Hell's Kitchen at night
Billy sits in front of the empty desk in his room. His gaze rests on something in particular. he's in his own thoughts for a time he couldn't say. He doesn't remember buying this desk. He remembers his apartment, he remembers it quite well and yet, the presence of a small wooden desk in the corner of his room is an absolute mystery. It probably came with the building he'd bought, the one that was to serve as his company's premises. He hasn't dared go there yet. He vaguely remembers the early days of Anvil, he remembers the men he may have used to hire. But in any case, his company was dead in the water. He had, barely, started. Where he found the financing is actually equally vague.
His memories are like a large lightless attic in which he can't move, he bumps, he stumbles and every time he tries to light a place, he finds himself stuck in an even darker room.
But what he's been staring at for the past few long minutes is something else again. Something else he'd forgotten, and which fell on his head like a stone literally dropped from the sky. His mother's medical records. His mother, the one who'd abandoned him, the one he'd always had a deep-seated hatred for and who often haunted his thoughts, whether out of curiosity, anger or the desire to ask questions. He'd found her. And he can't even remember that. How did he find out about it? A phone call he received one evening from the hospital, informing him that Carla Russo had changed rooms. He is now, apparently, the number to call, the only number.
He asked questions that seemed aberrant, he wanted to shout that it was impossible, that they didn't know what they were talking about, that he doesn't have a mother and that this bad joke wasn't funny. But Billy remained silent, nodding from time to time before hanging up with a common 'Thanks for letting me know, have a nice day.', as if everything was normal. Because Billy is like that, he had to learn it very early, he pretends.
Since then, he couldn't bring himself to go see her. He's been to the hospital, a few times, but he stupidly stayed outside and never managed to get in. It's because he doesn't like the idea of her recognizing him while he does not. He is sure he's already seen her, that he's already experienced this moment when for the first time in years he finds the woman who gave birth to him, only to reject him immediately after, and it's unbearable for him not to remember that moment. Not knowing what he said to her or what he did to her. He's not naive, he's well aware of what he's capable of. He's not deluding himself. But maybe he hasn't done anything, maybe he hasn't even spoken to her, maybe. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn't even really tried to find out what state she's in; it looked bad enough, possibly, she doesn't remember their interactions either. Not a reassuring thought, though.
Suddenly, his phone vibrates. His eyes are drawn to a masked number, the source of which he suspects. Thank God, a good distraction like he likes. Not that loneliness and his thoughts might end up eating him up inside, but, who knows.
"Russo." He says, picking up the phone.
"Am I bothering you, Bill?"
Billy smiles at Frank's deep voice. Maybe he shouldn't smile, but he knows that slight breathlessness, that rocky voice and unnaturally calm tone. That's something he knows, something he remembers.
"Never, brother."
"I've got the situation under control but... there's this red ninja who's starting to bust my balls. I think I don't mind if you come along."
"Where are you? Are you in danger?"
"No, I'm managing, I'd like it to last. But I don't want it to suck for you."
"Frankie, you know I'll always fly to your rescue."
"Let's not exaggerate."
Billy smiles at Frank's light laughter on the other end.
"Give me the address." Billy frowns when Frank answers nothing to that. He can hear a nervous nose blow. "Frank, don't push me away. Will you do that? You called me. Give me the address." Nothing again. "I... I want to see them all die, too."
"I know." Frank finally says. He gives him the address before sniffing. "I'm on the roof. Put on a balaclava."
Billy doesn't wait a second longer to suit up to join him.
The first thing he notices when he arrives on the scene is this man dressed in a red hero suit, tied to a large stone pole with chains, unconscious. Then he spots Frank, sitting nearby, a rifle in front of him, which he's loading. Billy approaches with a sure step. As requested, he wears a balaclava and an all-black outfit. He's brought knives and a gun, because he's Billy.
"Every time we went on deployment, I wondered if something crazy in the country was going to happen that we were going to miss. I've already imagined lots of stuff but a guy in a skin-tight suit with a stick playing vigilante, I'll admit it, I didn't see that coming."
Frank laughs as he stands up, giving Billy a brief hug. Billy hugs him back, closing his eyes to enjoy the familiar human warmth, though it lasts only a few barely perceptible seconds.
"That's the second time he's tried to stop me." Frank states. "He had it coming."
"Then why is he still alive?"
Frank frowns.
