At noon the next day Riley assembled the tactical team for debrief. The very first task on her list was to scold Croftsky, Leo and Sinjon for their haphazard arrest of Daredevil. She would be lying if she said she didn't milk a teensy bit of enjoyment out of telling off three grown men;
"You had him! You had him handcuffed right there in front of you, at gunpoint. What? Did you need him gift-wrapped with a giant red bow too?" Riley paced the length of the table they sat at, a collection of fractured ribs, broken noses, and purple bruises between them. "And what blows it all? Sinjon; leaning in too close to the vigilante because he wanted to 'tell you something', well I hope whatever juicy gossip you exchanged was worth it because our perp's in the wind again."
Those three would have to live with the embarrassment, swallow a few snarky jibes and hoots of teasing laughter, but she was their leader and their fault was hers to bear. She nearly fell to her death pursuing Daredevil on foot because of their mistake.
And worst; now she owed him for saving her life.
It didn't take long for word to circulate that Daredevil murdered the drug addict they found on the second floor. He was ID'd as Vern Woodrugh, one of Amy's former informants, a low level dealer who used to push for the Russians. The M.E. found high levels of heroin laced with PCP in his system, which explained the bloody fingernails. PCP was a dangerous substance. If cannabis was a squirt water gun, than PCP was an HK416 Assault Rifle.
This emboldened Captain Humphrey to press for Alfonso to step up his game plan to capture Daredevil. They were now accepting tips from the public to track sightings of the red-costumed hero.
The drug raid overall was a success. And new informants were gained in the process.
The next open case to tackle was Wes Cleon— the kid she found in the alley two nights ago. Wes definitely shot the other teenager, Jaymichael. The shoot-out was the consequence of a schism in the gang over missing drugs. For initiation, Wes was sent to confront him.
Next thing he knew Jaymichael had a gun on him, but Wes fired first. He brought a weapon anticipating the meet would end badly. There were no witnesses to credit him, and out of fear and intimidation Wes was tight-lipped about the details of his superiors who put him up to the task. The best chance he has is to make a deal, but he won't break. It's like he prefers going to prison to going home.
Riley found herself in the waiting room at the hospital by late afternoon. The sun burnt out the last of its embers setting a dusky glow on the blue vinyl chairs and winked lights off the windowpane.
For the past three months, sleep never came easy for her. It had become mechanical not natural. Step one; crack your knuckles, step two; scratch that itch, step three; breathe in and out ten times, step four; find a position that favors your left. She followed the steps.
But as soon as her eyelids shuttered close the nightmare began.
In the darkness clouding her eyes she could see shadows with familiar faces; her sneering mother who drank too much, stern scowling Sister Margaret from Catholic school, Amy brave and strong and big-hearted as she'd been in life.
The grey revenants changed all the time, but they were always vengeful, blaming her for the ill in their lives. She always tasted blood, fresh and metallic. Then a phantom hand would paw its pinchers into her chest, shatter her ribcage, and wrench at the trunks of her nerves like electric cords. Somewhere in the pit of her subconscious she felt a real hand shake her shoulder.
"Detective…" they echoed.
Riley jolted awake with a gasp. Scalding hot liquid jostled onto her left palm where the cut was and seeped through the bandage. She hissed, shaking off the droplets.
Mrs. Gale Faraday was standing over her, the cup of coffee she had kindly purchased for the detective emptied on half her skirt. Yet her only concern was Riley.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You alright, hun?"
"Crap, crap, crap, I'm sorry. That was on me." She gratefully accepted the tissues Faraday handed. "I must have nodded off." For about twenty minutes, she checked on the wall clock. Another failed attempt to sleep. She decided to try and function without it for another day.
"This coffee was meant to be yours until you tried to karate chop me when I touched you." Riley and the Chief of Nursing had built a camaraderie over the years since she graduated from the academy. She had helped her out of a bind more than once in the past. Next to Alfonso, she was one of her closest friends.
"Sorry for ruining your outfit, Gale. I'll pay for the dry cleaning bill."
Gale swatted the offer aside, "Don't worry about it; I've had worse things spilled on me around here." Her frown creased with concern and she sunk into the seat beside her. "Sounded like you were having a nightmare."
Riley mustered a smile; "I'm fine," yet she made the mistake of averting her eyes. For someone who makes liars admit their deepest darkest secrets for a living, I'm pretty shit at lying myself.
Faraday was too smart to be fooled by a flippant 'I'm fine'. "When did you start having trouble sleeping?"
She grimaced, "Not you, too." Gale arched a brow because she wasn't having any of it. "Since the accident," Riley admitted.
