Hells Messenger

Fiona stepped into Nelson & Murdock and saw Karen was at her desk, flipping through a file, but when she looked up and saw Fiona, she immediately set it aside.

"Hey," Karen greeted, offering a small smile. "You okay?"

Fiona sighed, dropping into the chair across from her. "I don’t know. I just needed to get out of my apartment for a bit."

Karen nodded, watching her closely. "Still no word from Matt?"

"Foggy says he's fine, but…" Fiona trailed off, chewing the inside of her cheek. "I don’t know. I can’t shake this feeling."

Karen leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. "Matt's tough. He’s been through a lot, and he always bounces back."

"Yeah, but the last time I saw him, before he left Josie’s… the way he kissed me, it felt different. Like he was trying to tell me something without actually saying it." Fiona exhaled sharply. "And now, suddenly, he’s hurt, and I don’t even know what happened."

Karen hesitated, then reached across the desk to squeeze Fiona’s hand. "Foggy’s looking out for him. If there was something seriously wrong, you’d know."

Fiona gave a small nod, but the unease still sat heavy in her chest. She needed to focus on something else. "What about you? Have you found anything new on Fisk?"

Karen perked up at that, grabbing the file she had been looking at earlier. "Actually, yeah. I went to the county clerk’s office to look into any records tied to him, and I found something weird."

Fiona leaned in, intrigued. "Weird how?"

Karen flipped the file open. "According to official records, Fisk’s mother, Marlene Vistain, got remarried."

Fiona frowned. "Okay? What’s weird about that?"

Karen met her eyes. "She got remarried two years after she supposedly died."

Fiona blinked. "Wait—what?"

Karen nodded. "The death certificate was either faked, or something got buried so deep no one was supposed to find it. But either way, she’s alive. I tracked her down—she’s living in a care facility upstate."

Fiona sat back, absorbing the information. "So Fisk has been lying about his past."

"Looks like it," Karen said. "And if his mother is still alive, she might know things. About him, about his past, maybe even about his father."

Fiona thought about it for a moment, then stood up, grabbing her coat. "Guess we’re taking a trip upstate."

Karen grinned, already reaching for her bag. "Let’s go find out what Fisk is hiding."

The taxi ride to the care facility was quiet, both Fiona and Karen focused on the plan ahead. The place was impressive, upscale and pristine, nothing like the standard retirement homes they had expected. As they stepped inside, the air smelled like fresh linen and faintly of lavender.

They approached the front desk, where a man in a pressed uniform greeted them with a polite nod.

“We’re looking into a place for our mother,” Karen said smoothly, signing in under false names.

“Admissions is currently on another tour. Shouldn’t be too long,” the man replied.

“Thank you,” Fiona said, flashing him a polite smile before she and Karen walked off.

The moment they were out of earshot, Karen exhaled, glancing around. “Jeez, this place is fancy.”

“I know,” Fiona murmured, picking up a pamphlet. “I wish I could check myself in.”

Karen chuckled. “Hey, I think the rooms are upstairs.”

Fiona took a quick glance at the front desk to make sure the man wasn’t paying attention before nodding. The two of them hurried up the stairs, keeping their steps light.

“Do we even know what room she’s in?” Fiona asked in a hushed voice.

“No, but…” Karen gestured to a nameplate outside one of the doors. “They have names listed.”

They moved quickly down the hall, scanning the labels until they found it.

Vistain, M.

Fiona turned to Karen. “You wanna do the honors?”

Karen nodded and knocked softly.

“Come in,” a gentle voice called from inside.

Sharing a quick glance, they stepped in, careful to close the door behind them. The room was spacious and well-kept, decorated with soft pastels and framed photographs. In front of the television, an elderly woman sat in a wheelchair, her white hair neatly styled. She turned to them with a kind smile.

“Is it time?” she asked expectantly.

Karen and Fiona exchanged confused looks. “Time for what?” Karen asked.

“You know what,” Marlene said, adjusting her glasses. “You bring it before I go to bed every night.” Her eyes squinted slightly, taking them in. “Oh… I don’t know you, do I?”