"He's not a bad guy. Just a stupid kid who meddles in things that are none of his business." Frank answers, causing Billy to nod. That's a Frank thing, good and bad people. Billy, on the other hand, can hardly tell the difference. Those who really deserve to live in his eyes are those who don't bother him too much or those who mean something to him... before there was Frank, Maria and the kids, now there's only Frank. But then again, just because he has a slightly skewed view of things doesn't mean he can't recognize when his impulses are wrong. Frank guides Billy to the edge, pointing to a bar across the street. "I've put bombs in the motorcycles, we'll just have to shoot them."
"How many are there?"
"I'm not sure." Suddenly, Red starts breathing harder, waking up. "He thinks I'm alone, it has to stay that way."
"Copy that."
Billy sits silently behind the post, on a low wall, so as not to be spotted. He looks at Frank, who positions himself in front of the man, resting his elbows on his knees.
As soon as he wakes up, the subject essentially turns to the gun Frank has taped in his hand. Billy observes the scene attentively, without making a sound, nodding in agreement with Frank's speech.
It's when Frank is interrupted by an old man that Matt finally hears it, the third heartbeat behind him, not Frank's, not the old man's. A slow, steady beat, so regular that he had a hard time noticing it. It must be said that he was very busy getting agitated and trying to reason with a man who seemed to have completely lost his mind. Or maybe, it's because of his head injury from his first meeting with the Punisher. But now that he has a moment to calm himself, he clearly hears it. Matt waits until Frank returns and the man is out of danger before lifting his chin.
"Who's there?"
Frank and Billy exchange curious glances.
"It's still me, are you having amnesia problems, Red?"
"There's someone behind me, isn't there? You're not alone, Frank."
This time it's Frank's heartbeat that gives him the clue, speeding up ever so slightly, as it does whenever someone lies.
"It's just you and me here. You'll have to make do."
"Who are you?" Daredevil asks in Billy's direction, unable to turn his head completly towards him.
"That's enough, Red, there's no one here. you're starting to sound crazy."
Billy frowns, how can he know? It's impossible, he's remained silent, motionless, as he knows so well how to do. Strangely enough, while Frank's heart has changed rhythm, taking on a more anxious pace, the other's hasn't, remaining constant and slow. Matt wonders if he was there the other times, if the Punisher isn't so alone after all, and if so, how many of them are with him? There's only one more person here, but are there more elsewhere?
Matt doesn't press the issue. Especially when Frank knocks Grotto to his knees. He's caught him, grabbed him, brought him here and now he'd like Matt to kill him. Never, never will he do that. Although he was preoccupied with his futile attempt to reason with Frank, the second heart began to change rhythm as well when Frank became agitated, as if he could sense what happened next. Yet, he didn't move, remaining in his place behind. His heart might also have been caught up in the adrenalin, naturally, but he didn't doubt Frank's abilities for a second.
Then it all happened extremely fast and Matt almost forgot about him. Until the situation spiraled out of control, as entire gangs, whose wrath Frank fanned by shooting their motorcycles, joined the party. Daredevil, however, managed to get the better of the situation, he got Frank and escaped with him. He had finally managed to get Frank, to regain the upper hand, he tried to escape from the building but as he was running with Frank unconscious on his shoulder, a sound caught his attention. He spotted a group of men attacking the old man from earlier. He had no choice but to stop, drop Frank's body and fight them.
That's when he heard him again. The other man was fighting his way through, not against him, but he wasn't on his side either. He didn't seem animated by the same burning hatred of Frank, he had a clear objective and although he didn't hold back his blows, he didn't linger on his victims.
"Frank..." He says, his voice low in a whisper. It's too late, Matt is caught up in the fight and can only hear what's happening on Frank's side. Billy leans over his friend's inert body. He shakes him, patting his cheek in vain. "Frankie, damn it..." Billy turns his head, frowning as he watches, a bit fascinated, the red devil put down one by one the gang with astonishing agility.
But Billy quickly pulls himself together, looping Frank's arm behind his shoulder and wrapping his arm around his waist, he lifts him to his feet with a muffled grunt as well. "Now it's time to get the hell out, you'll thank me later man..."
Daredevil, out of breath, rests his back against the wall. Frank has escaped, with the man, thanks to the man.
Frank has an ally.
Billy helps Frank sit on the chair in front of the dog, who looks at them, resting his head between his paws on the floor.
Frank grunts, unwillingly accepting Billy's help.
"I'm sorry, Bill... It wasn't supposed to happen like this, you shouldn't have been here."
How many times is he going to tell him that? Billy hates it, it pisses him off and the worst part is that he's repeated it over and over all the way here. Billy hates it because it makes him feel rejected. Frank doesn't realize that Billy doesn't know the difference between his friend who cares about him and his friend who just doesn't want him.
