It's raining. I can hear every drop, I can feel the storm expanding around me. I can smell the moisture, the acid rain making everything sodden with it's disease. The heat of the city lights being reflected off the pavement, the rain making the concrete a temporary funhouse mirror. I can feel it all. My eyes are open, but they see nothing. I see everything. I can feel the underlying hum of the city that follows me everywhere. I can hear hundreds of televisions, microwaves, laptops, car engines. Voices, fighting, snoring, crying. Energy from buildings, generators, the sheer amount of energy Hell's Kitchen alone is producing right now hits me. Everything, all of it, creates a type of visual. A multilayered image of a world on fire. Red, boiling… pure hellfire. I let it all in. I let it consume me.
"So where were you last night?" Foggy asks me, his voice hushed and hurried. I quickly listen for a moment, asserting that Karen is indeed not in the office. I reply evenly, in a normal tone. "I was watching the rain." This is the truth, I tell myself.
"Good one," says Foggy. "A blind man makes a pun about his blindness. Classic. Have you ever thought about going to one of those sensitivity training classes? Maybe it will help with business." I chuckle, but give no reply. My hands are running quickly over a case file. It's lunch but Foggy and I are too busy to go get anything ourselves. If I listen closely enough, I can hear Karen down the block getting us lunch; proof of how busy we are at this very moment. I wonder to myself, if we're so busy that Karen has to fetch us lunch, why is Foggy suddenly inquiring about my night? I stop my hands, suddenly nervous.
"What's up Foggy?" I ask.
"What do you mean 'what's up'? I can't ask about your night?" He retorts.
"You've got something on your mind. Why else would you ask about my night in the middle of all this?" I say, using my hands to blindly refer to the paperwork that is surrounding us. We're in the conference room instead of our offices, working together in silence on this case. "You… seem tired. But also not beat up. No bruises, for once." Foggy comments, and I can hear the smirk in his tone. He's teasing me. "What are you saying?" I ask.
"Could there have a been a girl?" He says, "Perhaps a beautiful one you should tell me all about?" His voice squeaks in half-hearted excitement. Really, I think he's just glad I'm not out 'being a martyr' as he calls it. But the possibility of a girl, definitely excites him. "You could say that…" "Please, tell me all the gory details before Karen gets back!" He begs, and when I don't answer right away he rolls up a piece of paper and lobs it at me. Hearing it whistle through the air, I backhand it at just the right second so that it goes back and hits Foggy gently in the nose. "Foggy, I swear if that was a case file I'll-" "You'll what Matt? Beat me up with your weird blind-person powers? I don't see that happening." He laughs, making a very good point. "I'll leave you here to do this all yourself." "Yeah nice try, half of this shit is yours too. And Karen would kill you." He says, again making valid points that make me smile. "Please tell me about the girl."
I sigh quietly, not knowing how to explain. I think back to the rain, to the storm surrounding me, to the energy bouncing off of everything. I was on top of my roof, listening to the city. Particularly a hospital.
In my bed at night I kept hearing a sort of crying, a sorrow that resonated so deeply inside of me it found me in my deepest sleep to wake me up. So I listened and listened until I finally found the source, a beacon of light in a gleaming city under darkness. It was a female voice crying, a body stirring in a bed, a rapid but steady heartbeat. I remember distinctly hearing her scratch at bandages, no not bandages; restraints. I wanted to know why she was there, why she was crying so softy by herself chained to a hospital bed. She couldn't be sick, her heartbeat was so strong and quick. Like her body needed her blood circulated faster than normal, like she was burning through all of her energy. Then I heard police officers, two of them in her room. I still mistrusted the police, even if Fisk was put away and his paid men put to jail. There was always a chance that a cop was dirty. They questioned her, I couldn't make out all of it. Her heartbeat was so incredibly loud that, paired with all the noises of the machines and the city itself, it drowned out their words. I heard some things, something about a lab and an "accident". Maybe something about stealing, but also murder? After the entire conversation was done, I realized she was just about to be charged with a crime. But why was she in a hospital? Why had her heart stayed steady while she answered her questions, other than the fact she was obviously innocent of whatever crime they were bestowing upon her? My curiosity burned me from the inside out.
I try explaining this as best I can to Foggy, the girl and how I need to know what's going on. I tell him I'm leaving after the office to visit her, see if maybe I can offer her legal advice.
"You're crazy, Matt. Nothing about this is as sexy as I'd hoped and I am honestly disappointed." Foggy tells me, and I can tell he's frowning. "Please, just listen," I tell him, "This could be a potential client. With an interesting case! Trust me on this once." He considers my logic for a few moments while we work. "Just figure out how you're going to explain how you found out about her case. Maybe do some real research about it first? Like a real life lawyer? Be careful."
Foggy's serious tone and genuine concern has been a prominent feature in our friendship ever since he found out about me being Daredevil, and hearing all the stories about me almost dying. It made the usually lighthearted Foggy a worried friend, one he had never been so routinely. It makes my heart sink.
"Ill be careful." I reassure him.
