Careful though he was the rough washcloth stung against her new cuts, abrading tender skin not yet healed. Karen fought to keep her breathing even, struggling against the impulse to jerk away every time Matt leaned forward with the dreaded cloth in hand, newly soaked with soap and water. A bottle of iodine sat unassumingly on the table next to her when she wasn’t fiddling with it, trying to distance herself from the cold reality of it all.
For the fifth time in as many minutes she craned her neck to look around him, taking in the darkened room. Wood floors as far as the eye could see without so much as a rug in sight, furniture that had clearly seen better days but looked comfortable for all that, bare walls and empty tables devoid of any personal touches. It made sense, she supposed, he had no use for pictures and he had not struck her as a particularly sentimental man, so why should his home be cluttered with baubles?
Matt’s fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to face him again, holding her in place for his ministrations. A chill swept through her, sending a final shudder through her frame Mr. Murdock tactfully pretended he had not noticed. Karen felt the way he paused though, the new hesitancy in his touch when he finally set to work again, as silent and methodical as he had been since sitting her down at the kitchen table with a bottle of cheap whiskey to hand. He didn’t seem the type to drink it, but at his quiet urging she had taken her fair share and some of his as well.
She had been attacked, deliberately targeted. There was no other possible explanation for why her assailants had been so willing to choose such an uncooperative victim. The first sign of resistance and they should have been running, but they had relished every second of it instead. Of course, it hadn’t been much of a fight-
Exploratory fingertips ghosted across her face to find the curve of her split lip and press into it viciously.
“Ow.”
“Sorry.” Murdock winced, pausing for only a split second before going back to work. “I’m a little shaken.”
Karen pulled away deliberately, snorting with laughter she hadn’t realized was left in her. “Yeah? Me too.” Again she reached for the bottle, taking a light sip, already lightheaded with shock and fatigue but past caring. Matt’s polite mask slipped for all of a second, something baleful and taunting flickering across his expression before she had seen it. By the time she had set the bottle aside, his face was set in lines of concern again, a frown gathering on his brow for all that his tone was even.
“Are you sure you don’t want to call someone?”
“No cops.” To say her history with the Hell’s Kitchen police department was colorful would be an understatement, but this man didn’t need to know it.
“Mr. Nelson, maybe? I think he would take a vested interest in your welfare.” Murdock’s tone was so neutral it could only be a rebuke. It was inevitable, really, that Foggy would find out, but that could wait until morning when she had several hours of sleep and enough caffeine to power an army running through her veins.
“Not tonight,” she snapped, immediately regretting the tone. It wasn’t Matt’s fault she was tired and aching and still scared stiff, but so far he had borne the brunt of it. She drew a breath and tried again, mentally counting down from a hundred. “It’s late and he’s probably”- working, reading, drinking himself to sleep- “Sleeping. Soundly. This can wait.”
Silence blanketed them, but it held none of the comfort of a few minutes ago, laden with unvoiced reproach as it was. “By the way, has he called you back yet? I know he was a little brusque, but I swear that’s not the norm and we could really use the extra help.” Any port in a storm, any topic to save herself from Matt Murdock’s accusatory silence.
“I’m sure he’s been busy. As have you, apparently.” Matt laid the cloth aside, wiping his fingers carefully on another he had draped over the chair. She flinched at the pink stains, barely restraining herself from reaching up to run an inquisitive hand over her battered face.
“Honestly, I’d rather not talk about it.” They were back at square one, with Matt gamely trying to make a case for filing a police report and Karen dead-set against it. God save her from any more attorneys.
Finally he sighed, and she could hear the tinge of defeat in it, frustration and resignation mingling in equal measure. He pushed out of his chair and made his way to the cabinet above the sink, pulling down a glass and filling it to the brim with water. He downed it in a few quick gulps, fingers clenched on the glass as though it was the only thing preventing him from doing violence.
“I won’t push you, miss Page, but I disagree.”
The apartment grew darker, eerily still even for that hour. There should have been sirens or traffic, hell, Murdock’s entire window was taken up by a glowing LED screen, but just then she felt swallowed by the darkness.
Karen leapt into the silence, eager to bring him back from whatever memory he had retreated into.“So, this isn’t really that far from the office. You could probably walk it in twenty minutes.”
“Miss Page, are you asking to stay the night?” Feigned shock, a smile tugging at his lips that did nothing to banish her unease. It settled on his face unnaturally, and vanished just as swiftly.
