Damsel in Distress 
Chapter 1

     There were no lights on.  The only illumination came from
the television screen, which cast an eerie glow throughout the 
room.
     The image on the television blurred.  There was silence
as the figures moved faster than humanly possible.  Click.
The picture froze.  On the screen was the news anchor, stopped
in mid-syllable.  An inset showed a man in cuffs being led
towards a waiting police car.  Click.
     ". . . end of a criminal spree.  And now our man in
the streets, Jake Gowan, brings us this live report."
     The inset showed a man with a microphone.  It enlarged
until it filled the screen.
     "Thanks, Bill.  With me, here, I have The Hub City's own 
Dark Angel, whose subterfuge has ended a reign of terror.  Dark
Damsel, could you tell our viewers a little more about how you 
captured the infamous 'Midnight Caller'?"
     The camera panned over to a young woman dressed in a tight 
dark grey and black costume.  Her face was mostly hidden by a cowl
and she stood in the shadows, as if unwilling to be exposed to the
light of the camera.  Shadows or not, there was no mistaking the
lovely rounded figure of the Hub City's most alluring crime-fighter.  
Those same curves had led more than one villain to underestimate 
the strength, skill and determination which resided within.
     She laughed, lightly, as if at a joke.  "Oh, I'd hardly
call it a 'reign of terror'.  And Kirby Phillips, the man you
know as the 'Midnight Caller' is hardly infamous except, 
perhaps, in the minds of those with expensive jewelry and, of 
course, those who insure said jewelry."
     "Still, Dark Damsel, the Midnight Caller has been a bane to
the law enforcement officers of this city for some months,"
the reporter strove to inject some drama into the story, 
"diverting much needed resources from other areas.  His capture
is bound to have repercussions far beyond the removal of one
criminal from the streets of the Hub City."
     Dark Damsel paused.  She would have preferred to have been on 
her way home to a luxurious bath.  This reporter, however, had
ambushed her as she left the Midnight Caller in the hands of
the police.  It would do her image little good to be seen as
cold and disdainful of the citizens she had sworn to help
protect.
     "This is correct."  She refused the reporter the use
of his name.  She was not familiar with him and she would not
allow him to use her presence to promote himself.  "That
is why I persuaded Lady Margot to aid me in this venture."
     "But Lady Margot's necklace alone is reputed to be 
worth a quarter of a million dollars."  The reporter's voice
turned a little hard.  "If your plan had failed . . ."  He
left it to the viewers' imagination to consider just what 
would have happened.
     Dark Damsel frowned inwardly.  This man was a less than
reputable reporter.  He sounded as if he worked for a tabloid
news show.  She smiled, not feeling like smiling at all.
     "If my plan had failed," she said sweetly, "then Kirby
Phillips would now be in the possession of a thousand dollars
worth of fake jewels."
     The reported laughed.  "So," he managed, "the notorious
Midnight Caller, the 'terror of the Hub City', risked and lost 
his liberty for imitation stones.  One wonders how he will live 
down this humiliation in the company of his peers, his new
housemates . . ." the reporter paused for dramatic effect,
and looked straight into the camera, "in The Big House."
     He turned to catch Dark Damsel's response, but she had taken
one step back, disgusted with the interview, and launched 
herself into the darkness.  The reporter didn't miss a beat.
     "Thank you, Dark Damsel, for your time."  The camera closed
in on his face, which receded back into the inset.
     "And thank you, Jake," the news anchor said as the inset
disappeared.  "Recapping:  The Midnight Caller, now identified
as Kirby Phillips, age 45, has been captured by Dark Damsel, 
whose ruse lured him out and into the arms of the law.  He may 
have been a good thief, but he wasn't all that smart after all.
The Hub City rests easier tonight.  To echo Jake Gowan:  Thank 
you, Dark Damsel.  And that's the news for the 14th of April, 
1993."
     Click.  
     Again images moved at super-human speed.
