Water
—I can't believe we got it. —Someone had finally caught him, once and for all someone had tamed the rebellious Punisher and made him see that it was the fucking end of the line. It was the ecstasy of any villain! But Wesley wasn't happy, in the least, he really just wanted to get it over with. The second hand of the most iconic gangster in the country in recent times the only thing he wanted was to return to his bed and wake up to read all the headlines how the corpse dragged by the currents of the Hudtson turned out to be none other than the so hated (as dear ) Frank Castle — Well, I can't believe he survived either.
How had they gotten to that early morning in January? How was it possible that the executioner of executioners was tied in front of him, bathed in his own blood? For the only answer he had to give was that he made the big mistake of underestimating Wilson Fisk, the master of New York and the only person whose blacklist you did not want to be if you expected to meet the average life expectancy.
—In truth it is as many say: Unpredictable. — Even with his obvious stupidity, Wesley had no choice but to acknowledge his strength as an opponent, after all; no one tolerates a heads-up fight with Wilson Fisk and survives the first round. But hey, not even someone like that would tolerate the water of the Hudson River and no one who was at that time driving over the George Washington Bridge would stop to help him. It was the easiest and most pathetic homicide that came to mind for the type of character Frank is.
Frank did not look up, he was deep in thought and tried to channel his little awareness into the pain that every part of his body experienced so as not to end up succumbing to the gloom of death, the condemned man would have laughed at it if only he strength will remain. So long pushing himself to the limit, so long in front of the cannon waiting for the fuse to disappear, so long spitting out every opportunity to feel human again and now that he could finally leave in peace knowing that his efforts were not in vain he was afraid of losing himself. same.
Yes, he admitted it, he was afraid that he had not been able to say goodbye and that it was most likely just another news of the moment that disappears after a week of being praised by the media. Frank was in charge of keeping all the people away and those who he didn't keep are now three meters underground.
—Can you hear me? —Wesley asked one of his henchmen to tease him to see his deformed face in a better way: It was a total disaster — It seems that eye is ahead of you in death, it's a shame.
With the poor vision of the only eye that Frank had, he observed the structure of the bridge above them and what he saw definitely did not like. He had been seriously mistaken. —Ditch him at once, it's cold out here.— Was what that man with a suit and an accent so refined said, turning his back to enter the boat that would take him away from the pilaster where they were holding his hostage, committing an act that no one would dare to do in the presence of The Punisher, no matter how stupid outside. But hey, he had two men pointed at the dying man's head, Wesley believed he could afford that.
A very bad move if Matt could tell, with a blow from his cane well hit on the back of the neck that man in the fine suit fell to the ground along with the other two men who were supposed to protect him in case Castle found a way to get rid of his shackles .
Frank kept his head down, still with the bullets, the screams, the blows and the broken bones Frank remained immobile, even as his body received a kick that threw him into the river and he felt the phalanxes of death take him. His body trembled, his nose burned and his lungs seemed to be closer to collapse than he thought, everything was bubbles, blood and water with a very bad taste; Wesley knew how to say a sorry goodbye to someone. However, he was leaving, all the fear seemed to dissipate like the blood that had dried all over his body, it was leaving; his mind felt that everything was falling apart and the claws of death acquired the flesh of one of those he loved the most while he had the opportunity to be alive.
—Dad.— It was his Lisa, the apple of his eye, the one he held in his arms when he was born and while he was fading from all the holes that the bullets that penetrated his body left behind. That was not the cycle of life, it was a mistake. Parents should not bury their children for the love of Christ! —Dad.
Wish he had the strength to mourn her dead daughter, but there was no more. His body gave no more.
— It's not your time. What are you doing here? Go away!
Frank began to stir, convulsing in the water with his legs trying to kick to the surface, but it was useless. He was dying and there was no way he could help himself. Black, everything was black.
—Didn't you hear me? It's not time yet!
Frank did not regret the lifestyle he adopted at the end of his life, he never would, he would never allow himself to wish that all his efforts to achieve a future where more families did not have the same fate that he did disappear forever: Never He would never be able to allow himself such weakness. Still, he wished ... No, it didn't matter anymore. The wishes of a dead man do not matter.
—Please breathe. Breathe!
Again ... Who holds his body? Is death ...? Is his daughter...? Is it the devil ...? Well, it's not like he's surprised if his soul starts crawling down in search of the fiery lava pits in hell. His body suddenly felt lighter, as if the metal chair and the shackles that held him were disappearing; It was cold, the early morning wind hitting his wet body had him freezing to death. Wait a minute, the air of life, the sensation of every part of his body screaming, the whole after there was only a confused nothing, Castle could feel dirt underneath him and his respiratory system failing. Then something pressed into his mouth to force its way through her.
Once, a bitter taste intruded on his palate, pause, Frank couldn't breathe. Again, it was coffee and he could determine it because his caffeine-addicted attorney and night patrols knew that oxygen was not quite entering his lungs freely. One last time, those warm, soft lips left him, Frank began to cough, and most of the invading water was finally expelled. Castle coughed loudly and fell exhausted and sore into the arms of the one who had saved him; He was blind in one eye and the other couldn't focus well, but still Frank had the urge to ignore the wail of his body and try to talk to the devil.
—Red...
—Don't talk, Frank. I'm already here. —Matt took the Punisher's body and held it gently in his arms while Frank's breathing evened out so he could get a better idea of how broken his body was from the inside. —I just need to get you to Night Nurse, she can help you... I just… I just need you to hold on a little longer. Let's get out of this.
—...Let's go?
—Forgive me. —Murdock did not give him the time to excuse him, nor the time to assimilate the horrible pains that went through his entire being when that foolish lawyer placed him on one of his shoulders to lift them into the air in the most comfortable way possible, stabbing without loving Frank from the inside with one of his broken ribs. Ah! That's what the apology was for.
—Red ... are you stupid? —Frank whispered feeling the pain that shot like an arrow into his bones pushing him to the edge of everything, Wish he was wearing a suit. Because if so, Frank could say that death definitely had a good grip on his tie. —You've won… We won't have to fight anymore… Why don't you stop being so holy and take the lead?
Frank thought he heard the imp growl, he really wasn't sure.
—Shut up, Frank. I will never let you die.
—Red … I...
—Hush! Don't speak until we get there, please. Frank obeyed, the effort involved in speaking seemed more painful than being swung around town. Yet that question continued to sting on his palate. —Everything is going to be fine, all you have to do is stay awake. Did you understand?
Why?
Damn altar boy, always taking the most annoying path. Frank rambled again, Red felt so tense.
—… Thank you.