Fiona stepped forward, offering a warm smile. “No, ma’am. We just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“Just to see how you like living here,” Karen added.

“Oh, well, it’s very nice,” Marlene said, clasping her hands in her lap.

“How long have you been here?” Karen asked.

“A while now,” she mused. “Ever since my husband passed.”

Her voice drifted as if she had fallen into a memory.

“Mrs. Vistain?” Fiona prompted gently.

Marlene blinked, then smiled again. “Is it time?”

Karen exhaled. “Okay… uh, Mrs. Vistain, your husband—was that your first marriage?”

“Arthur?” Marlene chuckled. “Lord, no. He was my third. Kept his name, thought it sounded like royalty. I always loved that.” She sighed wistfully. “Martin was my second. Such a beautiful man. But confused… by other men.”

Fiona and Karen glanced at each other, fighting back the urge to laugh.

“What about your first husband?” Fiona asked.

Marlene’s expression dimmed slightly. “He tried so hard… but he drank, you know. I didn’t. Never touched a drop. Not once, no.”

“And did you have any children with your first husband?” Karen asked.

Marlene didn’t respond at first, her eyes unfocused as though she were lost in time. Fiona hesitated before stepping closer.

“Mrs. Vistain?”

That seemed to bring her back. A soft, tender smile touched her lips. “He’s such a good boy. Comes to see me every weekend. He’s gentle, sweet. Not like his father.”

Karen leaned in. “And what’s his name? Your son?”

“Wilson,” she said.

Fiona felt her stomach drop. “Wilson Fisk?”

Marlene’s smile faltered, her fingers tightening around the arms of her wheelchair. “I haven’t used that name since…”

She trailed off, her voice trembling slightly.

“It wasn’t his fault,” she whispered. “His father… he was… Wilson just wanted him to stop. It wasn’t his fault what he did.”

Fiona and Karen exchanged a glance, realization hitting them both at once.

“Mrs. Vistain,” Karen said gently, “what did your son do?”

And with a deep, shuddering breath, Marlene Vistain told them the story of how Wilson Fisk killed his father.

• • • • • • •

The morning light was just starting to warm the streets as Fiona stood outside Matt’s apartment, knocking firmly on the door.

“Matty, it’s me!” she called, knocking again. “I brought you presents!”

There was a pause before she heard the familiar sounds of locks clicking, and then the door creaked open. Matt stood there in a t-shirt and sweats, his face bruised, a cut splitting his lower lip, and another just above his eyebrow.

Fiona’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh my god, Matty. Are you okay? Does it hurt?” she asked, stepping inside as he turned away.

“Only whenever I breathe,” he muttered.

She winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had you get up to answer the door.”

As she walked further into the apartment, her gaze landed on the see-through door that separated his bedroom from the rest of the loft. The glass was cracked, a hole punched through it like someone had fallen through it.

Her brow furrowed. “Um… what happened to the door?”

“Nothing,” Matt said quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

She hesitated at his clipped tone but let it go as he moved toward the fridge, grabbing a beer and popping it open.

“Little early for that, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Depends on what kind of day you’re having.” He took a sip and glanced at her. “You want one?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

Instead, she crossed the room and sat across from him at the dining table, watching him carefully. He looked exhausted, not just physically, but something deeper, something heavier weighing on him.

“Matt, are you sure you’re okay?” she asked softly.

“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly.

Fiona sighed, standing up and stepping between his legs, her hands ghosting over the bruises on his face. “Matty, if something else is going on, you can talk to me.”

Matt closed his eyes for a moment before reaching up to take her hands, pulling them away from his face. “Nothing is going on.”

The distance in his voice stung. Fiona frowned, stepping back and settling into the chair across from him. “Okay,” she said slowly, deciding to let it drop. “Well, Karen and I found something about Fisk.”

Matt rubbed at his temple. “What?”

“Well, really, Karen found it. A misfiled marriage certificate at the county clerk’s office. Fisk’s mother, Marlene? She didn’t die like his records say. She got remarried two years later.”