The rest of the day goes by fairly quickly, the piles of papers and files slowly being organized and used to help build our current case. One about a young African American man being charged with accessory to a robbery. He was only half innocent; waited in the car unknowingly as the getaway driver, but then also didn't call the police once he knew what they had done. "Karen," I say, "I'm leaving a bit early tonight… to deal with a potential client. See you tomorrow? Maybe we can all go out for drinks over the weekend." Even without my abilities I can tell she's smiling. I hear her hair rustle as she nods enthusiastically, and then curses because she remembers I can't see that. I leave her with a smile, trying not to show how worried I am about the girl. Something about her crying, it makes me feel anxious to find out how her condition is. I catch a cab to the hospital, St. Vincent's. It's closer to my apartment than it is to the office, I'm glad I won't have a hard time getting home. It's small, and you probably wouldn't even know it's a hospital from the outside. It was kind of trashed from the incident and even after two and a half years, renovations are still on going. It seems like the type of place someone who was an alleged criminal with injuries would be sent. Once I get there, I stumble in feigning confusion, and once the receptionist sees my glasses and cane, her heart beats a little bit faster. "Can I help you, sir?" She asks, her voice full of sympathy. "Yes… I'm looking a client of mine. I-I seemed to have misplaced her name. We talked on the phone and I had nothing to write her name down on to bring. I thought I could remember… I'm very sorry miss, can you please help me?" I lace my voice with hits of helpfulness and panic. I add to the effect by slightly bumping into her desk, and steadying myself on the edge of it. "Well… can you tell me maybe what she looks like- oh I'm sorry did you say you only talked in the phone?" She asks. Nice save, I thought. "Maybe you can tell me her injuries. I listen closely for her steady heartbeat, locating her room but it's impossible to tell her room number. There's another, more sluggish heartbeat outside of her door. An officer. "Yes. She's only the second floor, mid twenties perhaps, and she's probably the only person in this hospital with a police officer outside her door." I tell her, and listen closely to her heartbeat. It's steady for a second, but when I smell at her, it stutters. I feel bad about it, but I put my hand out and clumsily find hers on the desk. "Please?" I beg. Her heart is hammering as she takes her hand away. "I-I think I know who you're talking about. Her name is Cathleen, does that ring a bell?" I nod. "Cathleen K. O'Connor. Tell the police officer Dana okay'd you. She's on the second floor, room 201." "Thank you so much." I tell her.
I take the elevator up, pressing the button for the second floor (after reading the Braille to make sure). I step out, going to the left where I hear the heartbeats. There are only two on this floor. That's not worrying, I think sarcastically to myself. The officer becomes alert to me as soon as she hears the elevator, probably not expecting anyone. She has the same assumption as the receptionist, that I'm confused or lost. "I come in peace." I say as I approach her, one of my hands held up in surrender, the other on my guiding cane. She seems hesitant, her heart beat fast. She's apprehensive. "Dana said I was "okay'd". I explain. "State your name and business." The police officer commands me. "Matthew Murdoch, with Nelson & Murdoch. I'm a lawyer, I'd like to represent Ms.O'Connor if she does not already have an attorney." By the end of my sentence, her heart starts to slow down. She accepts my explanation. I hear her nod, and then feel the heat from her face as she flushes when she realizes she'd just nodded at a blind man. "Okay, . I'll have to give you a pat down before you go in."
"I would be worried if you didn't." I assure her.
She indeed gives me a pat down, probably more gently than she would with a sighted person which is fine with me. She probably should take my cane away because it most definitely could be used as a weapon, but she doesn't. Not that I need it. When I go in, the room is smaller than I expected. I can feel the heat radiating off of Cathleen, it feels so good to finally know her name, and try to assess her injuries from across the room. She's silent, her heart slower than usual. She's sleeping. "O'Connor, wake up. Someone is here to see you." The female officer says, and then I realize I hadn't asked her name. Manners, Matty I can hear my dad say in the back of my mind. Cathleen startles away, her hands instinctively bracing against the restraints on her wrists. Her heart spikes, which I can hear on the machine, and then calms when she can see it's just her officer and a blind man. I sit down and explain who I am.
"So, you're a lawyer and you're interested in taking me on as a client. What if I already have a lawyer from the DA's office?" "You can drop them and hire me." "Do you know what crime I'm being charged with, ? Do you know the reason I'm going to jail? Do you know why I'm permanently blinded ? Did Officer Sullivan tell you that?" She's breathing hard now, her heart is beating fast. "Hmm? Did she?"
I can't believe I missed that. I can't believe I didn't catch the way she whipped her head around, unseeing. I realize now that there is scratching on the skin around her eye sockets. Bandages. Like the ones I got after my accident, in the hospital. I hold my breath for a few seconds, picking my words carefully as I get over my shock. "Miss O'Connor… I am not entirely aware of what you are being charged with. I caught wind of your case from a friend of mine in the police department, who isn't legally allowed to tell me all the details. But your blindness… It makes me want to help you even more." I hate lying to her, but I feel better knowing that the last part is true. I identify with her condition, with her heart ache, with her anger. I understand it.
I walk forward, slowly so that she's knows I'm doing it. She flinches when I get close. I take her hand, it's warm, and place it on the top of my cane. She gasps with realization, and strains against her restraints for a moment. "Y-you're blind?" She whispers, "My god. What type of fucking bad sitcom is this?" It's the wrong time and place, but I chuckle despite myself. This is honestly like a bad Lifetime movie, but it feels right. It feels like I need to help her.
"Cathleen," I say gently, "What are you being accused of?" Her heart takes off.
"I'm being charged with attempted murder, . And no one believes my story, no one listens." Her heart is fluttering, but I can't tell if it's because she's lying or if it's hard for her to say out loud. "I'll listen to you. If I believe you're innocent, or something about the circumstances you were in makes me believe this is wrong, I will represent you. I will do everything in my power, if you tell me the truth."