Once upon a time, Fall was Karen's favorite time of year. Crisp air, peacoats, the feel of a hot cup of coffee in her cold hands, steam wafting up to her nose as she took a grateful sip. Fall used to mean tree-lined streets in the suburbs flaming with golden orange foliage, her neighbors breaking out halloween decorations that were more adorable than spooky, kids in masks walking unafraid through the streets and knocking on doors to ask for candy.
As an adult though, seasons seemed to pass without notice, one slowly blending into the next. But even when life became a whirlwind of passing dates and changing weather, fall remained the one spot of warm nostalgia in an otherwise unnoteworthy calendar.
It would never be the same after this. Death hung in the air as it whipped around her skirt, damp and unrelenting against the backs of her legs, the night sky a black and yawning void.
A funeral held on halloween was some kind of sick joke. The scene was too macabre, too on the fucking nose, too windy and cold to stand by the graveside, her hair sticking to her wet cheeks, the cold seeping through her many layers and wrapping around her heart.
The headstone was plain, his name emotionless square letters carved into the granite, his life stretching across the bottom, nothing more than a hastily carved dash between year dates. She felt a fresh wave of grief crash over her, looking at the row of headstones. Maria all the way to the left, Frank Jr. and Lisa tucked in between their parents.
She had waited to come here, waited for the sun to set and the roiling crowd of protesters and punisher fans to disperse. The cops had blocked off the iron gates, letting people in one at a time. Karen watched it all from a distance, clinging to the cold iron as the cemetery workers lowered Frank's plain pine box into the ground, the gravediggers leaning on their shovels and watching disinterestedly. The plot had been bought and paid for years before, a practicality of marriage, a plan to spend eternity together. If only eternity had waited just a little.
Karen's legs wobbled, the grief unraveling inside of her. She fell to her knees in freshly turned earth, reaching forward to touch his name. It burned against her fingertips, glowing in the light of the moon. A racking sob tumbled from between her lips, and she collapsed, lying on the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
Time slowed, her heart thudding weakly in her chest as she tried to catch her breath. It was so quiet in the cemetery, the sound of the city in the distance completely muted by a dark line of trees. The sound of her own gasps were sharp against the silence, and she felt foolish lying in the dirt.
"Karen, wake up…. Karen…"
She sat up, her head jerking over her shoulder toward the sound of her name. A dark figure loomed over the grave, silhouetted by the moon. The figure's shoulders were slight and hunched, creeping closer.
Karen scrambled to her feet, brushing the dirt off her clothes. The figure turned slightly, gazing up at the night sky. She was an older woman, soft lines at the corners of her eyes, a kind expression on her face. Turning back to Karen, she said, "It's such a beautiful night, clear sky, big moon… but this is no place to take a nap, Karen."
Karen frowned, suspicion and fear sending a cascade of goosebumps across her body at the sound of the soft voice. "I wasn't sleeping." She frowned, a line of confusion appearing between her eyebrows. "How do you know my name?"
The woman smiled, shrugging. "I know lots of things dear." She nodded toward the fresh grave site. "I know you love the man in the ground here."
Karen reached up to brush away the drying tears, her throat feeling tight again. "That doesn't exactly take a psychic to figure out."
Again, the woman shrugged, this time reaching forward to touch Karen's hand. "I know that this whole thing could have been prevented… that it still can."
Karen's brow furrowed, confusion sweeping across her face. "I don't under-"
"His death." The words were clipped, the other woman's tone shifting from soft and understanding, to fierce. "He didn't have to die." She pointed angrily at the grave. "This didn't have to happen, and you can still change it."
The older woman's fingers were digging into Karen's arm now, pulling her close. The aroma of incense and something strangely familiar but unplaceable wafted up to Karen's nose. Her vision blurred, softly glowing at the periphery. She shook her head, blinking away the strange sensation.
Karen felt something cool in her palm, a coin being pressed into the soft flesh. Her fist closed around it, and the woman's grip on her arm released.
"Go home, dear. Place this under your pillow, and think. Think very hard about a time when this man's fate could have been altered."
Karen felt herself being pulled into the insanity, the desperation of wanting Frank back clawing at her. "What if it doesn't work?"
"Then do it again. Make it work. You have to."
Karen's fingers shook as she placed the coin against her smooth sheets. It winked in the light of her bedside lamp, the strange symbols embossed on it as indecipherable as before. The metal was still warm, gold absorbing her body heat and keeping it far longer than it should have.
Dropping the pillow over it, she crawled into bed, glancing at Frank's dog tags on her nightstand one last time before flicking off the light.
Immediately she thought of the night he died. Both of them in her apartment, burning the midnight oil and shuffling through stacks of paper. There was something they had missed, some connection between Fisk and a string of murders that could bring down the kingpin for good.
Karen began to drift, a falling sensation in her limbs, then floating. She was on the very edge of sleep, indelible memories playing out behind her eyelids.
There had been a jump drive on the last assassin Frank had taken out, the little piece of plastic dangling from a bloody keychain when he'd knocked on her door. All of the documents were encrypted, utterly unreadable using her dinky laptop. So they'd just settled in for the night, going back over the things that had led them to the man in the first place.
It was useless, and Karen had broken out a bottle of wine for herself and ordered chinese takeout for the both of them. She could smell the ginger chicken and the soy sauce splashed over rice.