Gale nodded empathetically, there was naught else to be said but; "I'm sorry." She reached for her bandaged hand. Riley neither accepted it nor rejected it, merely endured it. She didn't know what to do with this kind of affection anymore.
"You should see a doctor." Gale let go of her; seeing that it did nothing to help. "Get a prescription for something to help you sleep. And I mean really sleep, not these power naps you take in the middle of the day."
"Truth is; I'm not a fan of pills," she said sheepishly. Thankfully Gale presumed it was the unassuming explanation of a phagophobia of tablets and not what it really was.
"And I don't like cops sleeping on the job," she countered. "Or giving me nonsense excuses, you gotta take care of yourself, Knight. You always walk in here looking like you've just survived the apocalypse or something." She gestured to the dishevelled mess of Riley's hair. "When's the last time you injected a little bit of fun into your life?"
She groaned, "oh God. We are not discussing this right now."
"And why not?"
"When have I ever had luck with guys, Gale? I tell them I'm a cop and their brains immediately jump to 'oh shit she's a cop she must be a ball-buster' or worst."
"Worst like kinky sex fantasies start playing in their heads?"
She made an embarrassed noise, because her assumption was spot on, then laughed."Okay, inappropriate. I'm working, please stop over-analysing my life and appearance."
"Please. Get some proper rest."
There was no use arguing here. "Yes m'am. What would I do without you?"
She snorted, "Fall asleep on your gun probably." Riley chuckled heartily as Gale stood, "he'll be awake soon, you should go in now."
In the private ward Riley slipped in to take a seat beside Wes. They didn't handcuff him to the railing as per her request. He was a small kid with gangly limbs, light as a feather when she carried him, who would risk tearing his stitches open if he tried to run.
He creaked open his eyelids as if they weighed a ton. Big dark eyes blinked at her once, twice; "Why you sittin' there and staring? You hot for me or something?" His throat was still hoarse with sleep.
She rolled her eyes. His color was better and it was encouraging to hear that he was well enough to crack jokes. "You're in pretty bad shape so I'm going to let that comment slide."
He shifted on the bed and groaned. "Ain't gonna be good for my rep having a five-o sittin' bedside."
"Well, it's not helping me much either." At the rate she was going she could be fired by the end of the month just for being a humanitarian. A fresh batch of rookies would enter the force soon; Humphrey would have plenty of uniforms on patrol and wouldn't need her anymore.
After a couple of tries to get comfortable on the bed, Wes stared at Riley with that same defiance he wore when he pointed his gun at her; "You think you own me now." It was a statement rather than a question.
Potential informants didn't like the implication of being on a cop's leash. Heck, no one liked being on anyone's leash. She had been waiting for this reaction the moment he woke up. Riley leaned into her seat, "What I did for you I would've done for anybody."
Wes frowned, cagey of her motives, he probably never met a cop who was remotely pleasant with him before. He shifted again and settled with a wince. "I don't think that's true. I'm pretty sure you've got some skeletons in the closet that you're glad you put there."
That is true. She pursed her lips, nodding favorably. "That's very intuitive of you, Wes." Though from the next frown he didn't know what 'intuitive' meant.
It was easier to question minors when you leveled with them. Not try to be their friend but treat them like an equal. Firm yet someone they could relate too, and if you're lucky, respect. "But your 'rep' is the least of your problems. I have to take your statement now." She took out a notepad and pen.
He groaned loudly; "Just when we were settin' the mood. Why do I have to do this again? I already gave a statement to Detective Sinjon."
Sinjon didn't even want the kid to make it through the night and Riley only trusted him as far as she could throw him.
"We have to be thorough."
Wes' Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped nervously. "You-you think I killed him in cold blood?"
Her opinion did not matter, but from the way he fidgeted with his blanket and searched her expression, it mattered to him. Remaining unprejudiced was what she should have done from the get go, it was too late now. Without a yes or no, Riley read out the details on the page in front of her;
"Jaymichael Weathers; you shot him in the alley. I think you should start from the beginning—"
But his attention was drawn elsewhere behind her; "Err…either the morphine's doing things to my head or there's a blind guy at the door?"
Riley spun in her chair. It could only be one person.
Matthew Murdock was halfway across the threshold. He could have barged in if he wanted too, but he opted to be polite. His cane was vertically positioned in one hand, briefcase in the other. In his charcoal suit he perfectly embodied the part of a high-paid attorney; respectable, refined and professional. (Meanwhile she looked like something the cat dragged in.) She knew otherwise, however, regarding the 'high paid' part of his description. (Of course she would research the competition.)
