Oh, back in the past he was looking in a glass case containing pages. Ten, and they read like script pages. “Oh!” he exclaimed in a slightly high-pitched voice. Hmmm, maybe he’s not exactly nervous around girls. What kind of guy gets excited over a girly comic? “Is this the script to the never-finished final issue?”

“Uh, no. This was written some time after the series ended.” Well, Hedy looked quite proud of her knowledge. “This was going to be the first issue of a new series. Patsy Walker’s adventures as a super-hero. It was something she talked about to her parents all the time, so her mother decided to do this as a gift. A fictional, super-heroic Patsy. A shame she died before finishing it.”

“Wow, weird that she actually became a super-hero.”

“I know! And her powers came from some costume she found, just like in this story!” Hedy is an evil, evil bitch who talks too much. “I remember Patsy’s mom was a really fast writer. It was like every time Patsy and I had an adventure, there would be a comic about it the next month.” Not too bright either.

“Huh, that’s interesting.” I can feel it in Myron’s head. He’s wondering, having crazy ideas that all comic book writers and wannabe writers get. “Listen, I’ll need to speak with my Editor in Chief, but would you be interesting in writing an introduction when we get the collection together. Maybe mention those strange coincidences. We could even throw in this script along with the authorized comic of the actual origin.”

“Oh, that would be cool!”

Okay, Myron is leaving. Nothing more to see. I’ll just fast-forward through his head and….whoa, what was that? Something in the corner of Myron’s eye. He didn’t notice it but I did. Just back, back back and…there, in the sterling lamp on the desk. At the right angle, he saw and thus I seen a reflection on the inside of the shade. A very, very faint glow too. Shame I can’t look closer at a memory, but that looked like a camera. One guess who planted it too.

---

Now I fast forward. Not too far, Myron Billis went straight to the library. Sheesh, the man didn’t even go to his hotel for material, he had it all with him. A backpack full of old Patsy Walker comic books, and he’s taking them to the library. “Excuse me,” he asked a librarian. “Where is the microfilm department?”

He was directed to the stacks and stacks of film, and proceeded to look up years and months coinciding with the comics. Uh-oh, I know what he’s looking up. Do you, invisible people I’m imaging are watching me because I’m a crazy lady who’s suicide got reversed several years later? Oh, don’t answer that, I’m too busy watching Myron reading old newspaper articles. Wow, how much press did I get as a kid?

“Okay, let’s match these up,” Myron muttered to himself. Double uh-oh, he’s got more than the comics. He’s got copies of my mom’s script invoices, with the dates they were turned in. Please tell me he didn’t figure it out. Pleaseohpleaseohplease.

Oh, what’s that crash? That’s what Mryon is wondering the moment he hears it, but I already know. With the lead time, Mad Dog couldn’t have followed him here. Tracked him, yeah. Followed his scent from the house. Wow what a racket! Myron got up and was very fortunate to see Mad Dog just as the big guy was ripping out the librarian’s neck.

“Oh shoot!” Myron didn’t exclaim, I’m sure. Remembering it different won’t change the potty mouth.

Now he’s, wait, before running he pulls down a shelving unit. Must be some buff under that shirt. Shelves and hundreds of books crash into Mad Dog’s way. The chase was very exciting to watch, especially when Mad Dog crashed into a unit of shelves and got buried by back issues of Now Magazine. Sadly, all chases have to end, and Mad Dog got Myron Billis cornered. Could this be it?

Here I come to save the day! I crashed in through the library’s skylight, used my patented Cat’s Claw to swing through the air toward Mad Dog, and I kicked him in the face! Boy, I love kicks to the face. If every issue of my old comic had me kicking Hedy in the face, it never would have been canceled. And that element of surprise was all I needed. I’ll have to check the library for security footage, because I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching Mad Dog get beaten down.

---

“Um, hello?”

Oh, shoot, have I been inner-monologuing all this time. I get out of Myron’s head and put on my practiced smile. “Hi, citizen! Don’t fear, I’ve saved you from this vile fiend.”

“Ah, yeah. Thanks.” Oh, he’s definitely looking at me strangely, like he’s wondering whether or not I’m crazy. “You…are you her?”

“If by ‘her’ you mean the Unheavenly Hellcat, then you are correct.” That just might be my best adjective yet. Hopefully it’ll take off. “Fortunately for you, I was in the area and spotted this criminal as he entered the building.” Or, to be more accurate, I saw him snooping around my dad’s house because I was watching the place in a state of nostalgic melancholy.

“That, yeah, oh yeah, I’m real lucky.” That is the kind of nervous a guy gets when he’s been close to death. “But I mean…you’re Patsy Walker, right?”

I give him my best look of incredulity. “Mr. Billis, are you asking me to divulge my secret identity. Why, that would endanger my family and loved ones.” The distinction must be made, as they are not necessarily one and the same.