“No, I want to go home as badly as you want me to-”
“It’s no trouble.” He pushed away from the sink, setting the glass aside as though he hadn’t been about to crush it in his bare hand a moment before. “I respect your preference for avoiding any legal entanglements, but it would be better if you didn’t stay alone tonight.”
There was no question in his tone, not even a hint that her refusal was a possibility. It vexed her unreasonably that he should so casually assume her cooperation but…
She didn’t want to be alone either.
“I’ll take the couch, then.”
“The bed would be best. You would thank me in the morning when you really start to feel this.”
Tomorrow was going to hurt, she didn’t need him to tell her that. And with the sign-
“All right, bed.” She pushed herself up from the table reluctantly, feeling a myriad of abrasions check in and what she suspected might be a bruised rib. “Would you be so kind as to walk me to work tomorrow? Just in case.”
“Just in case Mr. Nelson is considering walk-in candidates?” His arched brow said clearly she had not been half so subtle as she supposed, but no offense was taken.
“I’m really not kidding about needing the help.” Especially now that she had suddenly acquired so much extra work, beginning with unearthing the identity of her attackers.
“I’ll consider it, Miss-”
“Karen.” Her throat closed up, choked with tears she was only now beginning to feel building. The trick would be getting to bed as fast as possible before he picked up on it.
“Matt.” He reached out tentatively, but his grip was steady and firm when she slipped her hand into his. His hands were soft as hers to the first touch, but her fingers felt the raised welts of scars along his knuckles, lines of work and care worn into his palms. Not hands she would have associated with an attorney but-
“Nice meeting you, Matt.”
By nine Foggy was beginning to worry. It was an unspoken agreement that Karen would be in the office by eight, Foggy would be in by eight-thirty, and he would gladly atone for his tardiness with gifts of bagels and coffee to placate the savage beast that was Karen without breakfast.
This morning he had strolled through the door at five after eight, a bag of bagels in his left hand and not two but four cups of coffee nestled comfortably in the holder he was balancing desperately on his right. He was tired, every aching muscle screaming at him for even daring to be awake after three hours of fitful sleep, but pleased despite all that.
The priest’s words had haunted him as he dozed off last night, had echoed through his thoughts until he dragged himself from bed to the couch, counting on the philosophical musings of Wittgenstein to put him to sleep again as they had so many times during school.
No dice. His heavy thoughts refused to be ignored any longer, plaguing him until he had finally given up and actually begun to consider how he would deal with his infernal problem in the long run. The answer had come to him at false dawn, no longer nodding on the couch but leaning against the kitchen counter, long since cooled tea sitting just out of his reach. So many questions had raced through his mind, and most of them irrelevant now that he thought back on it.
Did the Devil want to be near him or was it Matt Murdock? Was Matt Murdock the Devil? Did he live in any recognizable sense? Could he, as Lanthom had insinuated, be saved? Was it Foggy’s responsibility or did each man govern his own soul?
Irrelevant. Irrelevant because the only questions he needed to ask himself was whether he had fulfilled his part of their bargain and whether any good had come of it. The answer to the first was undeniably yes, the answer to the second was… more ambiguous, but Foggy’s conscience prodded him toward a firm ‘no.’ Logically then he should sever contact. Sprinkle salt at the doorway, keep holy water near his desk…
Assuming it had any effect. Water seemed such a flimsy defense against a creature that had proved itself capable of unfeeling murder. But he had been prepared to try, determined to keep this last place safe from the Devil’s influence, to make sure Karen wasn’t caught up in another tragedy so soon on the heels of another, to make sure Brett would not be called out to an attorney’s office to clean up a bloody mess that might once have been Foggy or Karen or an innocent bystander-
Foggy poked his head out of his office again, glancing at Karen’s empty desk. She had been keeping strange hours these past few weeks; staying out later than planned, actually taking her full hour’s lunch rather than skipping back in fifteen minutes early. Until now he hadn’t thought anything of it; it was her time and none of his business how she spent it.
Or at least it hadn’t been until half an hour ago.
Feeling guilty as sin he crept to the desk, one ear cocked for the sound of footsteps, half hoping Karen would magically appear to throw open the office door and ask him why he was bothering to sneak around his own office. Unfortunately the silence was broken only by the creak of the floorboards and the echo of the fan he had switched to its highest setting in the hopes of dispelling the lingering old building smell that still clung to the place. He rested his palms atop the wood, felt the way it had warped and splintered.
They needed new furniture almost as badly as they needed a new computer, both of which would come when they had the client base to support it but-
The top drawer was locked, either that or jammed. He tugged again to be sure, glaring incredulously at the keyhole. Karen had every pertinent file for their practice locked in a single drawer that the man whose name was on the door could not open. The creeping sense of guilt vanished to be replaced by an eerie calm.
