Chapter 3

Dex

Two days passed. Dex moved to another seedy Hell's Kitchen hotel, after pulling off another mugging. The mark's ID and cash should last for another couple of days. He'd hoped the mugging might attract Daredevil, but he didn't show. The morning after their encounter, Dex had gone back to the alley, but there was no sign of Daredevil, other than his discarded mask. Dex picked it up and took it with him, tossing it into a random trash can on his way back to his hotel.

There was no sign of Karen Page or the lawyers she worked with. He'd gone back to the law office, but it was still closed and dark. No one came or went while he watched from across the street. He needed to find someone to lead him to Karen. He briefly considered going after the nun who had hidden Karen and Daredevil in the church basement, but decided against it. Karen wouldn't risk hiding there again. She knew that he knew she'd hidden there before. And after what happened at the church, he doubted the nun knew where Karen was hiding, this time.

Being cooped up in a crummy hotel room didn't help. The discipline of rehabilitation and physical therapy had stilled the turmoil in his head and kept his urges in check for months. Without that structure, he felt himself starting to unravel. His mind raced. Maybe a run would help him find some clarity. He put on his shoes and headed to Clinton Park. It wasn't the East River, but it would do. An hour later, his run finished, he walked back to the hotel, cooling down. Suddenly it came to him. He knew how to get to Karen: the cop who had taken her from him at the church. He was the one she'd go to if she needed help again. Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney. Dex would never forget the scorn in Mahoney's voice when the cop looked down on him, lying paralyzed on the floor of Fisk's penthouse, and said, "He isn't the real Daredevil." Mahoney would lead him to Karen. And getting his revenge on Mahoney would make it even more satisfying.

Karen

On the morning of their second day at Fogwell's, Foggy emerged from the locker room, where he and Marci had been sleeping. Karen was already awake, sitting at the table, her head in her hands. He studied her for a moment, frowning, then said, "Good morning. You look like shit."

"Good morning to you, too," she replied tartly.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"You could say that."

Foggy walked past her and sat on the edge of the ring. "This looks like something more than the usual 'I can't sleep 'cause I'm worried about Matt' kind of thing," he said. Karen nodded. "Tell me," Foggy urged her.

Karen took a deep breath, then said, "I don't think Matt ever told you this. Hell, he didn't exactly tell me, either. I had to drag it out of him."

"Go on," Foggy prompted.

"After Midland Circle, he was injured, I mean, seriously injured – "

"Well, yeah. I mean, a building fell on him."

Karen ignored him. "What you don't know, I think, is that he lost his abilities, for a while. He lost the hearing in one ear, and his other senses weren't working normally." Foggy started to say something, but she silenced him with a glance. "Normally for him, that is. He didn't know if they were ever coming back."

"Damn," Foggy swore under his breath. "You're right, I didn't know."

"I think it scared him, a lot. Not that he'd ever admit it. And there was something else. When he was talking about it, he seemed almost . . . ashamed of losing his abilities. It was like he felt he was . . . diminished or . . . broken, maybe, without them. I think that was one of the reasons he stayed away. He didn't want us to see him like that."

"But that makes no sense," Foggy objected. "I was his friend for years before I knew about his abilities. So were you. Why would he believe we'd think any less of him?"

"I know it isn't logical," Karen agreed, "but I think that's how he felt."

"So, what, you think he's injured and is staying away deliberately?"

Karen shook her head. "Not necessarily. But if he lost his abilities before when he was injured, it could happen again. I keep thinking of him out there, injured and alone, maybe without his abilities. What if Poindexter finds him? What if he already has? That's why I couldn't sleep."

"Shit," Foggy muttered. They exchanged worried looks.