"Detective Knight," he greeted with a curt nod, unsmiling. She stood out of her chair, already on edge.
"Murdock. What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to see my client."
Of course.
She never planned on telling him that she had been wrong about the jewel-store heist. His so-called 'lead' led them to a second cousin of Eli Somner, who was pawning the stolen jewels in Atlantic City. Riley had almost sent an innocent man to prison and she would never have been able to forgive herself for a slip-up like that.
"I get a lawyer?" Wes glanced between them; "Um…do you two know each other?"
"No." She shot with a bit of a bark.
Wes shrunk into his bed and showed his palms in mock surrender, "yikes, someone's cranky."
"My client isn't even aware of his rights to an attorney. I'll be sure to mention that in my opening statement," Murdock clipped in tersely and stepped into the room with a lone tap of his cane. The movement was swift and graceful though to Riley it was like a bulldozer rolling in. "Neither is he in the capacity to be answering direct questions, especially from bodies of authorities who may appear threatening and who seek to charge him for first degree murder."
The kid blinked wide as if someone had slapped him awake; "Charge me for what now?"
Murdock was rapidly unravelling that rapport she established with Wes from the moment she found him bleeding in the alley.
"By law; his parent or guardian should also be present before you begin questioning him," he persisted.
An unpleasant tick of irritation was nibbling on her neck and the sleep deprivation did not help. "If he had family they would be here by now. It's likely they're the ones who put him up to this." Gangs tended to heavily involve family ties.
"Then you should have followed the necessary protocol and waited for a lawyer to be present."
She gently but firmly grabbed his arm and turned him out of the threshold. Mistakenly, she used her bandaged left palm and it stung. They were by the doorframe, out of earshot of Wes.
"Am I on the stand, Murdock? 'Cause it feels like I am."
Around the precinct they said Murdock could be relentless when it came to his rights. Between the two partners he was the most likely to start a confrontation. She was experiencing first-hand what a pain in the ass he could be if provoked. Had she done something to irritate him and make him butt into her affairs as payback? He was the one who won the jewel-heist case, not her. She should be the sullen one not him. And they had come to a detente last time she checked.
"He's thirteen, underage; he's very recently experienced a traumatic event—"
"I know. I found him," Riley cut off with a barely concealed growl. "No guardian showed up. There's a dead teenager in the morgue and another one who needs to be prosecuted for his death. And you guys were late."
Wes was staring holes into them and because Murdock couldn't see she tugged his elbow further out into the hallway. It was awkward to have to touch him to get him to move with her whilst having an argument with him.
Murdock argued; "He's barely been awake for 4 hours and you're already trying to end his life by throwing him in jail. Someone should be here to make sure he didn't incriminate himself like you were trying to do."
She held her hands up. "That is not what I was trying to do. Besides, we already got a statement. You're welcome to sit in there and hold his hand, but nothing you do or say is going to save that kid from what's coming for him when he gets out of here."
He plastered that arrogant smirk on; "Let's not jump to conclusions, since Nelson and Murdock are his attorneys."
"He shot him. Point blank range, bullets match the gun."
His response was stony; "of course that would be enough to convince you of someone's guilt. Skip the gritty work, the trial, put him behind bars. Done. But it's not that simple, detective, the world isn't black and white."
That made her snap. He was belittling her, like she was some fucking ignorant simpleton with tunnel vision who only saw the evidence she wanted to see. She made a stabbing motion at his chest; "Don't pretend like you know what it takes to do my job, and don't pretend like you know who I am, or what it was like to find the kid bleeding to death on the ground." And then coming here the next morning glad that he's alive, but fucking miserable that I have to do my duty and interrogate him. "You know nothing, you self-righteous pri—" she stopped before she said something she would regret later, or something he would make her regret later. (Like throwing harassment charges at her for example. Bullshit like that. And he was blind too so he would definitely win with sympathy votes.)
He was very quiet. Then he asked; "Why did you choose to save him, instead of leave him like your partner said?"
The mere question threw her so much she had to take a moment to process it. "Maybe because I'm a decent human being. Did that thought not occur to you?"
"Yet you would throw this 13-year old kid in juvie for being coerced into a violent gang he never wanted to be part of, and thus was forced to defend his life in an insane initiation ritual from another teen twice his size? Who drew a gun on him first?"He said adamantly, and tilted his head closer to hers; "Maybe you saved him because you hope he doesn't get a life sentence, maybe he doesn't deserve to get punished like that."
