Chapter 5
Well, she did wish for this, she reminded herself. Karen walks home after yet another police interview in the wake of yet another violent attack. One Karen was, yet again, at the center of.
It was nice to see Frank alive (and about as well as could be expected from the ever-violent Frank Castle), but just once, couldn’t they grab a beer or lunch or something that didn’t involve getting shot at and being screamed at while being held at gunpoint and dragged around with the potential for everyone to be blown to pieces?
It’d be nice, but not Frank’s style. Karen shakes her head. A drink is definitely needed after that mess - something stronger than beer for sure. Maybe she’ll just crawl under the bar at Josie’s and never come out.
And yet, it never was her style to hide, as much as she wants to after all this mess. She would much rather write about it, which paints even more of a target on her back. That is much more her style.
If Frank is still very much alive (well, she hopes he still is after all of whatever mess he was into went down), then maybe – just maybe – it’s still possible for Matt to pull off a similar miracle.
The thought stops her dead in her tracks, in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s a mild evening, but thinking about him again gives her chills. “Definitely going to need a drink now,” she thinks, as she watches the foot traffic expertly weave around her and her stationary spot on the sidewalk.
Josie’s is only a block away – Karen slides into the bar and lets the memories of those she’s lost wash over her.
She thinks back to the first time she met Matt and Foggy – she was terrified, lonely, in a relatively new city looking at quite possibly the end of her relatively short life. And yet, Matt had been the one who strode in that interrogation room so calmly and told her everything was going to be alright. He had such confidence, and Foggy knew exactly how to lighten the mood – for the first time in a very long time, she felt that despite not knowing anything about the future, she – Karen Page – was going to get through this and everything was going to be okay.
Except now everything is pretty damn far from okay. ‘Why can’t everything just go back to okay again?’ she finds herself absentmindedly wondering as she nurses her whiskey.
Of course, she knows damn well why things just can’t “be okay” for her – that’s kind of par for the course when your father runs a criminal enterprise, your brother is dead, the two most recent men you’ve been involved with are vigilantes, and you can no longer count the number of shootings you’ve been involved in on one hand.
Well, and one active suicide bomber. That was a whole barrel of fucked up fun. She rolls her eyes as she flags down Josie for a refill.
Ellison had wanted her to still do her article – the interview with the Senator – but now that all this shit has gone down, he wants an additional report as well as a Paige Angel op-ed, “from the line of fire”.
It’s not that she isn’t willing to talk about what when down or the politics of it all – it’s just exhausting after awhile. How much longer is she meant to be the one who’s always caught up in this? Is she always the only one sticking up for the guys who are just trying to do the right thing?
Hell, she doesn’t have the answer to that. But maybe if she just takes herself out of the equation, finds a condo somewhere out west, gets away from all this proximity shit in New York City – maybe things will be normal for her.
Does she even deserve “normal” though? She downs her drink and shakes her head at the thought of settling down and being disgustingly domestic somewhere in the Midwest. Not at all her style.
Still though, it’s a nice thought for someone dreaming of escape.
No, the city is her home, like it or not. It’s where she belongs. Unfortunately, it’s also where all the shirt goes down, and consequentially, where the people show up to stop it. It seems like these days there are people with “abilities” protecting every boro. Chinatown has God knows how many people with fists of fury and Harlem has Luke Cage, Manhattan is covered by Spiderman, and the kitchen…well, venturing back into those thoughts calls for more alcohol.
But, Matt was the one who sort of started it all. He was the first to quarantine his area of crime. Funny, Matt not taking responsibility for everything, for once. That had to be a first. And yet, it worked for him – well, as much as it could have.
Yet again, she thought about calling Foggy – she hates to keep going on about the same issues, but who else can she talk to about that? Ultimately, she decided against it – he has tickets to a Rangers game, and he’s probably definitely with Marcy, who he swears he’s not seeing, even though she totally keeps a toothbrush at his place.
No, she would just have to deal with this night on her own. Not like it’s anything new, but it’s always nice to be in the company of someone who just understands. And now that list is basically just Foggy.
Well, Trish too, sort of. But she hasn’t talked to her since she torpedoed her show and fell off the wagon, according to TMZ. Probably in some kind of swanky celeb rehab where they live in a mansion and do yoga together when they’re not snorting cocaine or drinking chai tea.
