Chapter 6: When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time

Matt

Matt stood on a rooftop with his head down and his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He'd just finished fighting off four of the Owl's men, who were standing between him and one of Owlsley's mid-level distributors. Elektra wasn't with him. They'd split up about an hour ago, when she ran toward the sound of a woman screaming, and he took off in the opposite direction, to stop a robbery at a smoke shop. He hadn't picked up any trace of her presence since then. When his breathing slowed, he straightened up and inclined his head toward the streets below, alert for signs of trouble. He focused on the sounds reaching him from several blocks away: a drug deal, going sideways. He leaped the gap to the next roof and sprinted to the scene.

By the time he arrived, it was all over. The dealer's customer was cowering next to a dumpster, sobbing. The dealer was lying on the ground. He wasn't breathing, and Matt couldn't hear a heartbeat. To be sure, he checked for a pulse. Nothing. He turned to the dealer's customer. "What happened?" he demanded.

Between sobs, the man gasped out, "She killed him, she killed him!"

She? Matt dipped his head and explored his surroundings. Mixed in with the smell of blood, he detected a hint of a familiar scent. His blood ran cold. He sank to his knees, whispering, "No, no, no, no, no."

He stayed where he was, immobilized by shock, for several minutes. It felt like much longer. At the edges of his awareness, he heard the customer scramble to his feet and run away. He didn't try to stop him. Finally, he got to his feet and headed back to his apartment. He knew what he had to do.

When he reached the roof of his building, he didn't go inside right away. He leaned against the stairwell wall, struggling to make sense of what he'd just learned. He focused on his breathing, trying to calm his swirling emotions. Finally, he forced himself to face the cold, hard facts. When he did, he realized he shouldn't have been shocked by his discovery that Elektra was killing the drug dealers. There was plenty of evidence. He just didn't want to see it. From the moment she killed Stick, he should have known what she was. She didn't want him to save her from herself; she accepted what she was, even embraced it. He was a fool to keep trying. They could have gotten out of Midland Circle, through the escape tunnel, but she chose death, for both of them. Better to die, she'd decided, as long as she could take him with her. She didn't value anyone's life – not his life, not even her own. So much for love and redemption, he thought bitterly.

He set his jaw and walked down the stairs into his apartment, pulling off his mask and gloves as he descended. Elektra was already there, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her. Her sais were on the table next to the wine glass. She must have cleaned them, but he could still detect the smell of blood. She raised her head to watch him, apparently sensing his mood. He reached the bottom of the steps and threw his mask and gloves on the desk. Then he went to stand at the end of the couch, facing her. "It was you," he said coldly. "You killed those dealers."

"Everyone dies, Matthew," she said with a laugh, her musical laugh that he delighted in, never wanting it to stop. Now it felt like a dagger to his heart. "It came a little sooner for them, that's all."

"It's not up to you, who lives and who dies."

"It is up to me," she declared. "They were scum. Your city is a better place without them."

He clenched his fists, trying to quell the rage that had been building since he discovered the dealer's lifeless body. If he acted on it, he would become what she wanted him to be, ever since she took him to Roscoe Sweeney's mansion. He couldn't let that happen. He let out a wordless yell and lashed out, propelling the coffee table onto its side. The sais fell to the floor with a metallic clink. One of them landed on top of the wine glass and shattered it. The smell of wine grew stronger.

"What're you going to do, Matthew? Kill me?" she asked mockingly.

For an instant, he wanted to kill her, as much as he once wanted to kill Wilson Fisk. But the impulse passed, as quickly as it had flared. He couldn't do it. Everyone deserved a chance at redemption. He wasn't going to take that away from her. And she knew it. She knew him. He paced back and forth, breathing hard. When he regained some semblance of control, he turned to her. "This has always been just a game for you, hasn't it?" he asked bitterly.

"No, Matthew," she told him quietly. "I tried to be what you wanted me to be. I really did. But I don't have it in me."