“Uh, how do you know my name?”

I bark out a laugh, not at all like a crazy lady. “Hah, you got me! Just now I read your mind. It was a trick I learned, Myron. Do you mind if I call you Myron?”

“Well, you just saved my life…”

“I guess I did for the moment,” I say as I look back at my unconscious ex-husband. When I’d seen Myron visit the house earlier, I hadn’t thought anything of it. “So, I saw in your head you figured something out, Myron.”

“Oh, yeah.” He looks down at his person, then shifts his eyes toward something on the other side of the room. “My bag.” He started forward, but I raised a hand to stop him. Or is it he starts forward but I raise a hand to stop him? This is all happening now, but I heard somewhere it all sounds better in past tense. Eh well, I don’t think I’ve been very consistent with that anyway. I might as well give Myron a reason I don’t want him to move.

“Please, I should stay between you and the bad guy. At least until the authorities arrive. In case he comes to.” And snaps you like a twig in a blood-thirsty frenzy of violence, but I don’t tell him that. Or didn’t. Whatever. “Come on, tell me what you know. I already have an idea, anyway.”

“Okay, well…it was common knowledge that a lot of the stories your mother wrote were based on your own experiences. Or, more like commonly believed. There was a script at your father’s house-”

“I know about it.” Not until today, but I’d always suspected. There were so many times I’d begged Mom. “Why did you come in here?”

“Some of, of your real adventures made the press. So I was checking those against back issues of your comic and copies of the old script invoices. They have the dates when the scripts were turned in.”

“And you noticed some of those adventures I had occurred after the stories were written,” I finished. “Not before.”

“Um, yeah. Yes, I did.”

There was a piece of wooden shelving at my feet, broken off when Mad Dog had crashed into a unit. I bend down to pick it up as I said, “There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation. I simply read the scripts before they were sent in and decided to act them out. Some wouldn’t have been too difficult. But that’s not the reason.”

“No,” Myron agreed. “I didn’t think-”

*CRACK* I smashed the wood hard against the side of his head. It splintered, but so did his skull, and force broke his neck just like a figured. “My mom sold her soul to the devil,” I told the dead editor as he dropped to the ground. I don’t look at the wood when I drop it to the ground. “She wanted to be a writer so much. It didn’t take for her, and me, to figure out that what she wrote came true. Anything. That kind of ruled out anything too fantastic for a story.

Remembering those old conversations, I smiled without realizing it. “I begged her to write about me. To give me friends, boyfriends, to make my life so much more exciting. She loved me, so of course Mom agreed. That and she wanted to write so much. Then I grew up, and I suppose she did too, and that was it. I wanted more, to be one of those great bright heroes we were starting to read about. And my mother wasn’t willing to do that.”

Behind me, Mad Dog still wasn’t moving. I decided to talk to him anyway. “What do you think would have happened if she’d ever lived to finish that story, Robert? I probably would have had one adventure, lost the costume and continued on with a normal life.” I was rubbing my arms now. Rubbing the costume. “She never got to write an ending though. I found a costume, got powers, and the story just kept going.”

Near to tears, I leaned down over Mad Dog. “They’re going to blame you for this, Robert. You’re crazy violent, had my dad’s house under surveillance, and killed this man because he was going to reprint stories where…where you were somebody you didn’t like. It doesn’t matter if they find you unconscious, although if you wake up and gnaw at him it’ll help. If you go to jail you’ll break out, get in some more adventures and fight some more heroes. On and on with no ending.

“Just like me.”

I step over my ex-husband. I could have used the Cat’s Claw to reach the skylight, but I figured what-the-hell and jump straight up. Somebody might see me, but it doesn’t matter. The police will have their man, and nobody would ever suspect Hellcat. She’s Patsy Walker, the town celebrity and All-American Good Girl.

But I’m not a good person. I haven’t been for a long time. I’m not bad either, and I’m not just thinking that because, well, nobody wants to be bad. All I ever wanted was some excitement in my life, and unfortunately it got to be too much and I killed myself. I wanted so desperately for it to end, but it never will. So all I can do is keeping on going, living my life as it is, doing good and bad things.

But I’ll be trying to do good.

Never the End

---

A Marvel Fanfare Back-Up!
Featuring Millie the Model
Written by Stephen Crosby

Two men waved their employer into a room that was in a shambles. Her green eyes surveyed the damage, and noted the empty file cabinets. Standing beside this middle-aged blonde bombshell was her assistant, a younger brunette that wasn’t quite as glamorous. After waving the security guards back outside the room, the older blonde addressed her assistant.

“Ruth, the inventory.”

A sheet of paper was pulled from the folder Ruth carried and went into her employer’s waiting hand. “I skimmed it on the way over, Ms. Collins. This is archive storage, with not a single photograph less than a decade old. Nothing that would have been of value.”