But, everybody deals with this crazy in their own way, she thought as she drained her glass again, forgetting if this was her fourth or fifth. Who was she to judge?
“You planning on slowing down, hun?” came Josie’s familiar teasing from somewhere off to Karen’s left.
“Not so long as you have booze and I have a fucked up life,” Karen responded good naturedly. This was a standard evening for them by now.
Josie responded by filling Karen’s glass nearly to the brim. She appreciates the lack of judgment here, even though the environment can be a little…eclectic.
She looks around the bar and sees a handful of rough and tumble types, a woman in very tasteless bright blue eye shadow, and a … okay, maybe she was being paranoid, but there’s a lady in the corner in a black hoodie who kind of has crazy eyes, and looks an awful lot like she’s staring at her.
She struggles to down her drink as fast as possible, trying to maintain a sense of calm and not fly into a complete state of panic.
As Karen steadies her breathing, she waves Josie down and heads out of there as fast as possible.
Stepping onto the sidewalk, she reaches into her purse and quickly palms her .380, calming at its reassuring weight. She breathes a sigh of relief, grateful to have it back in her hand again.
Throwing a glance over her shoulder – yep, crazy eyes is totally following her – she heads off to...she doesn’t know where. Her feet just start going, no way she’s leading whoever to her apartment.
She makes it about a block and a half before it really registers that she’s walking the route back to the Nelson and Murdock office…that’s now the office of a children’s book publisher. Shit, Page. Way to think.
Okay, so, time to confront this mystery woman before she gets to wherever her feet decide to lead her.
Karen stops in a decently lit portion of the abandoned sidewalk, braces herself, and spins around. ”Is this some kind of retaliation?”
The woman’s face is stony – emotionless, except for her eyes, which seem to be constantly searching for something. She wears all black – jeans, boots, sweatshirt with the hood pulled over her hair – her red bangs the only part exposed.
When she spoke, it was clear and direct; a similar speech pattern to Frank – gruff and to the point. “I need to get to him.”
Hell. Is everything in her life about Frank today?
“You wanna tell me what you’re talking about?” Karen asked, cool and collected.
“The Devil always comes back to collect. It’s part of carrying around his demons.”
Great, crazy and speaking in riddles. Though Karen knew exactly what she was talking about.
“I don’t know what you heard, but Frank Castle is in police custody,” I mean, for all she knew that could be true. It probably wasn’t, but it could be in some alternate universe.
The red head takes a couple steps closer to Karen, which causes her to tighten her grip on the weapon still concealed in her bag.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. Not on me. I’m just here looking to make sure the devil gets his dues.”
“Listen, I have no idea how you found me or who you’re looking for –“
“You know, Miss Page. He’s out there and completely unhinged. There’s no bringing him back, only keeping him away from those he will hurt.”
Karen was completely taken aback. “Frank would never—“
“You know I’m not talking about Frank Castle. Our mutual friend has no fear, and now no attachments. Nothing to stop him from hurting people. Hurting women. Hurting you.”
Karen can’t believe she’s entertaining crazy talk. She takes a step towards her and drops her voice low. “The man you’re talking about is dead. The devil is gone. Besides, he would never go after innocent people.”
The woman laughs – short and low. She reaches into her messenger bag and pulls out a stack of papers. Karen tightens her grip on the gun, to which the woman simply puts one palm up and hands her the stack with the other.
“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to save you from him.”
Slightly shaking, (or was that just the booze?) Karen releases her grip and puts her purse on back on her shoulder, freeing up her hands to grab the stack of what she sees now are photos.
She can’t believe what she’s seeing. It’s a mix of papers, surveillance stills, and hi-res candid shots, dated last week. But there’s no way these pictures were taken recently.
“The dates on that are accurate. I should know, I was there. He’s taken to turning over massage parlors, crack houses, cheap motels - anywhere that will give him a fight.”
There’s no way Matt Murdock is alive, Karen thought, even though she’s staring at pictures that would seem to prove otherwise.
“Why would he…” Karen starts to ask, but the woman was gone.
**********
Karen slams the door of her apartment shut and slides all the locks. She kicks off her pumps, grabs a bottle of vodka from the kitchen, and spreads the photos out on the table.
With everything all laid out, it’s impossible to deny that this is indeed Matt Murdock. Or at least the devil formerly known as Matt Murdock.