     Click.
     "Good evening ladies and gentlemen.  Here is the news for
tonight, June 24th, 1997.  The Photographer has struck again.
This criminal, known by his penchant for leaving behind a 
photograph of the items he steals--for insurance purposes?--has
made his biggest haul to date.  Police sources estimate the
loss to Hamilton Wilson to be in the neighbourhood of $350,000.
Rumour has it that Dark Damsel has been called in . . ."
     Click.  The screen went black.
     "Yes!"  The word was a sibilant whisper filled with 
triumph.

     "Commissioner Delcourt?"
     Commissioner Delcourt spun around in his chair.  He had 
heard nothing.
     "Dark Damsel!"
     The Commissioner looked up at the beautiful young woman
before him and wondered what would lead such a person to hide
behind a mask and become a crime-fighter.  A young woman of
her age should be married and raising a family . . . .  He broke
off that thought.  If any of the women on the force knew he
even *thought* like that in this day and age, there would be no
end of trouble.
     "I received your summons and here I am, sir."  Dark Damsel
spoke respectfully to the man who had been her father's partner,
who she called "Uncle", and who was now the Commissioner of 
Police in the Hub City.
     "Um, yes.  You've heard of 'The Photographer', no doubt."
The Commissioner nodded at the sudden interest in her eyes.
"As you know he is a clever man, never leaving any clues behind,
but this time he made a mistake."
     "A mistake, sir?"  It was now Dark Damsel, fighter of crime, 
who spoke to the police official.
     "Maybe.  We found this in Hamilton Wilson's condo."  He
pointed to a bit of torn newspaper sealed in a plastic evidence
bag.
     Dark Damsel picked it up and looked closely at it.  It was a
picture of an older woman wearing a diamond necklace.  The 
caption read:  "Lady Margot and her famous necklace will be in 
the Hub City on the 29th for the opening of the new City Opera, a 
project dear to the heart of the well known philanthropist.
Story on page 26."
     "Lady Margot!" Dark Damsel exclaimed.
     "Indeed, Dark Damsel, Lady Margot.  I recalled how her help
allowed you to catch Kirby Phillips some years ago, and thought 
that you should know about this."
     "Yes, I owe her for that one."  Dark Damsel cast her mind
back to the night, three years ago, when she had asked Lady
Margot's help.  Lady Margot had been willing, even to the point
of risking her jewelry.  "I have faith in you," she had told
Dark Damsel.  Dark Damsel had appreciated the gesture but had 
assured the woman that this would not be necessary.  Her thoughts 
jumped back to the present.
     "Commissioner.  Do you happen to know if Kirby . . ."
     "Still in prison, Dark Damsel," the older man replied at 
once, knowing that this question was bound to come up.  "No, 
Kirby Phillips is not 'The Photographer'.  His alibi is 
iron-bar solid."
     "I'll see Lady Margot when she arrives.  I'd hate to
have anything happen to her here in the Hub City, Commissioner.
I appreciate your informing me."  Dark Damsel turned to leave.
     "We've already warned her, but she refuses to either
stay away or to leave her jewels behind.  We will be placing
her under surveilance, hoping to catch this Photographer in 
the act, but I thought that informing you was the least I could 
do, Dark Damsel, after all the help you've given to the Hub City.  
I'll rest easier knowing that you are on the case as well."

     The motorcycle purred between her legs, vibrating in such 
a lovely way.  It would be a cold day in hell before she would 
give it up, she knew.  The Belton mansion, where Lady Margot was 
staying, was just up ahead and Dark Damsel slowed.  She would 
have to talk with the Belton's through their securi-cam in order 
to be let into the grounds.  They would then allow the gate to 
open for . . .
     Dark Damsel stared.  The driveway gate was ajar!  She
cut the engine and glided to a halt just before the gate.
Peering through the bars she caught sight of the bodies
of the guard dogs which prowled the grounds at night.