Karen could have locked it against burglars or absentmindedly turned the key and slid it from the lock as they were leaving. She could have picked up the habit before bringing her wasted talents to a law practice that hardly deserved the name yet. Any of these things might have been true, but Foggy knew instantly they weren’t. He knew her too well, a hazard of the misadventures they had already shared, a necessary prerequisite to calling her a friend. Not only was Karen hiding something but she was using their one retreat to do it.
And the Devil had stood right here, where he was standing now, holding her hand and mouthing platitudes designed to get him past the front door and keep him there.
Irrelevant. The word repeated again and again in his mind, ringing with less conviction each time.
Karen was sneaking, the Devil had come calling, the Addict’s death proved the city was growing restless. Taking any one it would be easy to dismiss them for coincidence, take them together and it painted a rather grim portrait.
Footsteps in the hall pulled him back into the present quickly enough to send him scurrying from the desk before the door creaked open, Karen peaking about the edge with uncharacteristic timidity. Foggy could feel another presence just beyond her, shielded from view by the door yet still setting his hackles on edge with anticipation.
“Foggy, I need you to promise me you’re not going to freak out.”
“Well, I mean, no promises…” His forced smile slipped from his lips as Karen slowly stepped into the room, still wearing yesterday’s clothes but conspicuously spattered with droplets of-
“Blood? Shit, Karen, what-”
The voice he had been dreading spoke, soft but firm and with just an edge of an insinuated threat Foggy knew he wasn’t imagining. “Karen was attacked by muggers last night on her way home. Fortunately I overheard. I think my approach must have scared them off.”
Murdock stepped out from behind the door, offering a solicitous arm when Karen absentmindedly reached back to tug him forward. “It’s not as bad as it looks-”
“Good because it looks like hell.” Foggy shoved aside all thought of the Devil and his damnable habit of appearing where he was not wanted. Karen’s eyes were swollen and dark, cheeks already yellowing into a bruise, lips starting to bleed again now that she was forcing a smile and the way she clutched her purse to her chest reminded him of precisely what it felt like to get hit with a baseball in the sternum.
That the Devil had something to do with it he did not doubt, that he had led all three of them to this point in time with his sheer stupidity in attracting Murdock’s attention was beyond question. As was the fact that as soon as he was certain Karen had received all the care she needed, Murdock was going to get right the hell out again.
The Devil's Due Part 3.4
For the fifth time in as many minutes she craned her neck to look around him, taking in the darkened room. Wood floors as far as the eye could see without so much as a rug in sight, furniture that had clearly seen better days but looked comfortable for all that, bare walls and empty tables devoid of any personal touches. It made sense, she supposed, he had no use for pictures and he had not struck her as a particularly sentimental man, so why should his home be cluttered with baubles?
Matt’s fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to face him again, holding her in place for his ministrations. A chill swept through her, sending a final shudder through her frame Mr. Murdock tactfully pretended he had not noticed. Karen felt the way he paused though, the new hesitancy in his touch when he finally set to work again, as silent and methodical as he had been since sitting her down at the kitchen table with a bottle of cheap whiskey to hand. He didn’t seem the type to drink it, but at his quiet urging she had taken her fair share and some of his as well.
She had been attacked, deliberately targeted. There was no other possible explanation for why her assailants had been so willing to choose such an uncooperative victim. The first sign of resistance and they should have been running, but they had relished every second of it instead. Of course, it hadn’t been much of a fight-
Exploratory fingertips ghosted across her face to find the curve of her split lip and press into it viciously.
“Ow.”
“Sorry.” Murdock winced, pausing for only a split second before going back to work. “I’m a little shaken.”
Karen pulled away deliberately, snorting with laughter she hadn’t realized was left in her. “Yeah? Me too.” Again she reached for the bottle, taking a light sip, already lightheaded with shock and fatigue but past caring. Matt’s polite mask slipped for all of a second, something baleful and taunting flickering across his expression before she had seen it. By the time she had set the bottle aside, his face was set in lines of concern again, a frown gathering on his brow for all that his tone was even.
“Are you sure you don’t want to call someone?”
“No cops.” To say her history with the Hell’s Kitchen police department was colorful would be an understatement, but this man didn’t need to know it.
“Mr. Nelson, maybe? I think he would take a vested interest in your welfare.” Murdock’s tone was so neutral it could only be a rebuke. It was inevitable, really, that Foggy would find out, but that could wait until morning when she had several hours of sleep and enough caffeine to power an army running through her veins.
