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daredevilkink2015-07-13 09:00 am
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2015-07-13 09:00 am
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Prompt Post #5
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #6.
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FILL: leave the world outside 7/?
(Anonymous) 2015-09-23 01:27 am (UTC)(link)Karen doesn’t come into work the next morning.
Matt doesn’t think much of it at first; she’s not usually late, but it’s not as though any of them exactly keep regular hours, and they don’t have any clients scheduled until later in the afternoon. It is slightly disconcerting, though, to be there alone. Foggy is in court, and he feels adrift without the familiar creaking of her chair, the smell of coffee lingering in the air.
He tries to lose himself in his work, and must do a pretty good job of it, because he’s completely lost track of the time when Foggy comes bounding up the stairs, pauses at the office door, and says, “Is Karen sick or something?”
“What?” Matt asks, sliding his headphones off, trying to pry his brain out of the tedious reams of tax law that he’s been digging through.
“She seemed fine last night. Did you talk to her?”
“No,” Matt says, turning slowly in his chair, something cold sinking into the pit of his stomach. “No, I didn’t.”
A long pause. Foggy’s heart starts to beat faster, but his voice is light as he digs through his pocket. “Well, I’ll just--”
His fingers quick on the touchscreen, the tinny echo of ringing. Once, twice, three times. Four times, and Foggy says in a low voice, “She isn’t picking up.”
“I know,” Matt says, shoving his chair back and standing.
“We should--I mean, that’s crazy, right, we don’t need to go to her apartment, she’s probably…” Foggy trails off, takes a shaky breath. “Never mind. I’ll call a cab.”
“Do that.”
***
Karen’s new apartment is a fifth-floor walk-up just outside the borders of Hell’s Kitchen. Matt crosses the sidewalk in long strides as Foggy shoves a handful of bills at the driver, opens the front door, and stops so suddenly that Foggy walks straight into his back.
“What is it?” he asks.
Matt shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”
That’s a lie. He can smell--
--rotting garbage from the dumpsters out back, stale coffee in the super’s office, rock salt tracked in across the floor, the lingering remnants of cigarette smoke and blood blood blood--
It could be a lot of things, he tells himself as he sets off for the stairs, taking them two at a time, cane swinging unretracted, forgotten from his wrist, Foggy puffing slightly behind him as he struggles to keep up. It could be from a papercut, lingering to dry on a stair rail, but it’s not, because they’re almost to Karen’s door--fifth floor, two down on the right, fresh paint and the lingering remnant of her shampoo, and the smell of blood is strong enough to choke. He puts his shoulder to the door without slowing down and it slams open, unlocked, into a room that stinks of blood and fear-sweat.
“Jesus,” Foggy whispers behind him.
“Is she--” Matt shakes his head, doesn’t finish. She’s not here, and there’s not enough blood for her to have been killed here. That’s something. He tries to focus, tries to force the jumble of disordered shapes around him into some semblance of a room.
“They trashed the place,” Foggy says, sounding steadier, like the sound of Matt’s voice was enough to make him pack away his own fear. “Like, totally trashed. I’m talking couch in three pieces trashed. She’s not here.”
“The blood,” Matt says, and he can hear it in his own voice now, the fragile control. “There’s--I smell blood.”
“I don’t see any,” Foggy says, but there’s no doubt in his voice.
“There’s not a lot of it. Is there any--a note, or anything? Any sign?”
Foggy picks his way into the apartment, and Matt gives up on trying to focus on the room, just follows the streak of heat in his footsteps. Something crunches under his feet; broken glass. Bread on the counter, smeared with butter that’s starting to go rancid in the warm apartment. The winter smell of wool and a hint of bar-smoke from the coat that’s somewhere to his left. She made it home last night. Home, and here long enough to take her coat off and fix a snack. And then--
“Her phone is on the floor,” Foggy reports. “Open. Looks like she tried to call for help.”
“Any messages?”
“It’s screen-locked. Hang on.” There’s a series of beeps as he fiddles with the phone. Matt spins slowly in place, trying to force his jumbled senses into some semblance of order. There’s the fading smell of cheap cologne and cheaper cigars. Motor-oil fingerprints on the couch, which is in fact in three pieces, vomiting sharp-scented foam stuffing across the floor. The coffee table is on it’s side, cold tea splashed across it. This is where the main struggle was. Karen was here when they came in--kicked the door in, probably, because she’s way too paranoid to leave it unlocked no matter how tired or drunk she was. And she wasn’t that drunk, was she, she didn’t want to drink with them, and he should have known it, should have pushed harder, should have offered to walk her home--
“--call the police?” Foggy is asking.
“What?”
“Do you think we should call the police?” Foggy repeats, and it says something about their lives, Matt thinks, that he’s asking that instead of just making the call automatically.
Matt shakes his head, keeps turning, cataloging the smear of blood across the wall, the hint of drywall dust where Karen’s fingernails dug in. She fought, and fought hard, and if they were going to kill her they would have done it here. He has to believe that. “No,” he says finally. “She didn’t want the police involved.”
Foggy lets out a slow breath; his hair rustles as he nods, steps closer to Matt. He doesn’t reach out, but he’s just there, a solid, comforting presence. “Do you think it was something to do with Fisk?”
Yes. “I don’t know,” Matt says, “but I’m going to find out.”
Re: FILL: leave the world outside 7/?
(Anonymous) 2015-09-23 01:36 am (UTC)(link)And oh my gosh, poor Karen. Someone attacked her in her apartment again. Wonder why they grabbed her?
Re: FILL: leave the world outside 7/?
(Anonymous) 2015-09-23 02:38 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: leave the world outside 7/?
(Anonymous) 2015-09-24 02:34 pm (UTC)(link)But yay, an update! :-D