Chapter 6
Another night alone, Karen thought, as she sat in her apartment listening to the rain beat down on the pavement below her.
The Thai noodles and cheap wine she called dinner had made her nostalgic, of sorts – not that there was that much in her past to be fond of, but still, dates with Matt had always ended up involving at least one or both of those and she found herself looking back on them fondly.
She genuinely missed working with Matt, among other things, but at present especially, those feeling were a bit conflicted. After all, he was alive somewhere, just hiding from whatever (hopefully not her).
Of course, Foggy still refuses to believe that he’s out there. In her opinion, her and Foggy’s rapport was beginning to feel like an episode of X-Files; she’s always pushing him to believe, and he stands his ground firmly rooted in logical reality, refusing to entertain any other options.
If she mentioned that comparison to him, it would probably just be met with laughter…followed by Foggy’s jealousy of Scully’s pantsuits.
Yeah, not exactly the support she was hoping for in proving that Matt was still alive. Then again, it’s been weeks and she’s no closer to finding him than she was the night she got the photos.
Karen tried to track down and verify all the leads she got from the photos, but they only led to missing security tapes or abandoned locations or some other dead end.
Settling into her favorite armchair, Karen turned on the tv in hopes that whatever mindless show was on would help steer her thoughts away from the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
She flipped through the handful of channels her TV got – a game show where people eat quickly to win; a re-run (or maybe a new episode?) of Law & Order; some community access channel broadcasting children’s beat poetry (as if that could scream “New York City” even louder) – ah, finally: the eleven o’clock news.
Now, most of the well-rounded and planned out news stories happen earlier, like at 7 or even 4; the late hour news is mostly reserved for the violence they don’t want to show during safe haven and the breaking stories (usually more violence) that happen after the prime time block.
“Well, not ideal, but at least I’ll see if anything happens,” Karen thought, and as if the universe read her mind, the screen crawl updated to breaking.
VIGILANTE UNMASKED: MATT MURDOCK, DEVIL OF HELL’S KITCHEN IN CUSTODY
Karen Page is in total disbelief.
There’s no way network news could break this story – not with everything that’s going on. Her head was swimming – she had to get to the paper, they had to get sources and verify and go to press.
Which means that Karen will once again be the story instead of reporting the story. “Great,” she thought as she poured the remainder of a bottle of scotch into a glass and downed it.
She grabbed her phone and texted Foggy – he should get a heads up too, seeing as his life is about to explode as well.
As she settled back down in front of the news, BANG! A knock on the door jolted her out of her head and skyrocketed her nerves right over the edge. That was fast for people to come bothering her – maybe it was the cops, wanting to know how long she’s known and why she didn’t come forward sooner.
She palms her handgun, just in case, and checks the peep hole.
******
Foggy was watching the final minutes of a basketball game on TV and organizing his case for court tomorrow when – bing! – a text comes in, from one Karen Page.
It was a little late for her to be texting, but nothing too out of the ordinary…until he read it.
Well, read is a bit of an overstatement. There wasn’t much to it, seeing as it was mostly gibberish. Maybe an accidental text, like she forgot to lock her phone before putting it in her purse?
He texts back to make sure everything’s okay, then goes back to the game. It was the slowest moving Lakers game he’d ever seen, but anything was an improvement over the pace of football (in his opinion).
Still no word back from Karen. Crap, thought Foggy, “What if that text was like an SOS or she’s in another hostage situation or something.”
Before he let his imagination run completely wild, he decided to give her a call. She was probably just out somewhere loud and hadn’t heard her phone when he texted.
“Hi, you’ve reached Karen Page. I’m unable to get to my phone right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks”
Hmm. 18 rings, then voice mail. Maybe she left her phone on silent? He checked her location (or at least her phone’s location): still at her apartment. Maybe she’s in another room?
This was too much of the “maybe game”, even for Foggy. It was late, but the Knicks had just lost and her apartment wasn’t that far away. He could check in with her, make sure she’s okay, then be back here by midnight.
Pulling on his coat, Foggy hoped yet again that he wasn’t about to walk in on the dead body of Karen Page.
*****
“Foggy? That was fast, were you in the area?”
A concerned and slightly bewildered Foggy was standing at Karen’s door, just relieved to see her alive after building up bad and worse scenarios in his head about Karen’s fate.
Before she knew what was happening, Karen was pulled into a giant bear hug.
“Karen, thank God you’re okay,” Foggy said, finally releasing her from his rib-crushing hug.