A tense silence ensued. It unsettled her that she could not see his eyes. Half the story of any person she interrogated, talked too, interacted with, was in their eyes. She tried to stare deeper through the black orbs of his sunglasses but they only mirrored her reflection. When she did look away, she felt dazed as if she had just roused from a trance.
Matthew Murdock might as well be wearing a mask.
She wearily rubbed her nose bridge. "You know what? I should go." Murdock merely stood there as if he were a statue. "We're going to argue about this in court one day, until then I don't see the point in discussing this with you." She stuffed her notepad and pen into her pockets and took a step from him. "He's all yours."
As she walked away from Wes' ward, she glanced to see if Murdock was still there, she saw his back as he spun into his client's room.
Only when she was in the car park, lifting her motorcycle helmet did it strike her;
"Why did you choose to save him, instead of leave him like your partner said…?"
That was not on the police report. Neither she nor Sinjon would ever have written down or mentioned the fact that he wanted to abandon a thirteen year old to bleed to his death. She didn't like the Frank, but she didn't want to tank his career. Wes didn't even know he had a lawyer so he can't have been the one who told him that.
So then how the hell did Murdock know how it went down in the alley?
Unless he was there.
No need to start with why; how in God's name could a blind lawyer stalk her, anyway? It was ludicrous.
It had to be simpler than that.
Something wasn't right at Nelson and Murdock and she intended to find out exactly what that was.
Before going home she made a pitstop at the 15th. How could she have missed it before? Daredevil bagged Fisk. Hoffman was represented by Nelson and Murdock, the sole witness that was needed to wreck the kingpin. There was a third puzzle piece she didn't have yet. It was speculation at this point, and she wasn't sure what she was speculating either. Riley printed out a few dozen police reports that had anything remotely to do with Daredevil, from victims he's saved, to crime's he's prevented, to criminals he's incapacitated.
She brewed a pot of coffee and downed three cups before spreading a map of Hell's Kitchen over her desk. Next, she got out a black marker and divided the stack into three. She started on the first pile.
On the map, she began marking the location of every sighting of Daredevil or the Devil of Hell's Kitchen as he was previously known as. With each 'X' mark she began building a 2D representation of the masked man's territory. She deduced from the timing and distance between two crimes that he must be traveling on foot. A hacker informant of hers would be able to build an algorithm to trace the trajectory from each crime and find where his base of operations was.
She was so close. A familiar high buzzed through her; the tips of her fingertips brimmed with electricity and it wasn't the caffeine making her heart pound.
That was when she received a call from the hospital.
"Gale, I promise I'll take a catnap later. Are you calling about Wes?"
"I don't think you'll have time for any sleep tonight. It's not Wes—"
She almost dropped her phone. Riley screeched at McDavis that she needed to take a half-day for an emergency as she sprinted towards the car park. By the time she reached the counter, she was out of breath.
"Thomas Knight," she panted to the nurse.
A resident with a clipboard passed by; "Ms. Knight? He's in Room 32. I can take you."
"They found him delirious when he ran into heavy traffic, he's lucky he survived," said the resident. "He refused medical help initially, until he became unconscious and we had no choice." He was taking too much of a leisurely pace that she almost scraped his Achilles' heels as she followed. "He has three fractured ribs, a sprained ankle—"
"First things first: I want a toxicology report. If it's heroin I need to know—"
"He's an adult, I can tell you no more than I can tell the police."
Doctors were the worst to interrogate. She titled her head back coolly to point out; "I am the police," and showed him her badge she hid beneath her shirt because she wanted to be off-duty for the time being.
"Oh. The other cops they—"
"What other cops?"
There were two uniforms inside the ward. Riley threw the door open. The officers opened their mouths to tell the intruder to leave until they saw who it was and shut their traps.
"Is my brother under arrest?"
"Oh no," groaned Thomas, lifting his head from the pillow. "No, no, no, no."
"We're not arresting him," answered Officer Michaels. They still looked blindsided. "Detective, we didn't know he was—"
She forced a path between them to get to her baby brother and wrapped a protective hand around the railing. "If he's not under arrest you can get the hell out."
They exchanged an uncertain glance, but after an unremitting stare from her they slunk out. The moment the door clicked shut, her walls came crumbling down. She spun to Tommy, finally looking at her brother.
"Tommy—"
"—I told Gale not to call you," he attempted to roll away sensing the approach of unwanted sisterly affection. But his broken ribs protested and he rolled back with a grimace.
Riley shook her head and pushed back the matted hair from his forehead, like she used too when he had a fever and she was the only one at home to take care of him.
"Like she was going to listen to you." She sat in the visitor's chair.