A few minutes later, Marci joined them, rubbing her eyes as she walked out of the locker room. Foggy rose to meet her and gave her a hug. "Time for a breakfast run," she announced. They had been subsisting on takeout since arriving at Fogwell's. Marci had decided she was the one to go out for food, arguing she was the least likely to be recognized by Poindexter. Foggy didn't like it, but he was forced to agree. Marci twisted her hair into a knot on the top of her head and covered it with a baseball cap, then put on a pair of large sunglasses she'd found in the locker room. Karen thought she looked like a wanna-be bank robber but didn't say anything.

When Marci returned with breakfast, Karen was too anxious to eat more than a few bites. They'd been there more than a day, and there was no news about Matt or Poindexter. The three of them sat at the table, on the uncomfortable folding chairs, and tried to get some work done. They might be hiding out, but there were still deadlines to meet, clients who needed to hear from them, and appointments that had to be rescheduled. At least Foggy and Matt didn't have any court appearances in the next couple of days. They should be OK as long as there were no emergencies. Marci, however, was having a hard time dealing with Jeri Hogarth, who was not happy about losing her billable hours. Foggy finally grabbed the phone out of Marci's hand and reminded Hogarth just why they were holed up in a safe house. That finally convinced Hogarth that losing a few billable hours was better than the alternative.

Karen was staring at the screen of her laptop, trying to concentrate on writing a report, when her phone finally rang. Ellison. Fear stabbed at her stomach as she answered the call. "Yes?" she said breathlessly. But Ellison had no news for her. She thanked him and hung up, close to tears. Claire called a little later, but she, too, had nothing to report.

The day wore on. Marci went out again and brought them lunch, from a different eatery. They had agreed she would not go to the same place twice. None of them felt like eating much. Finally, in mid-afternoon, Brett called. Foggy put his phone on speaker.

"No one named Matt Murdock has turned up at the morgue," he reported, "and no 'John Doe' matching his description, either."

The knot in Karen's stomach loosened, but only a little.

"There's no record of him or anyone fitting his description at any hospital in Manhattan," he continued. "I'm still working on the hospitals in the other boroughs. And we haven't found Poindexter, either."

"Damn," Foggy swore. "What about the burner phone? Were you able to track it?"

"Now that's where it gets interesting," Brett replied. "I found it in a trash can in the 50th Street subway station. Its minutes were all used up. But when I looked at where it had been, I noticed it was in one place for several hours on the night Matt went missing."

"Where?" Karen asked anxiously.

"In the vicinity of 46th Street, where there was a report of an unusual mugging around the same time. According to the victims, a young couple, the mugger didn't take anything. He put a knife to the woman's throat and ordered her to scream. Which she did. He let them go when another man showed up. This other man was dressed in black and wore a mask. Sound familiar?"

"Yep," Foggy said.

"One other interesting thing. As the victims were running away, the man thought he saw the mugger throw something at the man in black."

"Poindexter," Foggy said grimly.

"Looks like it," Brett agreed.

"God damn it," Karen swore, anger welling up and replacing her anxiety for the moment. "He's going after Poindexter, isn't he?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Brett told her. "Like I said, the mugging was not your ordinary mugging. It looks to me like it could be a set-up. If it was Poindexter, maybe he was setting a trap for Daredevil."

"Could be," Foggy agreed. "But why go after Matt, I mean, Daredevil? Karen's the one he's after."

"He wanted to get Daredevil out of the way first," Karen said.

"You're probably right," Brett agreed. "There was another interesting report last night. A john was abusing a teenage hooker near 44th and 10th. A man in black, dark hair, no mask, showed up and beat the crap out of him. Then he left the scene with the hooker and two other teenagers, a boy and a girl. We think they're part of a crew of teenagers, probably runaways, who've been hanging out in the area for the last couple of weeks, but we haven't been able to locate them."

"What the hell?" Karen asked.

Foggy shook his head. "That makes no sense. If it's Matt, why would he be hanging out with a bunch of runaways?"

"Trying to save them, of course," Karen replied sarcastically. "This is Matt we're talking about."