“Not tonight,” she snapped, immediately regretting the tone. It wasn’t Matt’s fault she was tired and aching and still scared stiff, but so far he had borne the brunt of it. She drew a breath and tried again, mentally counting down from a hundred. “It’s late and he’s probably”- working, reading, drinking himself to sleep- “Sleeping. Soundly. This can wait.”
Silence blanketed them, but it held none of the comfort of a few minutes ago, laden with unvoiced reproach as it was. “By the way, has he called you back yet? I know he was a little brusque, but I swear that’s not the norm and we could really use the extra help.” Any port in a storm, any topic to save herself from Matt Murdock’s accusatory silence.
“I’m sure he’s been busy. As have you, apparently.” Matt laid the cloth aside, wiping his fingers carefully on another he had draped over the chair. She flinched at the pink stains, barely restraining herself from reaching up to run an inquisitive hand over her battered face.
“Honestly, I’d rather not talk about it.” They were back at square one, with Matt gamely trying to make a case for filing a police report and Karen dead-set against it. God save her from any more attorneys.
Finally he sighed, and she could hear the tinge of defeat in it, frustration and resignation mingling in equal measure. He pushed out of his chair and made his way to the cabinet above the sink, pulling down a glass and filling it to the brim with water. He downed it in a few quick gulps, fingers clenched on the glass as though it was the only thing preventing him from doing violence.
“I won’t push you, miss Page, but I disagree.”
The apartment grew darker, eerily still even for that hour. There should have been sirens or traffic, hell, Murdock’s entire window was taken up by a glowing LED screen, but just then she felt swallowed by the darkness.
Karen leapt into the silence, eager to bring him back from whatever memory he had retreated into.“So, this isn’t really that far from the office. You could probably walk it in twenty minutes.”
“Miss Page, are you asking to stay the night?” Feigned shock, a smile tugging at his lips that did nothing to banish her unease. It settled on his face unnaturally, and vanished just as swiftly.
“No, I want to go home as badly as you want me to-”
“It’s no trouble.” He pushed away from the sink, setting the glass aside as though he hadn’t been about to crush it in his bare hand a moment before. “I respect your preference for avoiding any legal entanglements, but it would be better if you didn’t stay alone tonight.”
There was no question in his tone, not even a hint that her refusal was a possibility. It vexed her unreasonably that he should so casually assume her cooperation but…
She didn’t want to be alone either.
“I’ll take the couch, then.”
“The bed would be best. You would thank me in the morning when you really start to feel this.”
Tomorrow was going to hurt, she didn’t need him to tell her that. And with the sign-
“All right, bed.” She pushed herself up from the table reluctantly, feeling a myriad of abrasions check in and what she suspected might be a bruised rib. “Would you be so kind as to walk me to work tomorrow? Just in case.”
“Just in case Mr. Nelson is considering walk-in candidates?” His arched brow said clearly she had not been half so subtle as she supposed, but no offense was taken.
“I’m really not kidding about needing the help.” Especially now that she had suddenly acquired so much extra work, beginning with unearthing the identity of her attackers.
“I’ll consider it, Miss-”
“Karen.” Her throat closed up, choked with tears she was only now beginning to feel building. The trick would be getting to bed as fast as possible before he picked up on it.
“Matt.” He reached out tentatively, but his grip was steady and firm when she slipped her hand into his. His hands were soft as hers to the first touch, but her fingers felt the raised welts of scars along his knuckles, lines of work and care worn into his palms. Not hands she would have associated with an attorney but-
“Nice meeting you, Matt.”
By nine Foggy was beginning to worry. It was an unspoken agreement that Karen would be in the office by eight, Foggy would be in by eight-thirty, and he would gladly atone for his tardiness with gifts of bagels and coffee to placate the savage beast that was Karen without breakfast.
This morning he had strolled through the door at five after eight, a bag of bagels in his left hand and not two but four cups of coffee nestled comfortably in the holder he was balancing desperately on his right. He was tired, every aching muscle screaming at him for even daring to be awake after three hours of fitful sleep, but pleased despite all that.
The priest’s words had haunted him as he dozed off last night, had echoed through his thoughts until he dragged himself from bed to the couch, counting on the philosophical musings of Wittgenstein to put him to sleep again as they had so many times during school.
No dice. His heavy thoughts refused to be ignored any longer, plaguing him until he had finally given up and actually begun to consider how he would deal with his infernal problem in the long run. The answer had come to him at false dawn, no longer nodding on the couch but leaning against the kitchen counter, long since cooled tea sitting just out of his reach. So many questions had raced through his mind, and most of them irrelevant now that he thought back on it.
