Asylum

As usual, I was working on something else when this story just sort of happened. Daredevil snuck up on me and pounced.

Chapter One


Matt knew he wasn't going to make it. There was just no way. He'd been shot and the police were right behind him.

He couldn't get back to his apartment and he was too far from the office. That didn't change the fact that he had only a few more minutes of consciousness.

The only place close enough was the church. He didn't want to, but he was out of options. As Matt approached, he could hear a woman inside praying for a sick child. Even if he took off the mask, he knew he couldn't simply saunter past her and hope she didn't notice, so he went to plan B, or at this point he was closer to plan D… E… F… He wasn't even sure.

Matt staggered past the main entrance to the church toward the rectory. He spared a precious second to listen. There were two nuns in a farther, separate section of the building. One was sleeping. The other was in her room reading, and drinking a cup of tea. Father Lantom was closer, also still awake despite the late hour. He was kneeling at prayer. Matt could hear the tiny clack of the rosary beads in his hands as well as the creak of the wooden prie-dieu beneath his weight.

Normally, desperate times meant he would break in the door to get inside and out of sight of the police. He couldn't do that with nuns in the building. Nuns were allowed to scare you. You weren't allowed to scare them.

Matt tapped on the window to Father Lantom's room. The priest startled and turned toward the window. He crossed himself hurriedly and rose from the kneeler. The room was small and it only took him a moment to get to the window and raise the sash.

"Matthew?" he asked warily.

Matt had never wanted Father Lantom to see him in his other work suit. He never wanted to bring the Devil to the steps of the church, but like so many things of late, nothing seemed to happen the way he wanted.

"F-father… M… May I come inside?"

The priest looked past him and Matt knew the exact moment Father Lantom heard the sirens and realized who they were looking for. He didn't move, but his already fast heart rate skipped just a little faster.

"Please, Father. I ju… just need a few minutes to regroup."

Father Lantom frowned in disapproval. Nevertheless, he moved aside and allowed Matt to fall less than gracefully through the window onto the floor. Matt considered trying to get up, then reconsidered. The floor was awfully nice… supportive, even, which he really needed right now.

Lantom crouched down beside him, the cracking of his aged knees the only sound other than Matt's labored breathing. "Is there something you'd like to tell me, Matthew?"

"Not really feeling… up to a… latte right now, Father."

"The police are on my doorstep, Matthew," he replied gravely, authority ringing in his tone. He didn't use it often when they spoke, but apparently bloodied men hiding from the cops brought it out. "Not really the time for levity."

"I tried… I tried to save her," Matt said breathlessly. "I tried…"

Father Lantom hung his head, understanding from the phrasing that no matter how he'd tried, Matt had most definitely failed. Lantom gave his shoulder a gentle pat. "All right, son." He reached to a nearby table and pulled the cloth from it. He pressed the fabric to Matt's bleeding side. "The sisters are going to kill me for ruining their good tablecloth. I hope you appreciate that."

Matt smiled tightly. He was well aware of how dangerous it was to draw a nun's ire. "Sorry," he answered, and meant it. It seemed like he was saying that a lot lately. Foggy still wasn't talking to him. Claire had made it clear that she was medical personnel only. Mrs. Cardenas… Ben… too many others, some guilty, some not… On and on…

"So you want to tell me how this happened?"

Matt sighed, exhaustion, pain, and yet another beating pulling him down, so far down he could barely see the light at the end of the tunnel. Not that he could see the light or the tunnel.

"Client," he murmured. Matt felt the priest pull the mask from his face. He let out the barest chuff of a laugh. "Lost F-Foggy, but found a client."


Twenty-Four Hours Earlier

"…the pit just keeps getting… getting deeper, you know…"

Matt tried desperately to maintain his iron control, but it was slipping faster and faster with every word he let fall from his lips.

"I… I can't… I can't do this alone." Karen didn't even know what "this" was. The half-truths and the omissions to keep her in the dark were yet another weight bearing down on him. "I can't… I c- I can't take… another step."

What little control he had left disappeared as Karen hurried toward him and held him close.

Part of how Matt handled his blindness was to keep everyone else as blind about his feelings as he was physically about them. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly and for once allowed himself to feel, allowed his weariness, his hopelessness and loneliness to overwhelm him. He allowed it to actually show.

"You're not alone, Matt. You never were."

The sound he let out was perilously close to a sob and he immediately stifled it. Instead he focused on the woman in his arms. His senses had informed him about her in the abstract, but it was an entirely different thing to have her lithe form pressed against him. He could add physical knowledge to his conceptual understanding, feel her muscles as they moved beneath her skin, feel the silk of her hair against his cheek, feel her gently perfumed skin against his.

She held him and Matt allowed himself to take the comfort she offered, to draw strength from her. No, she didn't understand everything he was facing, or what he was trying to accomplish, but she backed him nevertheless, even when he'd been beaten to a pulp and hid things from her.

"It'll be okay, Matt," she whispered. "We have to believe that."

He wanted to believe it. With Karen holding him close, he almost could. Almost. She seemed so sure.

They both jumped apart at the sound of someone frantically knocking on the office door. "Hello? Anyone there?" The man banged on the door again making it rattle in its frame. "Hello?"

Karen hurriedly wiped the traces of tears from her face, and moved toward the door. She was looking at him, though, and Matt did everything he could to pull himself together. He chose to focus on the person outside. The man was afraid, nervously shifting from foot to foot. He was big, though. His body displaced a lot of air. Not just tall, but big and solid.