"Maybe so." Foggy frowned. "But if that's the case, why hasn't he contacted us? He has to know Poindexter is out, right?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Brett said. "I'll be in touch. Stay safe."

"Thanks," Foggy said, and ended the call. Then he looked at Karen and Marci, across from him at the table. "You know, this isn't just Matt being Matt."

"No, it's not," Karen agreed.

"I don't know Matt as well as you two," Marci said. "But if he knew Poindexter was out, the first thing he'd do was make sure you're safe. Something's preventing him from doing that."

"You're right. But what?" Karen asked.

"Maybe he's being held against his will by a bunch of teenage hookers," Foggy suggested.

"Get serious," Karen snapped. "He's out there, and Poindexter's out there, and no one knows anything."

Foggy stood up and took a step toward the door. "I'm going to look for him."

Moving in unison, Karen and Marci blocked his path. "No, you're not, Foggy Bear," Marci said, in the "don't mess with me" voice she usually reserved for opposing counsel. "That's what Poindexter wants. He's waiting for one of us to do something stupid. Then he'll have us – all of us."

"Not stupid," Foggy protested weakly. He turned around and sank onto a chair, looking defeated. "But there's something we're all missing."

"What is it?" Karen asked.

"I have no idea."

Matt

When morning came, Matt reconsidered his decision to leave, in light of the attack on Lisa the night before. He would stay, for the time being. These kids needed his protection. And he needed to be their protector. If nothing else, it gave him an identity, until his memories returned. He was relieved to discover that he still had his remarkable ability to perceive the world without seeing it. He was beginning to think it wasn't the result of whatever happened in the alley, but something from before. It was even starting to feel normal, if that was possible.

After breakfast, bought with some of last night's earnings and brought in by Jason and Krissie, Maddie invited Matt to join her when she went to work. Curious about what her "work" was, Matt agreed. As they walked along the alley toward the fence, Maddie handed him an oblong object. Matt ran his hands over it: a folded cane. "I picked this up when I was out yesterday afternoon," Maddie told him. "I thought you might need it, but now I'm not so sure."

"Thanks," Matt replied, hoping she hadn't stolen it from a blind person who did need it.

Matt soon discovered what Maddie's work was: she had a talent for pickpocketing. In the space of a half hour, she relieved two unsuspecting pedestrians of their wallets. Matt discovered something about himself, too. He knew precisely where the marks were carrying their wallets. As they strolled along the pavement, he commented, "You're pretty good at this."

"Thanks." Maddie paused for a moment, then decided to say something. "I was thinking, you know, maybe we could team up. You could distract them while I lift their wallets."

Matt considered this. He wasn't happy with the idea of being a juvenile pickpocket's helper, but he had a feeling he didn't always follow the letter of the law himself. Who was he to judge? He sighed and said, "I have a better idea. I can tell you where the marks' wallets are."

"You can? For real?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

Matt shrugged. "No idea."

"Let's try it." With Matt acting as her spotter, Maddie successfully lifted three more wallets in the next hour. Then she decided it was time for a break. She led Matt into an alley and sat down on a discarded couch. Matt wrinkled his nose at its odor of dust and cigarette smoke but sat down beside her. She pulled out a couple of energy bars and offered one to Matt. It smelled and tasted old and stale, but he ate it anyway. It was food.

When they finished eating, Maddie turned to him and asked, "So how'd you do it?"

Matt knew what she was referring to but asked anyway. "Do what?"

"What you did last night."

"Honestly, I don't know. Maybe when I get my memory back . . . ." His voice trailed off.

"Well, my money's still on superpowers," Maddie declared.

Matt gave an embarrassed laugh. "I don't think so. What kind of superhero gets beat up in an alley and loses his memory?" He heard Maddie take a breath to respond, but before she could speak, he said quickly, "Don't answer that."

She laughed, then answered anyway. "I dunno. Maybe one who doesn't care if he gets hurt."

Matt had no response to this. He didn't know exactly why, but Maddie's observation felt uncomfortably close to the truth. He decided to change the subject.

