Psalm 119:114 "You are my refuge and my shield; I have put my hope in your word."

His grasp on my hand loosened and my heart sped up, breath hitching in my throat. They had told me that today would probably be the day but now that it had come I simply couldn't accept it. No. I couldn't believe it. I tried to focus on his face but my thoughts were clouding my brain. The pain in his eyes flowed freely through his tears, and yet there was love and hope there, in his dark eyes that had always been so gentle and warm. I had never seen such raw emotion from my father.

My stomach churned and the room spun; I squeezed his pale hand tighter, gliding my thumb across his palm. The sheer white glow that covered everything in the hospital room hurt my eyes and tears blurred my vision, I could feel a pain in my chest form as though my heart was being twisted and pulled on. My whole body ached. The pump of my heartbeat was all that I could hear. I had prayed to God the night before, sitting by my father's bedside, that this day wouldn't come so soon. He was too young, only fifty-five years old, and there was so much more that he had planned to do in his life.

The room was quiet, yet all the thoughts that were jumbled in my mind made me feel as though I had just stepped onto a busy city street. My head was full of nonsensical noise and I couldn't breathe. Just make it stop... I can't take this anymore...

With a shaky breathe that seemed too short to be substantial, my father turned his head to look at my mother who had come to sit on the opposite side of the bed form me. The look he gave her spoke more that any words could; they knew exactly what the other was thinking. Then he slowly turned his head to me, grinning and letting out a small content sigh. Closing his eyes, the little life that was left inside of him drained from him and it was over.

I looked up, but wasn't paying attention to what I was seeing. The noise that cluttered my brain was gone and now I felt... empty. Faintly hearing the moans, sobs, and loud prayers of my mother; I closed my eyes to pray. Because that was what a good Christian in a crisis was supposed to do, I was taught. Even when the crisis seemed impossible.

"I know that this is in your plan, God... I-I know... that this is all in your plan... somehow. Um...- Please no. He was a good man. Please let me wake up from this nightmare- Idon't understand why this is happening, but I'm going to try." My lip quivered, eyebrows scrunched together as I tried to focus on the words I was trying to say. What words could help us now. He was dead. "Help us... What's life gong to be like without him. I can't- just, I-I need you, God. Please. Please, help me to- just help me understand." A crack in my voice led to strangling noises in my throat as I tried to keep from going hysterical. My mother's arms wrapped around me and she sobbed against my shoulder.

Tears spilled down my cheek and my face grew hot. "We'll see him again one day, mom. It's okay. -No, it's not- Dad... He's in Heaven now. He's with God now. He is. I know he is. It's okay, momma. We're going to be okay."

• • •

One Year Later

The subway smelled, the large man standing in front of me smelled, and I was pretty sure that I smelled, too. In short, the whole of New York seemed to give off an unholy odor that left an unpleasant feeling in my stomach. Or maybe I was just being too judgmental and not giving the city a fair chance. But I doubted it.

As the subway began to move, a sick feeling washed over me and I turned to look at my mother seated next to me. She was the picture of perfect serenity. Familiarity radiated from her as she casually sat back on the stiff seats of the subway. I was everything she was not, at the moment; my back ramrod straight and my knuckles white as snow as I tightly grasped my purse and surveyed the New Yorkers around me. Having grown up in the suburbs of California, the Big Apple was a whole new terrain that I felt completely lost in. Without my mother, who had grown up and lived in the dingy streets of Hell's Kitchen until she was nearly 30 years old, I was sure that I would already be dead in a ditch by now.

Finally making it to our destination, I grabbed onto my mother's arm making sure to not be separated in the sea of angry and impatient people. There were so many things happening, the feeling reminiscent of white noise, irritating and slightly unsettling. We exited the subway station and I breathed in the slightly fresher air outside.

"Okay, Ruth, if you're gonna become a true New Yorker like your mom, you have to learn how to act like one." My mother had proclaimed, walking onto the busy sidewalk as if she owned the whole city. I smiled and joined her, linking our arms together as we made our way towards our apartment building. Although the last year or so had been rough and mom had been less like herself, I could already see a drastic change in the woman. Just breathing in the air of her old beloved city brought new life to her. However, it was having quite the opposite effect on me.

"Okay, so how is a New Yorker supposed to act?"

"Rude."

"So, pretty much like how all of the movies stereotype to be? Okay, I guess I need to start my research then." I snorted and pulled my jacket around me tighter.

She laughed, a happy sound that I had been missing lately. "I'm kidding, Ruthie. Mostly, anyways. I mean that you have to be a little tougher than you usually are. Which I know might be a little difficult for you 'cause you're such a softy-"

"Hey, I can be tough if I need to be!" I scoffed, lightly slapping her arm, our laughter ringing through the crowded air. We walked further down the sidewalk and I suddenly felt young again, and not in a good way. The skyscrapers were so tall that I felt as though I was very insignificant and small, with no knowledge and no means of protecting myself. Nothing about this is pleasant. Now it's making me have insecurity problems.