Karen opened the door and the man scooted inside like hounds were nipping at his heels. "Are you the lawyer?" he asked without preamble. He was wearing jeans and a button down shirt, both expensive. "Must be," he said to himself, making a gesture toward Matt's glasses.

"Matthew Murdock." He held out his hand for the man to take, but the guy actually walked toward him and grabbed his arm, pulling toward his office.

"This your office? We need to talk."

Matt forced himself not to react violently, although that was definitely his first reaction. Instead, he twisted out of the man's grasp and turned, bringing him to halt still in the main entry room.

"It's well past normal business hours, Mr…"

"Timothy Thomas," the man said. "I really don't have time for chit chat. I need your help. I knew it was a long shot, but I was just praying somebody would be here."

"Most people call first," Matt replied, his tone flat. He had enough going on in his life to pressure him. He didn't really care to add something else. Still, if the man needed help…

"I couldn't. She checks my call history." He looked at his watch nervously.

Matt pointed toward the conference room. "Let's go in here." He half-turned toward Karen. "If you'll join us?"

"Of course," Karen said, already heading for her desk and the closest legal pad.

Mr. Thomas hurried into the conference room and plunked himself in a seat, clearly impatient at Matt's slower pace. Matt had sometimes found his blindness useful for taking up time, or adding pauses to situations where someone was trying to rush things. He took a seat and Karen followed. She looked toward Foggy's empty spot and Matt knew she was feeling his absence just as much as Matt was.

"Now," Matt began, "how can we help you?"

"I was arrested for domestic battery," Mr. Thomas began, "and I need you to make the charges go away."

"The police and the prosecutor set the charges, Mr. Thomas. They don't just go away. Our firm can, however, look into the case and defend you, if we see fit."

"But I didn't do anything!" Mr. Thomas said, a bit too loudly. "Look, this is the third time I've been arrested and I didn't do anything other than protect myself. She's crazy! But the cops come in and take one look at me and the handcuffs come out."

"They look at you?" Matt asked, wondering if he was missing something other than that Mr. Thomas was a large, burly man.

"Mr. Thomas is very tall," Karen explained, stepping in for Foggy's normal descriptive patter. "He's also very fit. He's…" She hesitated, obviously not wanting to insult their potential client.

"I'm scary looking," Mr. Thomas said. "I'm big, muscle-y, bald, and I have a scar on my cheek from a fight I had with Franky, er… Francine a couple of years ago. She cut me with her ring."

"It sounds like you two have a very… volatile relationship, Mr. Thomas." Matt kept his tone even. If this guy really was that volatile, he might get angry at being told so. Nevertheless, Matt had no intention of defending a wife beater.

"Like I said, she's crazy. Stalker-type crazy. I've tried to leave and she won't let me. I try to tell the cops and they won't believe that somebody who looks like me can't get rid of a hundred twenty pound woman." He jerked a thumb at his chest. "My mom raised me never to hit a woman and I won't, not even one who's nuts. I defend myself, but that's it."

"Your wife has pressed charges?"

"No," the man said miserably, "but there were marks on her from me trying to keep her off me."

"Ah," Matt said. In many states, the laws had been changed so that whether a battery victim wanted to press charges or not, if there were visible signs of injury, the police were required to make an arrest. It kept the blame from falling on a battered housewife when the cops took her husband away. It also made sure the batterer went to jail no matter how many excuses the victim might be willing to make. The "It was my fault," or "I fell," or "You can't take him away. I love him," and on and on. The law just said if there were marks, you made an arrest.

Matt had been listening intently as the man spoke. There were no telltale signs he was lying. He was upset, but there were no muscle twitches, no changes in heart rate, no eye movement, nothing that said he was making it up.

Karen passed Mr. Thomas a piece of paper and a pen. "Full names, dates of birth, address, and dates of the incidents if you can remember," she said.

The man began scribbling out the information quickly. "She wasn't always so crazy," he offered. "Just over the years her temper… It's just got worse and worse and then she started keeping track of everywhere I went and then…"

He jumped when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled his cell out, took one look at the screen, and immediately stood. "I gotta go. She's on her way back. If she finds out I left the apartment while she was gone, she'll be pissed."

Mr. Thomas was already halfway to the door before Matt made a quick decision and followed. "Wait. I'll come with you. We can talk on the way."

"Matt?" Karen said nervously. She clearly didn't like this idea, but Matt just shook his head. "I'll be fine. If you could put in a request for the police reports for Mr. Thomas?" He remembered how late it was and added, "In the morning? Lock up when you leave?"

"Call me," she ordered, "after you're done talking with him." Apparently, she'd decided to take over all of Foggy's duties, including incessantly worrying he couldn't get home by himself.

Matt nodded, turned back toward the door and realized Mr. Thomas was already gone. He grabbed his cane and hurried through the door. Once out of Karen's line of sight, he broke into a jog to catch up. The guy wasn't kidding about being under his wife's thumb. He was hustling like a man on a mission.

"Mr. Thomas, wait," Matt called once he hit the sidewalk. He made a token effort at using his cane as he caught up. His client barely paused, however.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time to wait for you. Her boss called her in to work for some kind of emergency. That's the only reason I could come here. I was expecting it to take a little longer, but I should've known I wouldn't be that lucky."

"Where does she work?"

"Silver and Brent. It's a financial group. Financial advising. Accounting and stuff."

Matt's step stuttered at the name. "I'm familiar with them. Who… who's her boss?"

"A guy named Owlsley."


Well… Hopefully that's enough to pique your interest? More soon…