“Until that is confirmed, we suppose the worst.” Ms. Collins scanned over the sheet of paper, a detailed inventory of all the photographs that had been stored in the room. “Once we’re back at the office, send a copy of this to our lawyers. They’ll need to draw up injunction papers.”

“Already done, Ms. Collins,” Ruth answered with some pride. That melted away, however, when Ms. Collins turned those green eyes on her. “Only that, I assure you. The police have not yet been informed.”

“Nor will they until I’ve made the decision,” Ms. Collins told her assistant. She despised initiative. The more people do something without being told, the more likely it will be something you don’t want done. Returning her eyes to the inventory, Ms. Collins found a name she hadn’t expected and frowned. “Ruth, why is this name on the list?”

The assistant quickly read the name beside Ms. Collins’ finger. “Wow. She modeled here?”

“Long ago. All photographs were returned to her. Why would this have been here?”

Ruth shook her head. “I have no idea, Ms. Collins. It is possible one photo was missed and got shipped here by mistake.”

Ms. Collins thrust the inventory list back at Ruth. “I want the names of everybody who might have known that photograph was here in one hour. If you hadn’t already sent it would, I would have liked the inventory list altered before going to the lawyers.” Confidentiality could only go so far. “Under no circumstances are the police to be informed of this, nor the insurance company. We keep this in-house, Ruth. Do you understand?”

“Of course.” Ruth nodded. She then turned her head as Ms. Collins was now walking towards the door. “Oh, we’re going back to the office.”

“You are,” Ms. Collins told her assistant. “I need to go meet with an old friend.”

As her employer rapidly disappeared, Ruth glanced again at the inventory sheet. The name near the end, something she hadn’t noticed earlier, was now the only thing she could see. To think, the famous Susan Storm had once been a model!

---

Ever-busy, Susan Richards was surrounded by men and women as she walked the halls of the Baxter Building. Every one of them had a matter to address with her. Even when her husband Reed wasn’t on extended absence as he was now, Sue generally dealt with the day-to-day business of the Fantastic Four while he was off working in the laboratory. It was far too much of a job for one person, hence the number of accountants and managers the Fantastic Four kept on staff, all of whom were trying to get Susan’s ear at that moment.

“We managed to have another prototype action figure of Namor done up,” said the Fantastic Four’s toy representative. She held up the miniature version of the Fantastic Four’s newest member, thankfully not in green Speedo but rather the black pants and open-chest shirt. “I thought it would be best if you showed it to him this name.” Namor had crushed the last one.

“Another lawsuit has been filed against your brother,” the head of the Fantastic Four’s legal department informed her. Susan rolled her eyes. Half the fires in New York City caused by arsonists and children were blamed on that old television show about the team.

“Here are the ratings for the latest show,” stated the Fantastic Four’s media consultant with a big grin on his face. “Everybody loves Squirrel Girl as the Human Torch’s replacement.” Except for Doctor Doom, Susan chuckled to herself as she glanced over the numbers. His humiliating defeat against squirrels has been aired for all the world to see.

“Ms. Richards, there have been some new complaints by the other tenants, myself included.” Aside from being home to the Fantastic Four, the Baxter Building was rented out to numerous businesses and individuals. One of the tenants had been appointed building supervisor, and he was now holding up a piece of paper. “The most urgent of which are parking and garbage. Not everybody has complied with dropping off their garbage at the designated areas. As for parking, a number of new tenants have their own vehicles, and are voicing quite loudly that the building should have its own parking structure to accommodate them.”

“Please, everybody, if you could just leave the paperwork with Roberta.” Susan was referring to the Fantastic Four’s robotic receptionist who was seated only a few feet away. “I will look them all over as soon as possible.” Fighting the urge to turn invisible, Susan brushed past the men and women. As she passed the desk, Susan head Roberta’s robotic voice address her.

“You have a Ms. Collins waiting in your office, Mrs. Richards.”

Susan frowned. “Roberta, I really don’t have the time to-”

“Ms. Collins stated you have a past association, which my files confirmed, and that it is a deeply personal matter she wishes to discuss with you.”

Susan sighed. She had hoped to steal a few minutes with her children Franklin and Valeria. But the name was finally being placed in Susan’s mind, and she decided it best to give Ms. Millie Collins a brief audience. “All right. Please hold all my calls, Roberta.”

Susan strode into her private office, and saw Ms. Collins seated near her desk. “Hello, Millie. You look as good as you always have.” It was no polite remark. Millie Collins looked every bit as beautiful as when she’d been a young model. “It’s been years.”

“Ever sense your wedding,” Millie agreed. “Which is the reason I’m here. You weren’t given all the prints.”