"I'm glad you're here with me," my mother finally spoke up after a good ten minutes of silence, "I just mean that... I know that this was difficult for you to do after losing your father and now you move with me to a whole new-"

"Mom, stop, it's okay! I wasn't going to live all the way across the country from you. I know how much this city means to you and you know we both would've hated living so far away from each other. Maybe it's difficult for me to understand... well, what the big deal is about this city because I haven't ever lived here but I'm willing to give it a chance." Sniffling was the only reply that I was given for a while as she tried to hold back tears.

"Thank you, Ruth." she croaked out while keeping herself from sobbing.

The rest of the walk was silent between us, but the city continued on with its yelling, honking, and general chaos. I let myself be guided by my mother so that I could look around at my new home.

What does she see when she looks at this place. I mean, I see dark alleyways and malicious figures that are looking for defenseless women. Hasn't she seen some sketchy stuff happen around here that would make her appreciate what we had in California. Also, I hope she isn't forgetting the alien attack that went on not that long ago. Yeah, it's probably not likely to happen again in the same place but.. gosh, that's creapy. And then there's the crime and the whole vigilante thing going on with that Russian mob stuff and wow what have we gotten ourselves into... We're gonna die here. We're gonna get murdered. Okay, okay, okay... try to be positive, you agreed to this. Maybe it'll all work out. Maybe this is where God wants you to be. You just have to trust Him a little more. There has to be a reason, a very good reason, for why my mother and I have just moved to a crime infested, recently alien attacked, superhero filled city. Just trust God. That's aaaaalllll you gotta do. If you can't trust God then you might as well just give up on everything now.

• • •

The apartment complex came into view and my aching body rejoiced at the sight of it. I told myself that I had come to New York looking for a fresh start, a new beginning with my mother. Of course that was only a way to make myself feel better about leaving California. I had only just recently graduated from college with a degree in art and as all of my professors and college buddies told me, my whole life was ahead of me. My mom had told me that I would be met with new opportunities and new friends so I decided, what the heck, I might as well go and see if that's true. First impressions of the city were not giving much hope of finding a bright future there.

While my mind was drifting about my impeding doom, my mother had gone back to being her usual talkative self and was now rattling on about old memories, "And you'll finally get to know your Aunt Marcy and Uncle Jeffery! They've been dying to see you, you know. It's been years. Hmmm, you know, I think the last time you saw them was at Jack Murdock's funeral. Goodness, that was such a sad day. You went, too, you know. Do you remember? It was such a long time ago."

"A little bit, I guess." Only some distinct parts of the event stuck out in my mind. I remember my aunt and uncle vaguely. The cheek-pinches and strawberry candies were the only clear memory of the couple that I had. Jack Murdock's funeral was one of the few times that I had been to New York and let me tell you, going to a city for a funeral will not give you good memories or feelings about a place. I must have been... well, I know I was young, probably only four years old, so the only clear memory of the funeral was seeing the dead man in the coffin and meeting the dead man's blind son. He was the first blind person whom I had ever met which is probably why I still remembered him. A boy, only about nine years of age with dark glasses and a cane. Now a blind orphan. What a depressing memory. No wonder I hate New York so much.

• • •

We entered the grey apartment building and after cluelessly searching for our floor and room; we finally found our new place of residence. It was small and not on the best side of town, but it made my mother happy and had a place for me to sleep so I didn't really care where or what it was. The plane ride and walking was enough to make me too tired to care about anything at that point.

"We're going to be happy here." My mother sighed as she flopped onto the couch in the living room. I looked around our new home and felt satisfied enough . Which was surprising. It was bright and roomy with plenty of space for the two of us to live comfortably.

"I think we will be." I replied, not sure if I was trying to convince myself that we would be or if I really meant it.

• • •

-Third Person POV-

Matthew Murdock had been having a bad day. However, this wasn't a rare thing for the vigilante anymore. The city seemed to be filling up with more darkness each night and the evil continued to creep it's tendrils into the lives of the innocent. That was why he did what he did, though. Keeping the people of Hell's Kitchen safe was what made the scars and bruises worth it. So he pushed on and tried to convince Foggy and Karen that he was okay. That the injuries were minor, mere accidents that occur when one is without sight. But, of course, Matt knew that there was more to it. That the current bruise he was sporting under his eye was actually from a lucky punch that a lowlife had gotten in before being pummeled by the devil. Matt didn't get much information from him but it was better than nothing.

Well, it would have been nice to get at least a little more. At least he had a name. Fisk. The monster. He was the evil. He was the darkness that was trying to choke out the light and leave people like Ms. Cardenas in the dirt. He deserves to be- to be... Matt sighed and shook his head, getting up from his desk in the small law firm office that he and Foggy owned. Nelson & Murdock. Matt was trying to make their business a beacon of hope in the dark city. Something for people to grab onto for justice. But the law wasn't always enough. Which was why Matt was in the state that he was in, at the moment.