"T-tell them to get these off me." Tommy tugged at the restraints they put on him. Seeing them on his bony wrists twisted her heart. "I have to leave, Riles. I-I don't want to be here, I gotta go."
They had the same blue eyes, but Tommy's had always been more beautiful than hers. She didn't remember when his had become vacant and hazy. The drugs drained the vitality from them.
"No, you're not going anywhere. I can't just let you go and keep hoping that this won't happen again. I'm going to call for a bed, okay? I can do that." Another stint in rehab. That had to be the answer.
"No I don't want that," he tugged harder, more desperately. "I don't want to go."
"You need help," it was half a plea half a command. When did he get so skinny? She thought.
He craned his head away from her until the neck muscle was taut; "I don't want their help!"
She stood abruptly, "Toms—"
He had tired himself out, so he stopped fighting and glared at her. She could feel the bite of venom in his tone. "Let's hear it. Go on."
"Hear what?"
"Just say it, Riles," he gritted out, pounding his fists onto the mattress. "You—" she began but had to sit down again. She threaded her fingers through her hair, pulling on the roots to feel the microscopic pinpricks of pain on her scalp. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results. Drug addiction seemed to be a perfect dictionary example.
But her brother wasn't insane.
"You told me you were clean," she said flatly. "I thought you were starting over, for real this time. I don't hear from you for months and then I get a call that you're in the hospital because you were in an accident."
They had come full circle to this point with him in deep trouble and/or hospital bed countless times over the nine years since she became a police officer. Maybe she was the insane one for grasping onto hope after every downfall that he would change. But even then as she sat beside him, she kept searching for that place in her heart that wanted to persevere for him.
But every time she did it was almost as painful as getting shot in the chest. Almost.
His lips twisted into a rueful smile. "What can I say? 9 to 5 didn't work for me."
"I need to know." Out of habit she nearly drew her notepad and pen, instead she settled her elbows onto her knees and caged her fingers, maintaining that expressionless veneer of a vice detective. "I have to know Tommy. What did you take? Who gave it to you? Where did this happen?"
He shook his head vehemently. "No, no. I was already interrogated by those two shitheads. I'm not answering anymore questions," he whined. It had been a while since she heard him whine. Though she wished it was not under these circumstances.
"I'm not asking as a cop, I'm asking as your sister."
"Like there's ever a difference," he retorted with sudden force. "You're not getting anything from me. I just want to get outta here, and you can't keep me here."
He had compiled quite a resume. Each misdemeanor was burned into her brain as a reminder of how easily she could fail him. Being a cops little brother, his run in Juvie (the only one she couldn't get him out of) were the four scariest months of her life.
"You're not in the condition to leave, and I'm not letting you out of my sight. They said you ran into traffic, why? What were you running from?" She pressed.
He cringed, tired of discussing the subject. "Just—nothing, okay?"
He had no right to be fed up with her. "No, not 'nothing'. This isn't a game, Tommy," she said with clear exasperation. The last thing she wanted was to use her most patronizing voice on him, but he was being difficult.
"It was a bad trip."
The usual explanation. "Don't tell me you're dealing it, now. Please, I don't want you anywhere near this."
"I'm not," he shot with rising indignation. "Is that all you care about? If I'm selling dope? Afraid you'll have to get one of your boys in blue to arrest me?"
"Of course that's not all I care about," she said slowly, surprised by his tone, though she had half-expected it. "But it's important; I don't want you to get in trouble. And I would never wish more harm on you beyond what you're already doing to yourself." The Knights were known troublemakers. It was an inherited gene, Riley fought for years to distance herself from that perception, to seize control over her life, not become a deadbeat like her parents. She only wanted the same for Tommy.
"Could you just talk to me like a normal person? Ask me how my weekend was?"
She tried to be patient; "I'm your sister I just want to keep you safe. Why is that so difficult for you to wrap your head around? Look, these are the kinds of questions you're going to expect when those two come back, and they will come back."
"They listened to you when you told them to get out."
She couldn't hold it in anymore. "Christ, Tommy. I'm a vice detective," she burst, stabbing at her chest. "Do you how it looks when my little brother's in the hospital because of a bad drug trip?"
He made her regret her words when he scowled at her hatefully. "Am I a stain on your sterling reputation, sis? Tuck me away in rehab and forget about me, that's what you want. It'll save you the humiliation. Your fucking duty over family, right?"
That hurt. A lot. "That's not what I meant. I would never-"
"That is what you meant."
"Are you in danger, Toms?"
"No. It was just a bad trip," he repeated with a detached tone and the evenness of practice.