"You did, before the Hand took you," Matt protested. "I saw it."

"No, you didn't. You have always been blind to who I really am."

He retreated to the stairs and sat down, his head in his hands. Finally, he raised his head and asked, "Always?"

She scoffed. "You thought you loved me, but you didn't, not really. You couldn't love me, because you refused to see me for who I am. You were in love with your idea of me, not with me."

He lowered his head again and sat on the stairs, thinking, for what felt like a long time. He could hear the truth, her truth, in her voice. How could he have deluded himself for so long? Elektra's words and actions had told him who she was, over and over again. Someone wiser than him said it: "When someone tells you who they are, believe them." He had been wilfully blind, refusing to believe her when she told him who and what she was.

Maybe he was wrong, after all, about the redemptive power of love. Or maybe, as she said, it wasn't love, only an illusion. He didn't want to believe she was beyond redemption, but it was not in his power to save her. Only she could save herself, if she chose to do so. Now that he understood that, he could, finally, let her go. He stood up and walked across the room to stand in front of her.

"You need to leave my city," he said.

"Matthew, I'm – " she began, but he didn't want to hear whatever it was that she was going to say.

"Now," he said. "And don't come back."

"I'm sorry," she said, "for everything."

He didn't know whether to believe her. "Just go," he said.

She picked up her sais and walked up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she turned toward him and said, "Goodbye, Matthew." Then she was gone.

As soon as he heard the door to the roof close, he sank into the chair behind him. He couldn't sit on the couch, where she had been sitting. Her scent would be too strong there. His anger slowly faded away. Now he only felt empty, hollowed out, just as he'd felt when he believed she had died. Illusion or not, he had loved her. That wasn't going to change. But he couldn't be with her, not any more. He had once told her, in what seemed like another lifetime but was only months ago, that they had to stop corrupting each other. It was still true. He had hoped his love would help her find a path to redemption, but it was not to be.

Now he had to pay the price for his mistakes. He had to tell Foggy and Karen how badly he'd fucked up. When he did, the dream of Nelson, Murdock & Page would be over. He'd been given a second chance, and he blew it. He didn't deserve another one. Not after everything he'd put Foggy and Karen through. They were better off without him.

# # # # #

The next night, Matt was standing in the shadows under the stairs leading to the front door of Lee Owlsley's Upper West Side brownstone, waiting for Owlsley to return home. He was beating himself up at the same time, for not having the guts to tell Foggy and Karen the truth today. Instead, he acted like everything was normal. It wasn't even that difficult. He'd gotten pretty good at it, after all the years he spent hiding his abilities from them and everyone else. He gritted his teeth. Tomorrow, he told himself, he'd come clean with them tomorrow. In the meantime, he had business to take care of with Owlsley tonight.

Since they learned Owlsley's identity, Karen had been researching him. There wasn't much in the public record, but she was able to learn where he lived. She also found out he was attending a charity event that evening and likely wouldn't get home until late. Matt decided Daredevil should be there when he did.

A car approached and double parked in front of the brownstone. A car door slammed, and footsteps headed in his direction. When the car drove away, Matt stepped out from the shadows. "You need to call off your goons and get out of Hell's Kitchen," he said.

"Who the hell are you?" Owlsley demanded.

"I'm Daredevil."

"Sure you are." Owlsley reached into his pocket.

"Don't," Matt growled.

Owlsley pulled an empty hand out of his pocket. "I don't know who you think I am," he declared.

"I know who you are."

"Not saying you're right, but even if I was whoever you think I am, why would I do what you want?"

"Because . . . ." Matt paused for a moment. He needed to choose his words carefully. "I can make your life hell if you don't. Just ask Wilson Fisk. And because I've done something for you. The . . . person who's been killing your dealers and distributors . . . that person has been, uh, removed from the city. By me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Owlsley objected.

"I think you do," Matt replied. "The important thing is, no more of your people are going to die."

"They say you're the one who's been killing them."