     Across the street sat an unmarked police car, its 
occupants slumped over as if asleep.  It took but a moment 
to ascertain that they were alive, merely rendered unconscious.
     Like a ghost, the Dark Angel of the Hub City slipped
through the gate and into the deeper shadows.  Every sense
was on high alert as she approached the house.  The front
door stood half open.  Dark Damsel feared the worst.  She 
silently climbed the steps and slipped across the landing.
The blackness beyond the half open door awaited like a 
menacing beast.
     With flash in hand, the Dark Angel moved through
the door.  Silence.  Dark silence.  Dark Damsel reached for
her belt pouch and pulled out the special goggles which
she had acquired the previous year.  The infrared light
in her hand turned the interior of the house bright when
viewed through the goggles.  
     As Dark Damsel made her way towards the living room, 
something caught her attention.  She stopped and listened
carefully.  Breathing.  Laboured breathing.  She shone the
light into the living room and froze in shock.  There were 
the Beltons and Lady Margot, tied to chairs.  She was
about to move forward when a bright flash from the study
almost blinded her.  She heard the click-whirr of a camera.
     The Photographer.  She wasn't too late!  A slow smile
came over her face.  One night on the job and she had the
criminal already.  Delcourt wouldn't be able to help but be
impressed, she thought.
     Like a wraith Dark Damsel moved across the floor to the
study.  A soft glow of light highlighted a diamond necklace
on the desk.  A man in close fitting black garb stood
over it, camera at the ready.
     Flash.  Dark Damsel stepped into the room.  The 
Photographer's eyes would be unable to see her in the shadows.  
Her hand reached for her cuffs.
     "Hands behind your . . . ahh!"  
     The Photographer had spun in the instant she spoke and
his camera flashed, blinding Dark Damsel.  She blinked twice then
grunted in pain as his kick knocked the cuffs from her hand.
     Hearing a whisper of movement, Dark Damsel jumped back,
barely avoiding the follow-up.  She needed time and backed into
the large foyer.  Her assailant was on her in an instant, 
reaching for her.  She grabbed his arm, turned and tossed him
to the floor but he was up in an instant, facing her, in a
fighting stance.
     This was no ordinary cat-burglar, Dark Damsel knew.  This
was a trained fighter.  In the dim light she smiled to 
distract him (she had faced trained fighters before), then 
whipped forward and around with a kick.  The Photographer 
dropped under her kick and swept out with his own legs, knocking 
her supporting leg out from under her.
    "Oww!"  The cry was torn from her as she landed on her 
shapely ass.
     The two rose quickly, almost together, but the Photographer
was just that shade faster and Dark Damsel cried out in pain as 
his kick caught her right elbow and sent her crashing into the 
wall.  She spun around and faced him once more, her right arm 
hanging uselessly at her side, jolting, disconcerting lances of
pain distracting her.
     I've got to end this quickly, she thought, and feinted
left then moved right.  The Photographer fell for the feint
and she elbowed him in the back, cherishing the gasp of pain
which issued forth as he crashed to the floor.
     Dark Damsel's sense of fair-play almost prevented her from
kicking the man while he was down, but the knowledge that
she was now fighting under a tremendous handicap overcame
that sense.  She kicked, only to feel her foot caught and 
thrown to her left, sending her careening into the banister.
She groaned as her right arm took the brunt of the hit.
     Before she could recover, the Photographer struck her
left thigh and she fell to the floor thinking, irrelevantly,
that there was going to be quite a bruise there in the morning.
     "Don't move!" the man hissed, holding something in front
of him.  
     The bastard had a gun.  Dark Damsel froze.  Flash.  It was
the camera.  How he'd kept hold of it through the fight, she
didn't know.  But she was blinded.  She pulled the goggles off,
unable to face the prospect of another flash through them.  
She heard quick footfalls.  He'd used the distraction to make 
his escape.