Did the Devil want to be near him or was it Matt Murdock? Was Matt Murdock the Devil? Did he live in any recognizable sense? Could he, as Lanthom had insinuated, be saved? Was it Foggy’s responsibility or did each man govern his own soul?
Irrelevant. Irrelevant because the only questions he needed to ask himself was whether he had fulfilled his part of their bargain and whether any good had come of it. The answer to the first was undeniably yes, the answer to the second was… more ambiguous, but Foggy’s conscience prodded him toward a firm ‘no.’ Logically then he should sever contact. Sprinkle salt at the doorway, keep holy water near his desk…
Assuming it had any effect. Water seemed such a flimsy defense against a creature that had proved itself capable of unfeeling murder. But he had been prepared to try, determined to keep this last place safe from the Devil’s influence, to make sure Karen wasn’t caught up in another tragedy so soon on the heels of another, to make sure Brett would not be called out to an attorney’s office to clean up a bloody mess that might once have been Foggy or Karen or an innocent bystander-
Foggy poked his head out of his office again, glancing at Karen’s empty desk. She had been keeping strange hours these past few weeks; staying out later than planned, actually taking her full hour’s lunch rather than skipping back in fifteen minutes early. Until now he hadn’t thought anything of it; it was her time and none of his business how she spent it.
Or at least it hadn’t been until half an hour ago.
Feeling guilty as sin he crept to the desk, one ear cocked for the sound of footsteps, half hoping Karen would magically appear to throw open the office door and ask him why he was bothering to sneak around his own office. Unfortunately the silence was broken only by the creak of the floorboards and the echo of the fan he had switched to its highest setting in the hopes of dispelling the lingering old building smell that still clung to the place. He rested his palms atop the wood, felt the way it had warped and splintered.
They needed new furniture almost as badly as they needed a new computer, both of which would come when they had the client base to support it but-
The top drawer was locked, either that or jammed. He tugged again to be sure, glaring incredulously at the keyhole. Karen had every pertinent file for their practice locked in a single drawer that the man whose name was on the door could not open. The creeping sense of guilt vanished to be replaced by an eerie calm.
Karen could have locked it against burglars or absentmindedly turned the key and slid it from the lock as they were leaving. She could have picked up the habit before bringing her wasted talents to a law practice that hardly deserved the name yet. Any of these things might have been true, but Foggy knew instantly they weren’t. He knew her too well, a hazard of the misadventures they had already shared, a necessary prerequisite to calling her a friend. Not only was Karen hiding something but she was using their one retreat to do it.
And the Devil had stood right here, where he was standing now, holding her hand and mouthing platitudes designed to get him past the front door and keep him there.
Irrelevant. The word repeated again and again in his mind, ringing with less conviction each time.
Karen was sneaking, the Devil had come calling, the Addict’s death proved the city was growing restless. Taking any one it would be easy to dismiss them for coincidence, take them together and it painted a rather grim portrait.
Footsteps in the hall pulled him back into the present quickly enough to send him scurrying from the desk before the door creaked open, Karen peaking about the edge with uncharacteristic timidity. Foggy could feel another presence just beyond her, shielded from view by the door yet still setting his hackles on edge with anticipation.
“Foggy, I need you to promise me you’re not going to freak out.”
“Well, I mean, no promises…” His forced smile slipped from his lips as Karen slowly stepped into the room, still wearing yesterday’s clothes but conspicuously spattered with droplets of-
“Blood? Shit, Karen, what-”
The voice he had been dreading spoke, soft but firm and with just an edge of an insinuated threat Foggy knew he wasn’t imagining. “Karen was attacked by muggers last night on her way home. Fortunately I overheard. I think my approach must have scared them off.”
Murdock stepped out from behind the door, offering a solicitous arm when Karen absentmindedly reached back to tug him forward. “It’s not as bad as it looks-”
“Good because it looks like hell.” Foggy shoved aside all thought of the Devil and his damnable habit of appearing where he was not wanted. Karen’s eyes were swollen and dark, cheeks already yellowing into a bruise, lips starting to bleed again now that she was forcing a smile and the way she clutched her purse to her chest reminded him of precisely what it felt like to get hit with a baseball in the sternum.
That the Devil had something to do with it he did not doubt, that he had led all three of them to this point in time with his sheer stupidity in attracting Murdock’s attention was beyond question. As was the fact that as soon as he was certain Karen had received all the care she needed, Murdock was going to get right the hell out again.