Matt shook his head. "It wasn't me. I don't kill people. I just, ah, dealt with the person who was."

"Who was it?"

"Not important."

"It's important to me," Owlsley declared. "Is it one of my people?"

"No," Matt replied, "and that's all I'm giving you."

"Why should I believe you?"

"You don't have to. The killings have stopped. You'll see, soon enough."

"Says you," Owlsley retorted skeptically.

"There's one other thing," Matt told him, waving a hand, "the person who's been lacing your product with fentanyl and killing your customers. I don't know who it is, but it's not the person who's been killing your dealers. The person who's tampering with your product has to be one of your people, someone with access to the drugs. You've got a traitor in your organization."

"Yeah," Owlsley scoffed, "tell me something I don't know." He was talking to himself. Daredevil had slipped away, into the shadows.

As he traveled back to Hell's Kitchen, Matt pondered the Owlsley problem. He had delivered his message, but he had no illusions about its effectiveness. Owlsley was determined to install himself as the new boss in the Kitchen. Stopping the killings wouldn't prevent that. Nor would Daredevil's threats. Matt needed to find a way to take him down, but that would have to wait. He had more important things to worry about.

# # # # #

In the morning, Matt trudged up the stairs to the makeshift office above Nelson's Meats, wishing he could delay his arrival and the reckoning that was going to take place when he got there. He reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the door. Foggy and Karen were already there, but instead of greeting them, he went straight to his office. He set his briefcase and folded cane on the desk, then took off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. He started to take off his glasses but decided against it. Before he could chicken out, he took a deep breath and said, "Foggy? Karen? We need to talk."

Both of his friends and partners (for now) emerged from their offices.

"Hey, Matt," Foggy said. "What's up?"

"Morning, Matt," Karen said.

He didn't answer them, simply gestured toward a table in the office's open area. Foggy and Karen sat down next to each other. Matt took a seat across from them. He wanted to have the table between them. His heart raced. Get it over with, he told himself, taking another deep breath. "I'm sorry, guys, I fucked up," he began.

"Not exactly new news," Foggy muttered.

"Foggy . . . ," Karen said reproachfully.

Matt didn't respond. He continued, doggedly, "You were right, Fog, it was Elektra."

"It was Elektra what?" Foggy asked.

"She killed those drug dealers."

His revelation was met with silence. As it stretched on, he thought Foggy and Karen were in shock, or maybe there was some nonverbal communication between them that he couldn't pick up. Maybe both. When neither of them said anything, he said, "She's gone. I told her to leave the city, and she went." Still no response. Finally he heard Foggy take a breath. He was about to speak.

"That sucks, man," Foggy said. "I'm sorry, buddy."

"It's OK, Fog, you can say it," Matt told him.

"Say what?"

"'I told you so.'"

"Nope, not goin' there."

Karen sat quietly during the two men's exchange. Now she spoke up. "Oh, Matt, I'm so sorry."

He couldn't believe his ears. "You're sorry?" he asked. "You've done nothing to be sorry for."

She shook her head. "I didn't mean it like that," she explained. "I meant, I'm sorry you're hurting."

Wait, what? This was not the reaction he expected. But it didn't change anything. "Look, I know it's bad," he said, starting to get to his feet, "I'll pack up my stuff – "

Foggy interrupted him. "What d'you mean, pack up your stuff?"

"Well, yeah," Matt said, "I mean, you're not gonna want – "

"Look, Matt," Foggy said, talking over him again. "I'm not gonna lie to you. Karen and I, we weren't happy when Elektra showed up and you started spending all your time with her." Karen nodded her agreement. "But that was your choice. And you didn't lie to us, and you didn't let us down. Not like . . . before."

"Guess I learned from my mistakes, huh?" Matt said with a pained half-smile, sinking back into his seat.

"Yes, you did," Karen said, "but maybe not all of them."

"What d'you mean?"

"You're pushing us away – again."

