V I C M A E D A
Frank Castle didn't have much of a funeral, but he did have a gravestone.
It was black granite, Franks name and the words 'beloved father, son, and friend' inscribed on the stone in white.
Word was that Frank had been killed in the massacre that killed his wife and kids.
Before that day, though Vic Maeda had been in his fair share of relationships, both good and bad, he wasn't so sure that he'd ever experienced heartbreak. He'd gone to see the headstone with Curtis, and as he looked at it, an overwhelming grief crossed his mind. For a few moments, as he read Franks name and tuned out Curtis' voice, there was nothing that Vic Nathaniel Maeda wanted more than to disappear.
But, as most would find they had to do after they'd lost someone, Vic moved on. He talked to Curtis and Billy on occasion, distancing himself from both of them and only realizing that he'd done so when it was too late.
He debated subletting his apartment for an additional income after he'd moved. He double checked that doing so was legal in New York, and when he moved to a different spot in the city, he subletted the four bedroom he'd lived in for $2500 a month and settled into a loft and a job at Nelson and Murdock, given to him thanks to Foggy, who he'd known on the acquaintance basis when they were in law school.
He'd moved to the states when he was twenty, with an accelerated BA in English Lit from Buckingham University. He did law school and joined the military right out from the gate at 28 years old. He'd done six tours across six years, having retired in 2015 at thirty four. From then, he got a job at a private law practice in NYC, and had been working strenous hours but making good money ever since.
He moved away, restarted his life. He let himself move on.
As his head snapped in Foggys direction at the very mention of Frank Castles name, all of the work he'd done on himself seemed to crumble away. In that very moment, he was no longer the thirty five year old lawyer working for a half decent salary at a non profit, but the freshly retired thirty four year old ex marine.
"Who?" He'd asked, trying to make sure that he'd heard Foggy correctly. "Did you say Frank Castle?"
"Yeah," Foggy confirmed. Vic turned his eyes to the road, tried to focus as he drove the pair to the hospital. "Francis Castiglione is his legal name. Do you know him?"
Vic hesitated for a minute. "Nah," he said. "I would remember a name like Castiglione if I did happen to know the guy. Castiglione is not a name you easily forget."
Foggy just nodded. "Are you going to tell me how the date with Chris went?"
Though he didn't say it, as Vic grinned, he was grateful for the change in subject.
"Worse than most, better than others," Vic said. "He's like, next level patriotic. Back the blue, extremely pro-gun, all of the typical bullshit."
Foggy grimaced. "You good?"
"All right, mate," Vic said. "I cut the date short in the end, the minute he started going off on me for leaning left. I paid for my food, left a tip, and ignored his cursing as I walked out."
"Good," said Foggy. "You're good to go in for this, yeah?"
"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You froze up when I said the defendants name," Foggy noted. "Are you sure you haven't met this guy before?"
"Of bloody course I am, Foggy," Vic said as he found a space. He parked the car. "Like I said, if I'd known the guy at all, I would've at least remembered his name."
But he did remember the name. As he drove, the name stuck out in his mind.
Frank Castle was supposed to be dead.
Unless it was a different guy with the same name, Frank Castle proved very much the opposite.