Sighing, she washed her hand over her face. Riley hated fighting with him. If he wasn't going to help at all then she was going to have to investigate herself. "I'm going to talk to the nurse."
He grunted and nodded once, not looking at her as she left. Faraday would protect him here. Out in the hallway she ushered over the officer she knew. "Michaels. I'm sorry about that. I put you in a shitty position. I got to know; is my brother being charged?"
"He's not. I'm sorry Knight. I had no idea. I see the resemblance now... but you know how it is. When, um, guys like him are brought in, we ask questions, we try to find the source of the drugs—"
She saved him from the awkwardness. "It's alright. I would do the same thing. You know, gossip spreads like wildfire at the station but just do me a favour, try to keep my brother out of it for as long as you can. I just—I don't—"
"Knight. I get it. And I will." She shook his hand, holding him to that promise.
"Is he going to be okay?" Michaels asked, genuinely concerned.
"He will be." But she didn't believe herself either.
Close to dawn she was on patrol and made an excuse to separate from her duty partner. Working her street contacts, she found the den of heroin users within the hour. It was a nursing home that shared a lawn with a rundown church, located in a corner of the city wrecked by the battle.
There were two wheelchairs by the entrance, obviously vacated in haste. It was an infinitely lonely place, fallen debris the relic of the chaos that had erupted in her city three years ago.
Gun in hand she scouted the abandoned rooms. She determined the place was empty. Upstairs there was a small alcove with a stained mattress on the floor that someone had moved below a set of charming French windows. The sunlight would hit the alcove perfectly at sunrise. It was pleasantly warm there, cosy if you ignored the dusty floors, odd smells and graffiti.
She knew her brother, the kind of places he would escape too. On closer inspection of the mattress, her heart fell; the bunched blanket on the mattress was definitely Tommy's. Their grandmother gave it to him when he was three, four months before she died.
Riley didn't remember her well, but she had cried at the funeral and Tommy gave her a tissue afterwards, not because he understood what death was but because he thought she needed it. It was sweet.
The blanket was a moth eaten rag now; you almost couldn't recognize the paisley flowers in the patchwork squares.
She unruffled it and beneath, found Tommy's stash of drugs. "Uh," she threw aside the blanket and used needles were tossed out.
A wave of nausea turned over her stomach, her subconscious replayed her own horrible experiences. She sunk to the floor, her knees brushing the mattress, hyperventilating. After a minute or two, the shrill breaths turned to gulps as she recovered herself, rolling onto her heels to stand on unstable legs.
Riley moved one leg and then another. Then she was running, down the stairs, past the wheelchairs and outside, onto the overgrown grass, down the paved path. She tangled with cobwebs as she burst through the doors of the dilapidated church.
Mold grew on the whitewashed walls; the ceiling had caved in exposing the skeleton of the rafters. Sunlight spotlighted on the ground through the cracks like direct paths for angels to descend from the sky. Dust motes danced in the golden light shining through stained glass windows.
Riley was drawn to an empty pew. She sat in one, for the first time in over twenty years. She didn't move, did not draw a breath, did not lift her head, barely felt her heart beat. Then something came over her, an ache that rattled through her to her lungs. Riley bent forward and sobbed, clasping her hands together on top of the seat in front of her. It could have been in prayer if she wasn't still clutching a gun between her hands.
It was deathly silent in the halls above and around her. There she stayed in the echoing ruins, torn and isolated. Taking out her phone she dialled Amy's number. There was no one on the other end to answer, but she needed to hear her voice. Like always, it went straight to voicemail;
"Hello, this is Amy, I can't come to the phone right now, leave me a message and I'll get back to you ASAP."
"Hey. So it happened again. Tommy's using. I-I almost lost him…again. I'm. I'm trying…to be there for him… but he doesn't want me," she paused to wipe her eyes. "I think he's in trouble. I-I don't even know if I want him to come back anymore. He'll just do it again. Does that make me a horrible person?"
The recording time bitterly ended before she could finish.
She took a packet of heroin she found, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. The symbol on it was a signature of the Chinese, a derivative of a question mark.
As lead on an anti-drug task force, her job was to eradicate the sale of Schedule One substances in her city. Either she investigated her brother, find where he got the dope, and his supplier, have him arrested and thrown into jail for Class C felony while she hunted the manufacturers of the drug…
…or she lied.
Lied and end this right then and there.
It wasn't as difficult a choice as she thought it would be. Riley strode back with determination to the nursing home. As a vice detective and former drug user she knew the habits and tendencies of addicts. She gathered the evidence, including their grandmother's blanket.