"No," Matt protested, "I mean, I don't want to, but – "

She didn't let him finish. "You think we're gonna bail on you because of this?"

"I fucked up, big time," Matt replied. "I thought she'd changed, really changed, this time. I was wrong, and people died."

"That's not on you, Matt," Foggy told him. "That's on her. OK, you made a mistake. Your mistake was believing in her, believing she could change. Well, I got news for you, buddy, that's what makes you who you are, believing everyone deserves a second chance, everyone can be redeemed."

"I'm not so sure I believe that anymore," Matt said. "I was a God damned idiot, thinking she had changed."

"Maybe you were," Foggy agreed, "but you didn't kill those people. She did."

"But, Fog, you don't understand," Matt protested.

"I understand perfectly," Foggy declared. "I understand that I'm seeing Matt Murdock beat himself up over something that is Not. His. Fault. I know it when I see it. God knows I've seen it enough times before."

"Foggy's right, Matt," Karen said. "Honestly, on my list of 'Matt Murdock's Biggest Fuck-ups,' this doesn't even make the top five."

"There's a list?" Foggy quipped.

"Shut up, Foggy," Karen snapped. "Listen to me, Matt, if we were gonna bail on you, we'd have done it long before this."

That at least was true. He'd given them plenty of reasons to bail on him, before now. To be honest, he didn't fully understand why they hadn't, why they kept coming back. Whatever it was, he was grateful. "Thanks, guys," he said, "I know I don't deserve it, but– "

Foggy cut him off. "No 'buts,' buddy. And I suggest you stop talking, or I may have to reconsider."

"Foggy," Karen said.

"Just kidding." Foggy got to his feet. "Last time I checked, this was supposed to be a workplace. Don't we all have work to do?" He turned and went back into his office.

"I know I do," Karen said, as she stood up. Matt followed the sound of her footsteps into her office.

There was nothing more to do, except get to work. Matt returned to his own office, sat down at his desk and leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and his feet propped up on the desk. He had been so wrong. The place he needed to be wasn't with Elektra. It was here, with two people who, incredibly, still wanted to be his friends. He smiled to himself. This was his home.

Postscript

Two Weeks Later

MURDER VICTIM IDENTIFIED AS WALL STREET EXEC

Special Report to the Bulletin

By T. J. Mason

The murder victim found by a jogger yesterday morning in East River Park has been identified as Martin Broadus, 46. The Medical Examiner has determined the cause of death was a gunshot wound and classified the death as a homicide. Sources tell the Bulletinthe victim was shot execution-style, a single bullet to the back of the head.

Mr. Broadus was the Chief Operating Officer of Lee Owlsley & Associates, a Wall Street financial services company. Mr. Owlsley told the Bulletin, "Martin was not only a valuable employee. He was a good friend. He will be greatly missed. On behalf of myself and everyone at the firm, I extend our deepest sympathy to Martin's family and his many friends."

A native of Illinois, Mr. Broadus received his MBA from the University of Chicago Business School. After graduation, he joined the Chicago office of Silver & Brent, where he worked closely with Mr. Owlsley. When Mr. Owlsley established his firm here two years ago, Mr. Broadus joined it as Chief Operating Officer and moved to this city.

Reached for comment at his home in Southern Illinois, Mr. Broadus's brother, Mark Broadus, stated that his brother's death was not the only tragedy to befall the family recently. Earlier this year, he said, their sister Marie died as a result of an apparent drug overdose, a victim of the opioid epidemic.

A spokesman for the NYPD declined comment on the case, stating only that the investigation is ongoing. Sources at the 8th Precinct told the Bulletin the investigation has stalled, with few leads and no persons of interest. ###

Author's Note: In his thoughts, Matt paraphrases the quote from Maya Angelou that serves as the chapter title.

The story line involving "The Owl" is unfinished, intentionally so. He may show up in a future story.

What are the top five on your list of "Matt Murdock's Biggest Fuck-ups"? In the TV series? In the comics?