Susan Storm-Richards, the Invisible Woman and current leader of the Fantastic Four, stopped in mid-step as though she’d been punched in the gut. Her past association with Millie Collins had dated to before the accident that gave her fantastic powers, when Susan Storm had been an aspiring actress and Millie had gone from model to modeling agent. Photographs had been taken then. Photographs Susan had been glad to receive and burn on the day of her wedding.

“What? How could that be?”

“I don’t know how, but one photograph was in my agency’s archive storage. I only just found out today after reading the storage inventory, because everything there had just been stolen.”

Taking some effort to walk, Susan reached her desk and pressed the intercom. “Roberta, any calls that are specifically for me you may forward.” Looking up, she saw Millie nod in approval. “I hope you’ve taken your own measures.”

“My lawyers were given instructions to block any sale or printing even before I knew your photograph was among those stolen.”

Unfortunately, those news didn’t make Susan feel better. “In today’s age, that image could be on million’s of computer screens by now.”

“But you have resources to prevent that.”

“A virus could be made, yes, but Reed would have to do it. I would have to call him back from the Negative Zone, tell him…” Susan Richards closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “No, we aren’t there yet.”

“This scum will try to make money first,” Millie told her. “He’ll try to contact you with a price.”

At that moment the telephone on Susan’s desk rang. She quickly picked it up and spoke. “Hello? Yes, I was expecting you.” Her eyes flickered to Millie. “She’s here now. No, you can deal with her after settling with me. What do you want? Done.” Susan wasn’t even going to try and argue. “When and where?” In spite of herself, Susan laughed. “Oh yes, I know where that is. Tonight then.”

As Susan hung up the phone, Millie opened her mouth in protest. “Susan, you know it won’t end with this. Even if he gives you the pictured, you could have made copies or scanned it into his computer.”

“I know.” The telephone had a small printer attached to it, and a sheet was spitting out. Susan held it up for Millie to see. “He called from a disposable cell phone, but I could still trace is location. That allows for a satellite image, something to run through facial recognition software. I now have his name and address.”

Millie took the sheet to read. “What if he’d been indoors?”

“He was. Reed builds great satellites. Recognize the name because I do.”

Millie nodded. “My head photographer until I fired him and more for molesting a model. Five months later he robs the archives, as soon as he could walk again.” Millie started to fold up the paper. “I promise you Susan, I’ll do worse to him this time.”

“No.” It wasn’t Invisible Woman of the Fantastic Four who said that. I was Susan Richards, wife and mother. “For what this man has threatened, I will meet with him tonight, and he will lay this photograph at my feet.” She was picking up the phone again. “After a teammate of mine has made certain no copies were made.”

---

The former site of Pier 4, former headquarters to the Fantastic Four, had seen better days. After being almost completely destroyed in a battle, the Fantastic Four had elected not to rebuild, and the building had remained in ruin. It was at the crumbling pier itself that Susan Richards and Millie Collins waited. This had been the agreed-upon place for Susan to meet, with the blackmailer.

“You’re very confident, Susan.” Millie couldn’t help but shiver in the cool air. But after all those reports over the years, forgive me if I don’t have the same trust in your ‘friend’. His moods seem to shift a great deal.”

“But never when it comes to me,” Susan told her old friend with conviction. “Although to tell you the truth, I’m less certain he won’t kill the man.”

Behind the two ladies, a thump could be heard. While Susan turned right away, Millie couldn’t help but glance up. She briefly glimpsed a man’s shape high in the distance, with what could be wings on his feet. She then turned, and together with Susan saw a red-haired, balding man rising unsteadily to his feet.

“Shucks, still alive,” Millie remarked. To the man she greeted, “Hello, Clicker.”

The former boyfriend and photographer of Millie’s glanced up. Susan could see the terrified expression of his face and fought the urge to feel sorry for him. Instead she extended a hand.

“You have something for me.”

Still shaking, Clicker reached into his torn jacket and removed a large photograph. “Here. Take it, no charge. Just, just please…” He started forward, the photograph raised and aimed for Susan’s hand.

“Lay it at my feet,” Susan Richards commanded.

Hesitant, Clicker started to, but the wind was starting to pick up. “Umm.”

“Do it.”

Finally, Clicker set the photograph down, and in spite of the wind it didn’t move. An invisible force held it in place.

“Now leave.” Susan’s eyes were cold fury, and at sight of them Clicker jumped back. He turned on his heel and ran, stumbling twice on the pier but not once stopping.

“He’ll still have me to deal with,” Millie promised Susan. “Mostly for putting you through this. I’m sorry.”

“This never would have happened if I hadn’t been a stupid kid,” Susan answered. Picking up the photograph with one hand, the other produced a lighter. Flame touched it, and the photograph began to burn. “No matter what we do, Millie, the past always comes back to haunt us.”

The End