     Dark Damsel rubbed at her eyes as she slowly regained
her feet.  Her right arm was still useless.  Click.
     "What?"  Damn.  She'd been more disoriented that she'd
thought.  He hadn't left the house, he'd merely returned to
the study and grabbed her cuffs.  Click.  She was cuffed
to the bannister by her left wrist.  Her right arm still wasn't
working and her left thigh was a sea of pain.  He had her!
     The Photographer moved against her too close and too
quickly for her to knee him in the groin.  He fumbled at her
neck for a moment then stepped back.  Flash.
     "You look quite lovely in the necklace, my dear," the
Photographer whispered.
     "Bastard!"  She had the necklace, but was powerless to
prevent him from taking it again.  Dark Damsel quivered in
impotent fury.
     Her assailant moved forward and she tried a final kick,
but was rewarded with a cruel slap across the face which 
carried power and stung like blazes.  The necklace was 
unclasped and Dark Damsel hung from her wrist, defeated.
     "And now for a souvenir," the Photographer laughed
in that same whisper.  It was done so she would never be
able to identify his voice, she knew.  Flash.
     In her mind's eye she could see the picture.  Dark Damsel,
cuffed, and beaten.  It wasn't a pretty thought.  She closed
her eyes.
     Her eyes snapped open again as she felt him removing her
cowl. "No!" she shouted and tried to get away.  It was no use
and soon the Photographer was the proud possessor of her cowl,
her means of disguise.  She knew what was coming next and steeled 
herself for the flash.
     "Just one more thing, Dark Damsel."  She waited expectantly,
head lowered against this final indignity.  Dark Damsel was
finished, she knew.  Once her identity was known she would be
a target for every crook she'd ever put away and all of those
who'd love to be known as the one who had killed Dark Damsel.  
She closed her eyes against the flash to come.
     Fingers closed in her hair and drew her head back.
     "Wha . . ."  
     Her cry was muffled as the Photographer kissed her hard
on the mouth, his tongue invading, probing.  His other hand
stroked her breast through her costume.
     Dark Damsel tried to squirm away from the kiss, but the
Photographer was too strong.  So she gave up, surrendering
herself to the long, probing kiss and the stroking.  Finally
he released her and stepped back, chuckling as her breath came
in gasps.
     "Enjoyed that, did you?" he whispered to her.
     "No!"  Dark Damsel retorted defiantly.
     "Well, I did.  You've quite a body, there.  The kind a
man would love to run his hands over . . . . Now there's a
thought."  With that the Photographer hefted her breasts with
his hands.  "Nice weight, nice indeed."  He ran his hands down
her body from neck to thighs, then he stepped back.
     "Say good-bye, Dark Damsel."
     "You're going to kill me?"  She tried to find his eyes
in the dark, despair almost overcoming her.
     "Kill you?" the man seemed genuinely surprised.  "I'm a
thief, not a murderer.  I have what I wanted, that and a
souvenir besides."  He leaned forward and gave her a quick
kiss on the cheek.  "A couple of souvenirs."
     He was gone and she was still handcuffed to the 
bannister.  However, feeling was returning to her damaged arm
and she was able to find the key to the cuffs in her belt 
pouch.

     There was enough light coming through the living room 
window to guide her to Lady Margot.  She untied the woman's gag.  
Lady Margot remained calm.
     "Who is it?"
     "It's me, Lady Margot, Dark Damsel," the hurting heroine
whispered, low enough so that the Beltons wouldn't hear.  Those
two were tied to chairs some feet away.
     "Dark Damsel!" Her voice was warm with a friendship that
made Dark Damsel want to hide, but likewise low.  "Did you get 
him?"
     "I . . . I," Dark Damsel didn't know how to tell her.  "I'm
sorry, Lady Margot," she finally blurted out, "he got me.  And
he got your necklace, I'm afraid."
     "Are you all right?" Lady Margot asked, ignoring the loss
of her $300,000 necklace.