“What do you mean? It’s all over the news – they know. I texted you.”
Foggy took a deep breath as he took off his coat and prepared for another episode of, “conspiracy theories, with Karen Page.”
“Karen, you texted me nonsense. Like, they weren’t even words. I figured it was your purse or the text equivalent of a butt dial,” Foggy confessed.
“What? No, I very clearly –“ Karen stopped, staring at 7 unread texts and two missed calls, all from Foggy – and there it was: her string of random characters, sent at 10:18PM.
“That’s impossible, I was watching the 11 o’clock news and then they said Matt was Daredevil-“
Of course this is about Matt. Why would it be about anything or anyone else?
“Karen. Matt’s dead. Remember?” Saying those words out loud doesn’t make them any easier to hear, and it kills Foggy that he has to keep reminding her.
As she furiously clicked through the stations, she was bewildered that not a single one had any form of breaking new on it, much less news about Matt or Daredevil.
“It was another nightmare,” Karen realized as she slowly sank onto the couch.
It absolutely gutted Foggy to see her losing her grip on reality like this.
“Kare, when’s the last time you slept? Not on the couch, not up every half hour, but real solid sleep?”
Karen made a noise of dismissal. “Relax, Foggy. I’m fine. Just had a couple late nights recently.”
Of course, she didn’t mention that those late nights were owing to the fact she’s been staking out trap houses and listening to the police scanner, but she knew Foggy wouldn’t agree with that and it would just start another argument.
Foggy shook his head. Karen is smart, one of the smartest people he knows, but why is she still after this?
“Karen, Daredevil is dead. Matt is dead. And even, I’m not saying this is true, but even if he is alive by some miracle, if he doesn’t want to be found, he’s not gonna be.”
“Look, Foggy, I know it’s a long shot, but I have to keep digging. He’s not dead, and he’s not hiding. He wants us to find him – this is basically Matt’s cry for help.”
“No, his cry for help was when he put on a devil suit and beat the hell out of the Kitchen’s criminals. This is just…” Foggy sighed, unable to call Karen crazy to her face.
Karen took a minute to collect her thoughts. They were once again at an impasse, because Foggy reuses to believe.
“If you need a place to sleep tonight, you know, to not be alone, you’re welcome to crash at my place. I have court in the morning, but I promise not to sing in the shower?”
Karen chuckles at the thought of his “singing” – it is not good, but Foggy is a good guy.
“Thanks, but I’m okay here. Besides, isn’t singing in the shower part of your superstition or whatever?”
“It’s not superstition if it’s proven to work. It just, sets the tone for the court day,” Foggy’s rebuttal was passionate, but lacking any logic.
“Thanks for checking on me, Foggy. I’m sorry to have made you come all the way down here.”
“Karen, I care about you. But Matt is ruining your life from beyond the grave. It’s time to move on,” Foggy finally got the words out, though he had no idea where he got the courage to actually form that thought into words.
Karen had no idea what to make of this – of course he didn’t understand, he doesn’t want to. It’s painful, sure, but wouldn’t it be more painful if Matt were actually dead?
“It’s late and you have court tomorrow. You should probably go home and get some rest,” Karen told Foggy, knowing that they would just end up going round and round in this argument and get nowhere.
Foggy grabbed his coat, wished Karen a good night, and headed back to his apartment, hoping Karen doesn’t do anything stupid. But if she did, at least he could represent her, legally speaking.
******
With her column in for the week (and a day early), Karen left the Bulletin office a little late, but with the intention to work from home tomorrow. If something comes in, Ellison will call her – though it’s a slow news cycle this week.
Which leaves Karen Page plenty of time for her plan to lure out Matt Murdock tonight.
---
She knew this would work, but that didn’t do anything to quell her nerves in the moment.
She’d been scoping out this place all week – a property near the river that used to be rent-control apartments, but got bought out by some foreign investment company. Until they can tear it down, it’s been taken over by the local lowlife community.
Smells fishy both above and below the table – the perfect target for the Devil, if he really is looking for a fight; of course, it also helps that the property used to be one of Fisk’s. Hopefully it’s enough to lead Daredevil right to the door.
Karen pulls her hat down over her ears and takes a deep breath before she staggers into the dingy crash pad.
Jesus, was she nervous – her heart was practically beating directly in her eardrums. But, it’s either this or going undercover on the boulevard, and it’s a little chilly to be out all night dressed in a mini skirt and mesh top.
As she slowly and gingerly explores the levels of the building, Karen still isn’t sure what she’s looking for – but she’ll know it when she finds it.