"Come on, stop it... a thank you is enough."
"Thank you." Frank says, smoothly. It doesn't close the wound he's dug by giving Billy the false impression that he isn't important to him, that he prefers it when he's not around, but it makes the tension in his neck and fingers disappear. Billy is content with this, as he always has been. Billy finds a chair a little further away, sitting down and letting all the air out of his lungs. Frank begins to examine his wounds, looking for something to stitch them up. "You should go home."
And here we go once more. The unpleasant twinge in Billy's heart reappears. He ignores it. He ignores it because it's normal. Billy doesn't even really know who he is to Frank anymore. It used to be easy for him to say he was part of the family, but there's no family anymore. He's no longer part of it but maybe he never was. Yes, maybe they were just idle words spoken by Maria, because Maria spoke them out of the kindness of her heart. Now that she's gone, there's no need for kindness.
Billy's shoulders move in a singular motion. Yet, he doesn't move from his chair. Despite all his efforts not to suffer, not to feel, despite the fact that he had sworn never to feel affection for the Castles, love, his brother sits opposite and he has no desire to leave him. He's the only person he has left. No, he's the only person he's ever had. Maybe he should open up to him, maybe if he talks...
Suddenly, an absurd idea occurs to Billy ; what if he talks to him about his amnesia, confides in him about his wounds, his memory lapses, his worries, his mother, Anvil, and what if...
"Frank, I..."
"Bill, listen." Frank says, cutting him off without realizing it. "I'm grateful you're here, I really am. But... we can't both go down. If one of us can make it, then one of us has to." That's easy for the one on the ground to say. "I don't want us sharing this shit. I know I called you but... I shouldn't have."
Billy stays silent. Any desire to share his pain and problems vanishes with that sentence. If Frank had known, he wouldn't have said that, but he didn't. Everything's so different now.
"But-"
"Bill." Billy looks up at Frank before nodding. It's at this moment that Billy really realizes he's lost something, that he's lost his family when he didn't even know he had one. He couldn't even enjoy it, not really, he was too busy thinking they were inviting him over out of pity, that Uncle Billy was the cool uncle who told jokes, nothing more. Even if that were the case, he realizes now that he should have taken advantage of it, because now all that doesn't even exist anymore. "Go home, will you?"
He doesn't want to, no, what's at home except furniture he doesn't remember buying, silence to go mad with, loneliness to die for.
"Okay." Billy stands up. "What are you going to do?"
Frank answers nothing to that, staring at a wound on his arm that he sews mechanically, as if he had left his body. Finally, after a few seconds, he looks up at Billy. A look that says so much more than words, it's as if he's speaking, Billy even wonders for a moment if he's opened his mouth. He knows exactly what those eyes describe, what they mean.
Frank is at war.
Maybe against himself.
Billy turns away, stroking Bully's head longer than he should before leaving.
Once he's on the street, it's all over in his head. Maybe it's the first stage of grief evaporating, denial. He's realizing, he's fucking realizing. They're gone, all of them. Maria's tender words, Lisa's almost ridiculous intelligence, Frank Jr's naivety and Frank, Frank his best buddy whose seemingly perfect life made him ridiculously happy without him even realizing it.
It hurts like hell, but it's an unnatural pain. As he walks down the street without stopping, his head starts to hurt, drumming and pounding. Why can't he remember? He can't remember the last time he spoke to them, what he said to them, he'd so much like to remember. Yet part of him thinks he shouldn't, he mustn't, he's forgotten for a reason. If he does remember, then he'll know where the guilt comes from and he'll hate himself more than he already does.
The idea grips him by the throat and, purely selfishly, he decides to focus only on himself and the hatred that has always kept him going, the hatred that has kept him alive. The hatred he feels every day, born of the pain of abandonment, betrayal and loneliness. Billy grits his teeth, his thoughts drifting back to his mother. Frank told him to go home, but what home? An apartment he can even remenber half the furniture, there's never been anything remotely like home for him.
His footsteps eventually led him to a bus stop and then, the bus in front of the hospital. Without having changed, in his black outfit, the balaclava he had earlier hidden in his pocket, bruises on his body, barely camouflaged by his clothes, he enters the place.
He still has a knife on him, hidden, but he's left the gun he'd taken to Frank. He looks around, a little lost in the corridors, before approaching the reception desk. He smiles slightly at the woman in the chair.
"Hi."
"Good evening, can I help you?"
"I got a call from here that my… m-mother had changed rooms and I was told she was in this hospital. Her name is Carla, Carla Russo."
That feels strange as hell.