"Karen, I'm heading out for a while. " He tried to sound cheerful when he addressed his secretary but the stress and exhaustion in his voice was clearly evident no matter how much he tried to mask it.

"Yeah..." Karen shuffled her papers around and smiled brightly at him, but there was concern in her eyes, concern that Matt decided to ignore. "Bring back some coffee, maybe? Our maker stopped working," the blond secretary got up from her makeshift desk and made her way to Matt. "Though that probably isn't that bad of news to you and Foggy now that I'm aware of how much you hate how I make coffee." She smirked, sarcasm dripping from her voice, the concern now washed away. The conversation was so causal, so normal. It was a bit of a relief from the stressful moral war that had been going on inside of Matt for the past few days.

"I'm pretty sure it was Foggy who said he didn't like your coffee," Matt chuckled as he went to grab his cane. "Anyways, I'll get the stuff and be back at around 1:00. Foggy said he'd be coming in soon, too."

"Good, I wanted to interrogate him about how he would make the coffee." Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she made her way back towards her desk, stretching her arms.

The lawyer left the office and breathed in the smog-filled city air. The chaos filled his senses but the man was used to the noise pollution and blocked it out as he made his way down the street. The crime had always been bad in his city but ever since Fisk had risen to power, Matt could sense the corruption, the injustice grow even heavier. It made him sick. Made him angry and maybe a little too heated. He wanted the man dead even though he knew what that meant for his own life; his own eternity.

His feet and cane led him to a familiar road that brought him to a familiar church. I need answers. No, I don't. I just need someone to talk to. Someone who won't judge me. All this stress makes me feel like I'm going to explode. Or go too far the next time a criminal crosses my path. I know what I want to do. I want to beat Wilson Fisk down to a pulp and leave him bleeding. But- but if what I'm wrong. And if I do that, what I really want to do, then what does that mean for my eternity?

Matt knew that there was someone else beside the Father in the church before he even stepped foot inside. Maybe I should come back. And yet his feet kept going until he was standing inside and then kneeling in front of the altar, crossing himself as he had done a thousand times before. The third party of the group was a woman sweating profusely and wearing way too much perfume.

"Hello, Matthew!" The man who he had come to see spoke cheerily, getting up from his spot on the pew next to the strong-smelling girl. "This is Ruth Collins. You know her uncle from the barber shop." Matt did recall the kindly barber bringing up something about a sister and niece coming to the city. He tried to pay attention to what Father Lantom said and then what the girl, Ruth, was saying but his mind kept wandering to why he was at the church in the first place.

Ruth Collins was a pettite women, standing about a whole foot lower than him. She seemed nice enough, maybe in need of a shower, but he could tell that she was nervous. Matthew could only guess she had social anxiety. Her heart rate pounded in his ears when he stretched out his hand to shake hers. She hesitantly shook it, her eyes shifting to the priest and then back to Matt. The two conversed for a moment, trying to make do with the awkward introductions and be civilized, but in the end the women scurried out of the church as quickly as possible. Matt could only assume that his bruises had intimidated her.

"She's a sweet woman isn't she," Father Lantom spoke up once she had left. The comment brought Matt out of his thoughts and he turned slightly to face the older man. The priest walked towards the pew that he and the woman had been sitting on and Matt followed. Her scent still lingered strongly and Matthew had to resist the urge to wrinkle his nose. Sure, living with Foggy had helped the blind man deal with such obstacles such as strong odors but he still wasn't a fan of them. Father Lantom lowered himself onto the pew, the old wood squeaking in protest under his weight, "If I remember correctly, I think that her parents were close to yours, Matthew. Her mother grew up in Hell's Kitchen, Julia was her name, if I remember correctly. That was years ago. She used to come here sometimes to read. Every once in a while I would approach her and we would talk. It's funny, you know, she wasn't even Catholic, she was a Baptist; I think she just liked the atmosphere in here when it was empty. I can't blame her. When I saw Ruth I thought I had gone back in time. She looks a lot like her mother." Matthew nodded slowly, he remembered Ruth's parents a little but his mind was too torn a part at the moment to even think back to his depressing childhood and the people involved in it. Matt sighed, it wasn't important. He had more stressing matters on his mind than old connections. "Latte?" Lantom spoke up after the lingering silence between the two.

Matt gave a ghost of a smile. Something else normal that Matt could hold onto during the storm going on his life right now. "Yes, thank you."

Author's Note:

I just checked my account and realized that I've been on this website since 2012 so I guess its about time I decided to post a story... This idea has been in my phone for a while now and I've been editing it like crazy so now I just want to post it because it's driving me insane. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this but I have another chapter pretty much done so I'll probably be posting it soon. I hope to post consistently so I'll make a plan for the rest of the story so I know what I'm doing. Thank you if you're reading this and please give me some constructive criticism because I need it. I hope you all enjoy! Stay classy, friends!