Downstairs, she threw it into a discarded barrel that had been used to make a fire. She flicked the switch of her lighter and stared at the flame, feeling a little insane, criminal, like an arsonist playing with fire for the first time. Protect him, like always.
She dropped the lighter into the barrel. The fire greedily gulped the residual fuel and consumed the drugs with it, the blanket took flame the slowest but eventually it spat out meagre sparks. She felt those grey revenants standing in a crescent behind her, watching. She tried to will them away. The fire grew and grew, washing her face in a fierce red glow.
Later that morning it was jarring to revert her focus to Wes Cleon, knowing that her little brother was two floors down, in pain, hiding a secret from her. Yet he was still a thousand miles from her no matter what she tried. She glanced left and right at the stretch of hospital hallway like a spooked child, as if someone would jump out of a corner and list her crimes before a thrown-together jury of nurses and sick folk.
But she breathed easier, because at least she had kept him out of jail.
She wasn't the only one spacing out that morning. Frank Sinjon was with her taking secondary statements from a foreign couple whom were mugged last night. The man and woman were both traumatised and beat up.
Where was Daredevil to protect them?
Sinjon was staring blankly at the wall. She snapped her fingers at him. "Hey don't check out on me, we have work to do, and I sure as hell ain't gonna to pick up your slack for you."
"Huh? Oh. Right." He shook his head to get back on the same page.
"Something wrong?"
"No…Yes. The case with those girls you saved, the one where Daredevil killed the thugs…"
Supposedly killed, she could've corrected, but her opinion of the vigilante was still undecided.
"I know the one, Frank. You can't forget a guy in red horns dropping in to do your job for you." She arched a brow, "Why? What's the matter? You have a lead you want to run by me?"
The remote uncertainty from a moment ago was gone, returning to the egotistic Frank she knew and hated. "Never mind, it's none of your concern."
He had smelt the upcoming rainstorm in the air that morning, but being preoccupied with the Wes Cleon case he forgot to bring an umbrella anyway. Matt described the charges against him, tried coercion, even gentle threats, but Cleon still would not surrender the name of his gang leader.
Perhaps it had been a miscalculation to muscle Detective Knight away from the young man. She had established a semi-friendly relationship with him, he'd heard them banter, Wes' subtle plea for her approval on his innocence.
Not like he was ever going to give Knight the satisfaction that she had done a better job than him at questioning his client.
The first drop of rainfall splashed onto the sidewalk five feet from him. More fell, pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The other pedestrians had not noticed it yet, but he did.
Summer rainstorms weren't kind to Matt's nose. They stewed with the garbage and animal excrement in the alleyways, elevating their combined scent into a permutation of something God-awful that was unique to him and him alone. Matt stopped at a particularly long traffic light at the curb. He was five blocks from home when the downpour started; grunts of surprise and annoyance were let out around him.
Others on foot ran into shops for cover or under bus stops, but he had to endure the weather to maintain the 'blind-man' appearance. The water pelted him, dampening his hair and clothes. It was pretty exhausting, especially when a fat droplet rolled into the cut on his cheekbone and the collar of his wet dress shirt clung to his skin. He should've just stayed at the office.
While the rain was cacophonous, and could be as loud as a iron smith's hammer beating on steel. Stick had taught him to reduce the volume and use the rain to etch the surfaces of his surroundings, like an external sonar to aid him. Everything, from the bus stop sign, to the manhole cover, and the commuters beside him went from impressionistic paintings to stippling brush strokes. The old man was gone before he could fully master the skill however.
As he waited for the light to change, he picked up a dash of patchouli rose, with an undertone of lemon, blown to him by the wind like a whisper. The rainwater melded with it, creating a musky, lush, dirty scent that was both familiar and unfamiliar to him.
And then there was no more rain, not because the sky decided to be merciful to the blind lawyer but because someone held an umbrella over him.
"Murdock."
Maintaining the blind man persona, he smiled; "you know me, but may I know whom I'm thanking?"
She cursed under her breath and then answered; "It's Knight. Detective Knight."
"Thank you detective," it was awkward saying it. But he had gotten used to thanking strangers on a daily basis, at least a dozen more times than the average person.
"You're not my favourite person in the world, Murdock. But I couldn't just walk past and ignore you while you soldiered on in the cold rain, it would have bothered my conscience for weeks if I did."
He grinned. "Your concern is…touching."
"We should cross." The detective did what was socially expected of her and reached for his arm. Her fingertips brushed his, she realised that was wrong, and seized her hand back as if he'd electrocuted her.
"Um, how—?"