She takes a long pull from the bottle of vodka. There is absolutely no way this shit should be happening. At the very least, not tonight. Hell, Ellison is right - when it rains, it pours.
She knew it was a shot in the dark, and exactly the opposite of what the crazy lady said to do, but she pulled out her phone and called the only person she could think of.
…number disconnected. Of course. Matt wouldn’t be stupid enough to die and then still keep his cell phone on. She stared at the time on her lock screen – just before eleven.
“You’ve reached Franklin Nelson, attorney at law. If this is an immediate legal…”
Karen zoned out while she waited for the rest of his voice mail to play.
How does she break news like this? They went to his funeral. She’s not even sure she believes it.
*BEEP*
“Uh, Foggy. Hi. Sorry, It’s Karen. Um…It’s about Matt. I saw a woman – and she has pictures…just…call me as soon as you get this. Okay?”
Well, that was a disaster, Karen thought, as she drowns her anxieties in even more liquor.
At some point she must have drifted off, because the next thing she knows, she’s startled awake, and there’s a banging.
The door. Someone is banging on the door. She grabs her gun and cautiously glances through the peep hole.
“Foggy?” She undoes all the locks and opens the door wide.
“Karen! Finally.”
She realizes she still has the gun in her hand and sets it back at its place by the door.
“Sorry, crazy day,” Karen apologizes as she ushers Foggy inside.
“I saw on the news. Tell me you weren’t really a part of that,” Foggy pleaded.
“Oh, front and center,” Karen responded with mock enthusiasm.
Foggy had no idea what else to do other than wrap his arms around her in the biggest hug he could manage. How was Karen always the one who got caught up in all of this? Probably because she believed the best in people, people like Frank Castle, and had no idea when to let things go.
“I’m okay though. I mean, it sucks, but I’m still here,” Karen justified, when Foggy finally released her from his massive hug.
“Karen…It’s not that. I mean, that’s not why I’m here. I mean, it kind of is, but, really?”
Karen sighed, why wasn’t he just saying what he meant? “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here at –“ glancing at the clock, she finished her sentence, “1:00 AM?”
“You remember calling me, right?” Foggy started gently, completely unsure what he was wading into.
“I mean, sure, but I left you a voice mail,” Karen stated, a little weirded out. I mean, Foggy is a little weird, but never like this. “I knew you were at the game, you didn’t have to leave to check on me.”
“Karen, the game’s been over for hours. We lost, six to zero, which I didn’t even know was possible in hockey. And I tried calling back, a lot. You never answered.”
"Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say.
He takes a minute and stares at his shoes. Something happened and she wishes he’d just come out and say it.
“I got your voice mail. It was, uh, you slurring a bunch of words, something about Matt and a woman and some pictures, I think?” Foggy sounded embarrassed that he was the one to have to give her the pieces of her drunken night to put back together.
“That bad, huh?”
“I’ve erased it for your sake. In case you ever decide to run for public office. You’re welcome,” Foggy quipped, cracking a half smile. “You know you can always call me before things get that bad. I’m always here to—“
Karen cut him off quickly, “No no no, listen to me. This is different. It wasn’t that bad, but then this lady at the bar, she followed me and when I confronted her –“
“Karen…”
She holds up a hand to stop him from interrupting. “I know how it sounds. But she told me I was in danger. At first, I figured she was another part of the Frank Castle circus of sideshow shit, but it wasn’t. She wasn’t. Isn’t. It’s Matt. She seems to think I’m in danger. That um, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is going to target me, or something.”
She’s right, that sounded absolutely crazier coming out of her mouth than it did in her head. And yet, she’s actually starting to believe that this is in the realm of crazy that could happen.
Meanwhile, Foggy has some serious doubts to both the alcoholic nature of Karen Page as well as the apparent delusions caused by… hell if he knows. All he knows is that this is not her, and it’s heartbreaking to see Karen of all people still dragged into and brought down by Matt’s shit, even post mortem.
“Matt Murdock is dead. And you know damn well that we lost the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen at the same time. If you’re in some kind of trouble, we can get you protection,” Foggy tried to be reassuring, but it was incredibly hard when faced with somebody who believes the impossible.
“Foggy, hear me out. I did some digging. Everyone’s afraid to officially report it, but there are rumors of a man in a black mask turning over prostitution rings and drug houses – looking for a fight. Tell me that doesn’t sound like him,” Karen pleaded.