Matt sat up slightly. “She’s still alive?”

“Yeah. She’s at a care facility upstate. Karen and I went to see her last night.”

Matt tensed instantly, his grip tightening around the beer bottle. “Fi, Fisk could have people watching.”

“We didn’t use our real names,” she reassured him.

“You should have talked to me or Foggy before you two ran off like that,” he said.

Fiona exhaled sharply, her patience thinning. “Yeah, well, you two weren’t answering your phones.”

Matt went quiet at that because he knew it was true. He’d shut them all out.

“Did you speak to her?” he finally asked. “Fisk’s mother?”

“Yeah, and she’s not really all there, but… Matt, she told us Fisk killed his father when he was twelve. That he bashed his head in with a hammer. And that they covered it up.”

Matt let out a slow breath, taking that in. “He was a minor. That’s not going to be enough.”

“No, not to have him arrested,” Fiona agreed. “But it proves he’s lying. It proves he has the power to alter his own records. This could get people looking at him more closely.”

Matt hesitated. “From an old woman who’s not all there? Come on, you’re a better journalist than that.”

Fiona felt her stomach drop. “If you or Foggy have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Matt sighed, running a hand down his face. “Did you… did you talk to Foggy?”

“No. Not since yesterday when he was here making up some story about your car accident.”

Matt clenched his jaw. “Okay. Go find Foggy and tell him what you found. And tell him… tell him that I said—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “No, don’t bother. Just tell him what you found.”

Fiona stared at him for a long moment. “No, Matty. Karen can tell him. I just want you to talk to me.”

“Fiona—”

She stood before he could finish, walking over to the small box she’d carried in with her and bringing it back to the table.

“I got you something from that bakery on 8th,” she said, opening the box. Inside were cupcakes, heart-shaped with yellow icing. “I’m only now realizing that you can’t see that it says ‘Get Well Soon’ and that I paid extra for that for no reason.”

Matt finally cracked a small smile. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Fiona smiled, but the concern in her eyes didn’t fade. “Matt, really. Whatever is going on, you can tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Matt shook his head. “No. It’s nothing. Really, Fi—you should go. I’ll be okay.”

She hesitated, not wanting to leave. Everything about the way he was acting felt off. But she also knew he was trying to tell her, in his own way, that he needed space.

“Okay,” she murmured, brushing off her pants before grabbing her purse. “Call me. Please. If you need anything.”

“I will,” he nodded, but she wasn’t sure if she believed him.

Fiona let out a quiet sigh as she stepped toward the door. When she reached it, she hesitated, turning back to look at him. He was still sitting at the table, shoulders tense, eyes unfocused, lost in something she couldn’t reach.

“Matty,” she said softly.

His gaze lifted toward her. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

For the first time since she arrived, something in his face softened. “I love you too.”

She lingered just a moment longer before slipping out the door, leaving Matt alone with his thoughts.

• • • • • • •

Fiona walked into Josie’s that night, spotting Foggy sitting alone at the bar with a half-empty glass and a bottle beside him. She sighed and made her way over, sliding onto the stool next to him.

“You know, you’re not being very brotherly,” she said, nudging his arm.

Foggy let out a tired scoff. “What did I do now?”

“I’ve been calling you. Did you get any of my messages?”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“And what?” He poured himself another drink. “You got a crazy old lady with a story about a young Willie Fisk beating his father with a hammer.”

“Foggy, he killed his father. He beat him to death. That’s—”

“It was forty-some years ago, Fiona. He was twelve.”

Fiona stared at him, disbelief settling in. “Foggy! Why are you—” She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “His mother is supposed to be dead. We have proof he was lying.”

“You know who we’re dealing with. It won’t be enough,” he muttered, taking another sip.

“God, you sound just like Matt.”

That made Foggy pause. He turned to her, frowning. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah. After you yelled at me about not going to see him,” she said pointedly. “He asked if I had talked to you.”

“He did?”

“Foggy, what happened? And please don’t tell me it was a car accident.”