"I take your elbow. You lead."
She cringed, and he kept grinning, she lightly smacked her forehead. "Of course." They got into the necessary position and crossed the street. "You always walk home alone? In the rain?"
"I can make it to and from the office on my own, detective. I wasn't blinded yesterday, you know." With most attractive women he would've used his classic move. 'The wounded handsome duck thing' as Foggy described it. But she was a rare exception. "And no one gave me a head's up on the weather today so here I am."
With the surety in her step she knew how to get to his home, and was poorly faking it. She's done her research. Matt had to be more careful. She was a cop, busting the door down and snooping was in her veins. If she happens to pay a visit to my apartment on the wrong day to confirm a suspicion then we'll be in a crap ton of trouble.
"Maybe you should invest in a guide dog," she teased with a secret smile. They both laughed. "I had a feeling you wouldn't like the idea."
"Foggy thinks I should too, but I think that's because he wants one for himself."
"Look at this; a lawyer and an officer of the law walking arm in arm down the street."
"Sounds like the start of a bad joke."
Knight gave a short laugh, and they fell silent again. Her breath hitched with hesitation. "Yesterday. With Wes Cleon, can we both agree we both got carried away?"
Well, it was nice while it lasted. "Actually, I didn't. I was just pointing out the obvious flaws in your handling of—"
She stopped him short. "Jeez, I'm trying to talk to you like a normal person here, totally off the record. No ridiculous competition. It may not be apparent from either of our perspectives. But bottom line we're both just trying to do what's best for the city, even if our opinions clash."
He let go of her and pretended not to notice that she was still generously supporting the umbrella over his entire body, while her jeans were getting wet. He wanted to tell her to keep herself dry, not to worry about him, but appearances.
"I guess…I was a bit more confrontational than usual," he conceded. And it was true. The chase across the rooftops after the drug raid had gotten to him. He didn't like it, and he couldn't explain it. Whether it was her in general or something she said, or a bit of both.
Knight raised a warning finger; "But—and I will deny it if you repeat this to another living soul—you are a good lawyer, Murdock."
He was actually surprised. Something's couldn't be predetermined in a person's heartbeat. "Whoa, whoa. Excuse me? Compliments, from you? Are you really Riley Knight, or someone impersonating her?"
He actually got away with a first name. "Don't get ahead of yourself. Just say 'thank you' and move on."
"I should record this."
She swayed closer to get beneath the vicinity of the umbrella; he felt her warmth in front of him. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, he caught that rose-rainwater musk he had detected earlier.
"I have to tell you the truth. I went to your firm."
His brows were raised to his hairline. "Why?" He asked warily.
"I was looking for you."
Nothing was as it seemed with her. Most people were easy for him to read, but she was like reading Chinese Braille. He never noted the rigidity of her shoulder blades, the tangy taste of salt from shed tears on her cheeks, but those seemed unrelated. Nevertheless, he had to tread cautiously here.
"Why were you looking for me?"
"I needed to ask you a few questions."
He was on his block now, a few quick strides and he could avoid her questions entirely. No way was he going to let her work him like one of her marks. "So much for this being a normal conversation. What do your questions pertain to?"
She edged her foot to the side in a position to stop him if he tried to evade her. "Something you mentioned in the hospital."
"You know we were off to a good start. You just had to ruin it." He filtered through the conversation that passed. It was towards the end when he had slipped up and mentioned the alleyway. She had not been specific however, neither did he want to retaliate too harshly when she was still trying to be casual. "You've put me on the spot, followed me home even, that's overstepping your boundaries don't you agree? If this doesn't concern an ongoing investigation then we-"
"It does, actually. And you could help me."
"And what probable cause does a blind man have in an ongoing police investigation?" He demanded ironically, his face revealing nothing.
She licked and bit her bottom lip. "I was just going to ask you if you wanted a drink." Normally he would've been flattered, but she had a hidden agenda beneath her flirty tone.
He smirked, "You should've started with that. I might've said yes." He swung his cane to the right and she sidestepped backwards to avoid it, this gave him an opening to shoulder past her.
"Aren't you the least bit curious as to why I would need to question you? C'mon, don't you want to know?"
He stopped. Goddamit. Of course the curiosity was going to burn through him for hours, but he couldn't take the risk.
"Nice try. Goodbye, detective."
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed the Riley/Matt interactions! And yay for some Riley backstory. I'm sorry it took so long to update, but I made this chapter a bit longer for you. I just moved to a new country and started my undergrad degree in Medicine (and praying that I don't regret it somewhere down the line) It's been fun but very very hectic! See you later!