She opened her eyes and there he was, staring back at her from across her coffee table like the past two weeks hadn't even happened. They were sitting on the floor, food and paper scattered over the table between them. A bruise on his left cheekbone drew her eye, the result of a tussle with a purse snatcher only hours before, and he was smiling down into his box of noodles. Her heart jumped into her throat, eyes as wide as saucers.
He looked up, expectantly. There was a question hanging in the air between them, about the food maybe, and he was waiting for her to answer. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
He frowned. "Page, are you alright?"
She didn't know what the rules were here. Could she tell him she was from the future? That he was going to die if he went out prowling tonight? Would that send her flying back into the present, back to her tear soaked pillow and the deep wound in her chest? She couldn't risk that.
She cleared her throat, making every effort possible to remember the tone of that night, to remember what he'd said about the food. She smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "I'll let Madame Wu know you think her noodles would be better al dente. I'm sure she cares what some guy who lived off MRE's for two years thinks about her food."
He arched one eyebrow at her, reaching for the bottle of wine. "It wasn't just MRE's."
Karen let out a little sigh of relief, watching him fill both of their glasses. This was right, the feeling of warmth between them, the soft light from the lamps in her apartment.
She sipped the wine, letting it linger on her tongue before swallowing. She remembered everything now. The way the wine settled in the pit of her stomach before the alcohol worked its way through her body, making her limbs loose and a little too free. The tingle of warmth that spread out across Frank's cheeks as he sipped from his glass.
She cocked her head to the side, looking at him curiously. She decided to flip the script in her memory. That was the whole point right? "I think this is the first time I've ever seen you drink anything other than coffee."
He glanced at her, the flush on his face migrating to the tops of his ears. "I suppose it is." He swirled the glass, watching as the ruby liquid briefly clung to the edges before pooling back in the bottom. "Not usually a fan of things that make me less alert."
She downed the rest of her glass, pouring another and taking a drink before looking back at him. "Sometimes… I think I like it a little too much. It makes me feel like I can do things… things that I normally wouldn't."
Again, this earned her a raised eyebrow. It was almost infuriating the way he held onto everything so tightly, barely letting any reaction register on his face. The sound of him clearing his throat was the only crack in his stoic façade. "Like what?"
Getting up, Karen uncrossed her legs and stretched to her full height. The wine wasn't enough really, not to make her do and say what she needed to. But the sight of him laying in the morgue, pale as ash, eyes closed forever, his dogtags as cold as ice clutched between her numb fingers, that pushed her to the point she needed to get to, courage filling her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
She rounded the table, but didn't go to him immediately, stopping to drop the needle onto an old jazz record. The player and records were the only thing she had left of her brother. He was a vinyl enthusiast, and no on in her family had known what to do with his collection. She used to listen to them on gray rainy days, days when she felt lonely. The records had been damn near worn out after...
Soft notes floated out into the air, the magically deft fingers of someone dancing along the unseen keys of a piano, the deep and warm echoe of a sax bouncing against her walls. She turned, surprised to find that he'd already risen to his feet, eyes full of questions.
"Things like…" She trailed off, losing her train of thought. The way he was looking at her, it wasn't like any time before. There was hunger there, a need that made her mouth go dry. She suppressed a little shiver, finishing her comment. "...dancing." Her eyes drifted shut. Slow music, the kind of melody that begged for someone to hold you close and sway.
The touch of his hands on her hips sent a frisson of desire mingled with relief zipping through her. Tears too close to the surface, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding in the hollow of his shoulder. Maybe she could get him to stay, at least for the night. Stay away from that dark rooftop and his certain death.
His squeezed her gently, rocking in time to the music, his breath hot against her ear. "Karen? What's wrong?"
Shit. she was crying again, hot tears splashing against his skin. She pulled back for a moment, scanning his features. There was concern in the depths of his dark eyes, and more than a little confusion. But under it all, there was something else, something warm like the embers of a fire, and it echoed in her.
Her lips crashed against his, wet tears sliding against his stubble as she devoured him. For a moment, he didn't respond, clearly surprised by her advance, but as soon as his brain processed what was happening, he immediately became the aggressor.
He pulled her in close, hips bumping against hers, hands roaming across her body until they found purchase on her backside. He hefted her up, pushing her skirt up so she could wrap her legs around him.
Pinning her against the wall, his lips pressed hot kisses into the soft flesh of her neck. His hands slipped under her blouse, skimming her rib cage before palming her breast. She let out a low moan.
Incoherent and desperate to keep him, she held tight, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Frank, stay, please stay."
He responded by pulling her away from the wall and carrying her toward the bed. "I'm not going anywhere, ma'am."
She let out a sigh of happiness, cool air floating around her as her clothes fell to the floor. Everything was perfect, he was safe, he was here.
When the world began to pull apart, she let it, watching as her apartment faded to black and the feeling of Frank inside of her became a distant memory.
She let it all go.
"Karen… wake up."
Her eyes flew open. It was dark, and she was alone. The glowing clock on her nightstand said three a.m. Instinctively, she reached for Frank's dog tags, fumbling in the dark. For a brief moment she was hopeful, thinking that she wouldn't find them, but her fingertips brushed the cold metal and all hope fled.
She flicked her lamp on, grief crushing her from the inside out as she looked down at the bloodstained chain. She held it to her chest and sobbed, grief racking her until she thought she was going to be sick. What a stupid superstitious girl she was.
She reached under the pillow and snatched the coin, throwing it as hard as she could across her apartment. It dented the soft dry wall and landed with a hollow thunk on the hardwood floor. Karen sank down into her bed and cried herself to sleep.