Foggy tensed, his grip tightening around the glass. “Ask him.”

“I did ask him.”

“What’d he say?”

Fiona hesitated before repeating it. “Just that it was his fault.”

Foggy scoffed. “Got that right.”

She studied him carefully, her frustration rising. “Okay, seriously, what is going on with you two? Why are you so mad at him?”

Foggy let out a slow breath and downed the rest of his drink. “We’re going through a rough patch.”

Fiona frowned. “Karen said your sign at the office was in the trash.”

“A very rough patch,” he muttered.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, nodding. “But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s—”

“Foggy, do not say ‘it’s complicated,’ or I will scream,” she warned.

He slammed his hand down on the counter, making her flinch. “It’s personal!” His voice was sharp, the weight of something unspoken pressing between them. “It’s personal, okay?”

Fiona swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Foggy,” she said quietly, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. “I’m your sister.”

He looked at her then, and for a second, she saw it—something breaking behind his eyes. But he didn’t say anything.

Fiona clenched her jaw, blinking back tears as she grabbed her bag. Without another word, she turned and stormed out, leaving him alone with his drink.

Fiona walked with her head down, arms wrapped tightly around herself as the tears kept falling, no matter how hard she tried to stop them. Her breath came out shaky, her chest tight, like she couldn’t get enough air. She sniffled, wiping roughly at her face, but it didn’t do much good. Everything felt too heavy—Foggy wouldn’t talk to her, Matt was hurt and pushing her away, and Fisk kept winning. No matter what they did, no matter how hard they fought, he was always three steps ahead, slipping through their fingers like smoke.

She could barely see through her tears as she pulled out her phone, scrolling blindly until she found Karen’s name. Her fingers shook as she pressed the call button and brought the phone to her ear, biting down on her lip to keep from sobbing.

Karen picked up after two rings. “Hey, what’s up?”

Fiona opened her mouth to answer, but her voice broke before she could get the words out. A strangled sob slipped out instead, and she pressed a hand against her mouth, trying to pull herself together.

“Fiona?” Karen’s voice immediately sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Fiona sucked in a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut. “I talked to Foggy,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s—he’s so mad, Karen, and he won’t talk to me, and Matt—” She let out another quiet sob, pressing her palm against her forehead like she could hold herself together. “Matt’s hurt, and he won’t even tell me the truth about what happened to him. I just—I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Oh, Fi,” Karen said gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Fiona wiped furiously at her tears, even though they wouldn’t stop. “And Fisk, he—he just wins, Karen. Every time. No matter what we do, he’s always one step ahead. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t think any of it even matters.”

Karen was silent for a second, like she was letting her catch her breath. Then she said, firm but soft, “Yes, it does matter. And you can do this.”

Fiona let out a broken laugh, shaking her head. “How? How, Karen? It’s like we’re running in circles.” Her breath hitched again, and she wiped at her face again, her whole body trembling.

“I know it feels that way,” Karen said, her voice steady. “But you’re not alone, okay? We’re in this together. And Fisk doesn’t get to scare us into giving up. He doesn’t get to win.”

Fiona sniffled, nodding to herself even though Karen couldn’t see her.

“Elena didn’t give up,” Karen continued. “And neither will we.”

Fiona squeezed her eyes shut, trying to believe her. “Okay.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Karen sighed in relief. “You gonna be okay?”

Fiona took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she said, though her voice still wavered.

“Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“I will,” Fiona promised. “Night, Karen.”

“Night.”

She ended the call, stuffing her phone into her pocket as she wiped at her face again. She had reached her apartment building without even realizing it, her mind still scattered. She sniffled, fishing out her keys, her hands still trembling.

Her breath was still unsteady as she slipped a key into the lock, exhaling shakily.

And then—

A hand clamped over her mouth.

Fiona barely had time to let out a muffled scream before she was yanked backward, her keys slipping from her fingers and hitting the ground with a sharp clatter. She kicked out wildly, twisting, struggling, but the grip on her was too strong.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she was dragged into the shadows.