"Yes, one moment please." Billy looks away as the woman rests her gaze on the screen in front of her. "You're her son, you say? I'm sorry, but it says she doesn't have any child."
"Uh... legally, she gave up her parental rights."
"Oh..."
"Oh?"
"Excuse me, sir, but only a family member can visit her."
"And what am I?"
"Well, technically... you're not her son..."
"Is this a joke? Just tell me the room number." Billy says with a dismayed sigh.
"That's just it, I can't do that."
"You’re fucking with me..." He grumbles, inhaling deeply as he straightens up before resting his hands on the counter again. "You called me to tell me I'm the only contact, to warn me she's changed rooms and now I can't see her because technically I'm not her son? Well, don't fuckin’ call me then!"
"Please, don't get upset, sir. You can visit her later, when normal visits are possible again."
"It's today and now that I want to see her. In a few days, hours or minutes, I may well change my mind radically."
Frank gets up from his chair to give Bully some kibble. It reminds him that he can't remember the last time he ate. Probably the last time Billy brought him food. Was he being too hard on him? Frank starts to feel guilty. He can't take him down with him. He just can't. Tonight could have gone a lot worse. He can't afford to lose Billy too, to have something happen to him because of him. He returns to his seat with a grunt.
How could things have taken such a turn?
Frank closes his eyes, letting a few hot tears roll down his cheeks for once. He doesn't want to sleep even though he's exhausted because he knows he's going to have a nightmare. That he'll dream about them and realize when he jolts open his eyes that the real nightmare begins when he wakes up. So he straightens up, taking out his weapons again, spreading them out in front of him before starting to take them apart and reassemble them one by one, like the fucking soldier he is. He concentrates on the next step for his revenge.
He won't be calling Billy anymore, it's over. The problem is, he's already said that to himself, he says it to himself every time after he calls him.
Ana is about to finish her day's work and head out the door when a man shouting at the reception desk catches her attention. He quickly calms his voice, but the tension in his body doesn't go away. Sensing her colleague at the reception in trouble, she can't help but approach.
"I understand, sir, but..."
"Is there any problem?" Ana says, cautiously.
Billy turns to her, inhaling deeply before licking his lower lip.
"Sir would like to visit a patient but it's no longer possible today, but tomorrow..."
"I just want to visit my mother." Billy defends himself.
"I see." Ana says, moving to the other side of the desk before frowning at the name on the computer screen. "Your name, sir?"
"Russo, Billy."
Billy Russo? Ana stares at him wide-eyed before realizing it and trying to look normal. This is him, damn it, the patient she thinks is connected to the Punisher. Ana regains her composure, reading the patient's room number. She has a hard time thinking but the truth is she knows nothing about him apart from some of his medical issues.
"Come with me, Mr. Russo, I'll take you there."
"Really? Thank you..."
"But Ana..."
"It's all right, Lissy, I'll take care of it."
Ana smiles at Billy, who immediately follows. He climbs silently into the elevator after her.
"My name is Anastasia, but call me Ana." Is the only interaction they have until they arrive in front of the room. "It’s here."
Billy turns his head toward the door apprehensively, but there's only a closed door.
"Okay, thanks, Ana." When he turns his head, she notices a bruise running down his neck to his ear. He doesn't look good, to tell you the truth. His hair falls to his temples, he's quite pale and the bruises stand out more. Billy notices her insistent gaze, so he turns his head towards her again, squinting slightly. Ana curses herself for not being discreet enough. She shouldn’t tend to forget that she suspects him of being a dangerous man. "Excuse me... you're going to think this is a silly question but... do... do we know each other? I mean, have you ever seen me come to visit her?"
Ana quickly understands what he means. He has gaps in his memory, he must be wondering if she's part of one of those missing pieces.
"No, we've never met. If you've been here before, we may have crossed paths, but I don't remember."
Billy nods with a half smile. He's too tired to make the social effort he usually does.
Ana is suddenly struck by how bad he looks, both physically and mentally. Yet, his charming good looks make him seem paradoxically less dangerous. But his beautiful face is only an information for Ana, and she remains on her guard. It’s her curiosity and empathy that compel her to help him. He's staring at the door as if it leads straight into hell. She was so disturbed to see him that she didn't even wonder why Lissy refused to take him upstairs.
"I have to tell you, it's late Mr Russo so you can't stay too long."
