Dark
There’s no moon tonight.
The sky is clouded like thick blue ink save a pocket of stars to Frank’s east. He’s definitely not in New York – where the light from sleek high rises and Time Square billboards overtakes his senses. No, this place – with its towering mountains and dense, thick, trees – reminds his of Afghanistan in a way. Maybe it’s the stillness that hovers in the air.
He inhales quietly, breathing in the crisp, cold.
Frank wouldn’t have taken Karen for the woodsy type. Especially not as woodsy as the Olympic National Forest. Then again, it makes sense if you examine the little details. She grew up in Vermont after all.
(A detail he was unaware of until the Counselor told him. A detail he should have asked Karen directly; instead, Frank wound up cross examining her best friend as they nursed mugs of coffee in a corner booth at The Big Spoon. He still can’t believe Nelson dumped three packets of Splenda in his cup. As if the lawyer only ordered black coffee instead of a latte to appease the big, bad Punisher.)
Frank exhales, studying the path before him.
Thank God for Brett Mahoney. For looking the other way when Frank showed up at Karen’s apartment building. The detective distracted NYPD forensics long enough for Frank to slide under the caution tape and survey the scene. While Mahoney’s team searched the stairwell for fingerprints, Frank was able to find the gun safe Karen kept at the back of her bookshelf. Find it and realize it was open. She’d heard about the bounty on her head and acted.
Atta girl.
Karen’s gun was missing from the apartment – and it was the only thing missing. Forensics hadn’t scooped it up when they seized the long arm and silencer Fisk’s thug was carrying. Karen was – is – alive. Fisk’s hired hands didn’t get to her.
He marches forward. Makes sure to leave no footprints on the dirt path. The old man at the convenience store at the end of the highway said the cabin was a few miles in the forest. Said someone was renting it from him.
“Beautiful woman. Probably a writer. Always has a notebook with her. Sits alone drinking her coffee at the bench over there.”
Frank is grateful for the man’s intel but worries he may have shared that information with others. He walks on with a sense of urgency.
Come on Karen. Please be here. Please –
He stops, eyes falling on the cabin at the end of the clearing. There in the window – like a beacon in the dark – is a vase of white roses.
She’s here.