She needs to hear she’s not crazy, even though she’s still drunk and rambling, and not in a good way. Foggy sighed and shook his head. Time to go along with the crazy ideas again, one last time, for Karen’s sake.
Mental note, if Matt is still alive (which is impossible and Karen needs serious mental help), kill him again for making her suffer.
“Matt did love looking for a fight, and it does sound like something he would do. But Karen, it’s been months since Midland circle. That could be any idiot in a mask who likes getting the crap beaten out of them. It’s not like Fisk didn’t put the man in the mask all over the news,” Foggy rationalized, hoping it’d be enough to get through to her.
“No, I’m telling you. This isn’t just anyone. It’s him.” Karen was unwavering on this.
Why she chose this hill to die on, he has no idea.
Karen walked away and into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a picture in her hand.
“It’s dated last week. It’s current. And it’s him,” Karen said as she handed the picture over to Foggy.
He had to admit, it looks just like Matt. There’s no way they could be new pictures though.
“So somebody is playing a sick joke with new dates on old pictures,” Foggy stated very matter-of-a-fact.
“But that’s just it – it’s all pretty easy to track down. So the question is, why isn’t he hiding? Why now?” She walks over to the kitchen table to reference more photos.
What Foggy sees is completely dismaying to him: papers and photos of the man in the mask – be it current Matt or past Matt or not even Matt at all – cover every square inch of the table top.
Karen rifles through to find an exact photo. “Here! In this one, it looks like it’s down by the pier, see that – If we could just get security footage or-“
“Karen. I want to believe he’s out there just as much as you. I really do. But he’s gone. Both Matt and the Devil that lived inside of him. You have to let this go. It’s not healthy.”
“No, screw you. If you won’t help me, I’ll find him on my own. He’s out there, Foggy.”
Foggy looked into her desperate eyes, searching him for the right answer, and yielded, unable to give her his absolute honest opinion, just like back in the church.
“Okay, if he’s out there, that means he faked his death and hid for months – from us, his best friends, closest thing to family he has – and now decides to do what, go after small time street corner drug dealers and a pimp of the week?” He massages the bridge of his nose. “It just doesn’t add up,” he said, hoping to get her to think about this logically.
“Because he’s probably working some angle and in deep and worried that if he reaches out, his enemies will come after us,” Karen bit back, frustrated that Foggy wasn’t getting it.
Foggy felt his anger rising in spite of himself. “Matt wouldn’t hide something like this from us. Not after all we’ve been through, not after everything. No.”
“Foggy—“
“No, Karen, I care about you, and it’s important to see things from all sides, but this,” he throws his hands out in desperation, gesturing at what is basically a bulletin board with red yarn all strung up around it. How can she not see this for what it is? “This is borderline madness.”
“I know how it looks. But I can feel it. Like part of me just knew that he wasn’t really gone.” Karen knows she’s not getting through to him, but she at least has to try.
He takes a minute to collect his thoughts before answering, “I will always be here for you, Karen. You know that. But I’m done holding onto hope. It hurts way too much and honestly, it’s impossible. A freaking skyscraper came down on top of him, and I helped him get there. I wish he didn’t make that choice, but he did. And I have to live with my part in it, because he’s not coming back. Not from this.”
Karen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could Foggy of all people not see what was going on?
“You really feel that way?”
‘So much for sparing her feelings,’ he thought. ‘Gold star, Foggy Nelson. Way to keep your stupid mouth shut.’ On the outside, he silently nodded.
Karen couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. “Well, uh…all this must look pretty crazy to you. But I swear, Matt is out there, I can feel it. And I will bring him back.”
Foggy gave her a sad half-smile that was half placating, half sympathy. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. Please.”
“I will,” Karen responded, believing herself moderately capable of sticking to that request.
“And hey, go easy on the booze. Save some for the rest of us upstanding citizens of Josie’s,” Foggy quipped as he made his way to the door.
“Maybe if there were any upstanding citizens there, I would,” She said as she cracked a smile as she unlocked the door for him.
“You sure you’re okay?” Foggy asked one last time, standing in the doorway.
Karen nodded reassuringly. Well, Foggy was reassured. Karen…not so much.
Karen Page was not exactly sure of anything in this moment, except for the nagging feeling that Matt Murdock was still alive.