Billy nods subtly, lowering his eyes. Why is he here? What's he doing here, frankly. He has no desire to go into the room. He honestly needs comfort and his mother will be anything but that, she'll take him back to his sad childhood, to all the horrible things that happened to him because she didn't want him. Comfort, he won't get it, he knows that. But a distraction is something else. It's the easiest thing in the world to get. He raises his eyes slowly to Ana, skimming along her legs and then back up to her sweet face. She's pretty, he notices, then she smiles at him with a tender smile.
"Are you going home, Ana?"
"Yes, I am."
She takes this remark as a request to leave him alone, when it was quite the opposite. She sidesteps him then Billy is forced to turn to her.
"Would you refuse to have a drink with me?"
A drink? Ana turns very surprised.
"Sorry?"
"It's late, I konw. I don't have much time and you're going home. I thought maybe... maybe you'd accept a drink with me."
"Billy, did you make all that effort to get up to this room, not to come in?"
"No..." He says softly, turning to the door again without putting his hand on the handle. He can't go in, he can't, he's physically incapable of it and the worst thing is that it doesn't remind him of anything, no memory comes back to him. If only he could remember the last time he went to see her, what he might have said.
Ana turns away slightly, thinking that perhaps he needs some time alone.
Billy inhales deeply, resting his hand on the handle. Suddenly, beyond his control, beyond his will, a surge of anxiety takes him abruptly. He can't really say what it's about, but it's as if everything around him is closing in, suffocating him. Billy closes his eyes for a moment, his skull aching excruciatingly again as a sensation of imminent death grips his gut.
Ana frowns as Billy's jerky breathing reaches her ears. She turns, finding the man brutally rubbing the back of his head as he shakes it as if stuck there.
"Mr. Russo?" Ana quickly stifles the worry in her voice, moving closer as she speaks to him so he knows she's there. "Billy, it's okay... it's okay, try to breathe... Billy, I'm going to touch you, is that okay ? Please, look at me."
Billy shakes his head before looking at her. He finally nods slightly as he sees her slowly approaching. She places a warm hand on his right arm and then her other hand on his racing heart. "It's nothing, it's over." She gently tightens her hold on his arm. "See? You're safe." Billy adjusts his breathing to hers, until he reconnects completely. "Are you all right?"
"Y-Yes... I-I’m sorry, I don't know what happened... sorry..."
"It's okay, everything's fine." She lets go of him gently and Billy already misses the touch, but it's probably better that way. Billy undertakes to let her go, to watch her walk away, but she doesn't. She smiles at him, taking his arm behind his elbow again to guide him to a small cart not far away. "Drink some water." Billy, too surprised to react, accepts the glass of water in the small cup she hands him. He drinks, it's true he was pretty damn thirsty. He puts the cup down, a thank you doesn't even come out of his mouth, he's still out of it. "Can I ask you if you have any medical history that would explain what you've just experienced?"
"I... I had a head injury recently... since then, I've been having severe migraines... could... could that be related?"
"Do you have any other symptoms?"
"Symptoms? I have... I have memory loss..."
"Amnesia about the present moment?"
Ana hates herself for asking questions to which she already has the answers, but she can't tell him she's read his medical records.
"No... well, not really... just some... holes from before the head trauma."
She smiles sweetly at him. Poor guy, she's got him spilling the beans on something that won't help him right now, other than making him feel worse.
"It's going to be okay, Billy. Don't worry, it's nothing." Ana has the impression of being face to face with a man in great distress, is it to do with what she knows about him? He looks lost and he looks lonely. Although he does his best to appear the opposite. But if she's right about him, then he may be a dangerous man. But whoever he is, he looks bad and she can't see herself leaving him like this. "Look, now you know where she is. Come back another day, tomorrow, when you have more time... tonight, don't stay there."
Billy looks first suspicious, then defensive, then finally, he nods.
"Shall I walk you to your car? To thank you and make amends."
"Gladly."
If Matt knew, he'd be mad as hell. True, it came out of Billy's mouth as a favor to thank her and make amends. But she's convinced he's connected to a mass murderer and agrees to let him follow her into a dark parking lot, alone.
Billy is so distracted that, after having offered her a drink, he thinks that it's the only polite thing he can do. But he keeps his distance, a distance that makes both him and her comfortable. Once she's in front of the car, Billy doesn't even approach. He remains reassuringly upright and solid, but more in a posture of protection than aggression. Ana doesn't feel in any danger, on the contrary.
"I'm sorry to have delayed your return home."
"That's all right. It was kind of you to accompany me."
"Get home safely."
Ana smiles warmly at Billy. She opens the car door before turning to him one last time. "Okay for the drink. But another time, if the offer still stands."
"It does."
Ana pulls out a small piece of paper on which she scribbles a phone number before handing it to him.
"Call me."