     "No, I'm not." Dark Damsel's voice broke slightly as she 
fumbled with the ropes binding Lady Margot.  The only other
sound was made by the Belton's breathing.
     "Poor dear.  Turn on the light.  It'll be easier."
     "I, I can't.  He took my cowl.  What am I going to do?"
Dark Damsel couldn't think.
     Lady Margot, however, could.  "You take my shawl, young
woman.  Untie me and leave.  I'll wait a few minutes then call
the police and untie the Belton's.  It'll be okay, you'll see.
My shawl is in the front closet, first hanger.  Ahh, thank you."
Lady Margot rubbed her wrists, coaxing back lost circulation.
"Go now."
     Tears were streaming down Dark Damsel's face.  "Thank you,
Lady Margot.  She hugged the older woman tightly, then limped
out of the room.
 
     The motorcycle wouldn't start.  
     "Damn, that bastard took my battery," Dark Damsel snarled.
She pushed the cycle onto the Belton's grounds.  She would
pick it up later.  Pulling a package from the saddlebags, she
wondered how she was going to get home, then spun around as 
a growl interrupted her thoughts.  The dogs!
     Dark Damsel limped quickly to the gate and swung it closed
behind her just as a very woozy pooch growled again just
on the other side.  Apparently the dogs had only been
tranquilized, not killed.  A light appeared in the house.
     She had only a few minutes, she knew and she began limping 
down the street as fast as she could, pulling her raincoat from 
the package as she walked.  
     Taking the first corner she flattened herself against a
wall as two police cars screamed by, lights flashing.  She 
breathed a sigh of relief as they did not even slow until
past her.

     Dark Damsel stepped off the subway train several
stops before the one she would normally take.  She was being
followed, she knew.  It was a feeling that just wouldn't go 
away--one she had felt many times before and ignored only once,
much to her regret.
     Lady Margot's shawl was tight around her head, somewhat
shading her eyes and covering her face.  Her hair had been
tucked inside the raincoat, whose collar had been turned up.
The only thing which might give her away were her costume
covered legs and boots, but no one was paying much attention
to anyone else.
     The Damsel would have liked to confront her shadower, who
was, she believed, in the car behind hers, but to do so without
cowl might be disastrous.  "The better part of valour is
discretion", she muttered to herself, "with which better part
I have saved my identity."

     The old warehouse had a secret room.  It had been the
hideaway of a criminal who had been captured by Dark Damsel.  On
his subsequent transport to jail he had made a bid for escape.
It had ended with his death and the injury of the two policemen
accompanying him.  Dark Damsel had seen the advantage of not 
reporting the room to the police--there had been no incriminating 
evidence within anyway--instead taking over the hideaway herself.
It had seemed a good idea at the time and seemed even more of
one now.
     Although she had made an effort to shake any shadower, she
felt that she had not been successful.  It would be a pity to
lose this place, but she had two others like it.
     Dark Damsel climbed the fire escape and slipped through an
unlocked window.  In moments she was in her room.  She sat
down in an overstuffed chair and, for the first time since
meeting 'The Photographer', she relaxed.
     "Ten minutes, long enough," she groaned.  It was the
work of only two more minutes to grab her spare costume, 
her street clothes and be ready to go.  A thought hit her
and she grinned.  She climbed on the small table and attached
her mini-camera to a rafter.  She set it for 'motion detection',
hit the delay, then moved quickly out of the room.
     If it was 'the Photographer', who was following her,
perhaps she could catch him on film--a fitting irony, she 
thought.  In any event, she would know if anyone had discovered
her hideaway.

     From the roof of a neighbouring building a quiet figure 
watched as Dark Damsel slipped down the escape and disappeared into
the shadows.  Her limp was barely noticeable.
     "So, Dark Damsel, this is where you hang your cowl," the voice
was low, triumphant.  "Let's just take a little look-see."