Neither of the ghosts were Providence.
I stopped at a random bar. I put my wallet on the counter and pulled money out of it to pay for drinks. It was stuffed with twenties; I’d gone to the bank first. I made sure everyone could see my money. I got drunk and then I left. I heard men following me.
I staggered into an alley and fumbled my mask on. When I turned to face them, they had knives in their hands. They dropped them at the sight of my mask and ran. They didn’t even make it to the street before the ghosts pulled them deeper into the alley.
The ghosts weren’t Providence.
Sometimes I didn’t even need a crime to release the ghosts. I was stopped at a red light when I was rear-ended by a taxi driver. He got out of his car saying something about the brakes. I got out of mine screaming,