Just like that, as if her thoughts had communicated directly to the universe what she needed at that exact moment, she hears voices from down the hallway.
She creeps closer, shrinking into the shadows every few steps out of caution. She’s pretty sure they’re playing poker or something, judging by the laughter and chatter, in some Asian language, from the sound of it.
“Come on, Matt,” Karen thought, knowing that if she stayed in this building and was discovered, she’d be in real trouble.
“Maybe if I make my way to the roof, I could, I don’t know, set off a flare or something?” she found herself thinking, as she racked her brain for a plan B.
Luckily, Karen was spared improvisation by the miracle of screams from the other room.
Finally, it took him long enough. But, better late than never – Karen had planned exactly what she was going to say to Matt in her head a million times over, but now that the moment was here, its like her mind went completely blank.
BANG BANG
Gunfire? Hopefully Matt’s on top of his game tonight and their conversation won’t be over her fishing led out of his chest.
After an extremely loud and metallic crash, the noise died down and Karen decided it was safe to approach the room.
As she peered in and stepped over the splintered remains of the door, she was shocked at who she saw.
“Frank?”
Frank Castle, looking worse for the wear, as always, turned around, gun drawn, but immediately lowered it.
“Karen Page?!”
Okay, so maybe this wasn’t her finest plan, but she managed to get one man back in her life, so half success?
A sound from somewhere else in the building put Frank on high alert, gun raised.
He motioned for her to follow him, and they basically ran out of the building.
When they were a couple blocks away, that’s when she realized why they were running: Frank blew up the building.
Of course, the one time she chooses to hang out in sketchy locales, the Frank Castle Circus parades in to make a mess of it.
They finally stopped when they got to the overpass, and Frank turned point blank to look at Karen.
“I had that under control,” she less than confidently lied.
“Yeah, you and your handgun? You know what that place was?” Frank was pissed and confused. Can’t blame him for either.
“I wasn’t after them, I was looking for a friend,” she lamely confessed.
Frank looked her over – Karen had looked more stable, but then again, taking Karen Page for a dumb blonde might be the stupidest judgment anyone could make.
“This friend of yours you were waiting on, wouldn’t happen to be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, now would it?”
She takes a breath and steps closer to him, closing the space between them. “And if it was?”
He was close enough to feel the light warmth of her breath. God, was it tempting to want to kiss her. Frank dropped his eyes to his boots and sighed.
“Those assholes branched out into the weapons trade when their heroin ring got busted up. That place was their assembly point. Guns have never exactly been his style.”
“Then what is these days?” Karen practically begged. Her eyes pleaded with Castle to help her find Matt.
Why can’t she just leave well enough alone with the men who’ve made their peace with what they are already? Hell if Frank Castle knew, but he did know that she wouldn’t stop putting herself in danger until she found what she wanted.
“Look, I haven’t seen him, myself, but I hear he’s back in black trying to keep someone from picking up where Fisk left off.” It wasn’t easy for Frank to let her in on this dangerous shit, but he knew her, and she was bound to get to it sooner or later. Maybe this will actually deter her…or maybe just send her right into the lion’s den chasing after the Devil.
Contrary to popular belief, Frank Castle did actually care.
“If he’s in the wind, there’s no amount of danger you can put yourself in to make him show. You’re just gonna get yourself killed.”
Frank Castle: voice of reason.
Leave it to him to be the one to get through to Karen’s desperate brain.
“You’re safe though – you’re not being targeting or nothing, right?” He went straight to protection mode now that he knew what she was after.
Karen was flustered at what was basically confirmation that Matt was alive, but even more touched that Frank cares.
“No, no, nothing like that. I’m safe. Sticking to the column in the paper – unless you have something worth investigating,” Karen threw the bait out and hoped for the best.
The gruff laugh she got in return was one she wasn’t expecting, but missed and welcomed happily.
“We handle things differently, me and Red. Safest thing you can do is stay out of the way,” Frank said before he turned to go.
“Wait!” Karen called after him, “Thank you.”
Frank nodded, “Fifth one’s free,” he joked as he walked off, swallowed up by the night fog.
Karen made her way home, carefully avoiding the area that was now home smoldering wreckage as opposed to a building.
Seeing Frank again had given her hope; hope that Matt hadn’t completely abandoned the kitchen, hope that people can walk back into her life, hope that the path she’s on is the correct one.
But to Karen Page, it still didn’t feel like enough, though it was enough for now.