"So, Ryan, he's the leader of your crew, right?"

Maddie nodded. "Yeah."

"What does he do? To bring in money, I mean."

"Panhandles. He's really good at it, too."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. If you could see him, you'd understand," Maddie replied. "People just wanna help him."

"I'll take your word for it."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, before Maddie spoke up. "Is your memory coming back at all?" she asked.

"A little. Bits and pieces."

"Last night, you mentioned your friends, the ones who said you weren't a hero."

"Yeah. I remember."

"You remember them?"

"No. I remember saying it. I'm starting to remember them, too, a little. I think." He rubbed his forehead. His headache was coming back.

"But that's gotta be good, right? I mean, you have friends. They've gotta be looking for you."

"Yeah. Maybe. But it's a big city." Matt pondered this. It was a good thing, wasn't it, if he had friends who were looking for him? But the idea that people were looking for him didn't feel like a good thing. It felt like a threat. Someone was looking for him, all right, and not in a good way. He was being hunted. And he had no idea who was hunting him, or why. Suddenly he felt exposed, despite the partial concealment provided by the alley. "Can we go back to the apartment now?" he asked.

Maddie turned toward him, apparently scrutinizing him. "Sure. You look tired. You should rest."

When they got back to the apartment, Matt slept for a couple of hours, then spent the rest of the afternoon meditating. Slowly, too slowly, his memory was returning. One of the things he remembered was that meditation helped him to heal. As he meditated, more memories broke through. The strongest and most numerous were the memories of the long-haired woman and the man who, apparently, loved avocados. He still couldn't quite recall their names, but he was now certain they were his friends. Somewhere, out there in the city, there were people he cared about, people who cared about him. The man was like a brother, the woman, something more, maybe. Yet there was also a troubling undercurrent to these memories of his friends, a feeling that he'd let them down or hurt them in some way. He felt he didn't deserve them. He tried to remember more, but the memories eluded him, hidden just below the surface of his mind.

There were other memories, too. A man's voice, gruff yet gentle, telling him to "get up, Matty." It brought with it the smells of sweat, blood, and liniment, and made him feel very young. With this memory, unlike all the others, something visual – perhaps a man's face – flashed across his mind, vanishing as swiftly as it appeared. He wondered if this meant there was a time when he could see. Later, the memory of another man's voice came to him, declaring that "Not everyone deserves a happy ending." Matt didn't know who the speaker was, but he sensed a huge man, looming over him. Whoever he was, the man was dangerous.

When evening came, Lisa, Krissie and Justin left the apartment to go to "work." Matt gritted his teeth as he heard them leave. Then he ascended to the roof to keep watch over them. He stood in a corner of the roof, immersed in the sounds and smells of the city. A slight breeze ruffled his hair. It was all so familiar. Somehow he knew he had done this before, many times. While his senses tracked the three teenagers, another part of his mind turned inward, looking for a solution to the riddle that was himself. What did he know? He was a fighter, for one thing. His scars, and his actions last night, proved that. And the old man told him he was a warrior. But he had something to do with the law, too, working within it in some way. He couldn't figure out how those two things fit together. Maybe they couldn't be reconciled.

Hours passed. Nearby church bells told him it was sometime after midnight when he heard a woman's screams. Unthinking, he started running toward her. He was halfway across the roof when he stopped himself. The screams weren't Lisa's or Krissie's or Justin's. His job was to protect them. He couldn't abandon his post to help anyone who needed his help. Or could he? As he walked back to his spot at the corner of the roof, he wondered if that was who he was – someone who helped people in trouble. "Who are you?" he whispered. He didn't have an answer. Not yet.

Matt breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the three teenagers returning from their night's work. He crossed the roof to the fire escape and descended to the third floor. The five members of the crew were excitedly counting the money they'd earned. Matt tried to block out their voices. He wasn't OK with this, not by a long shot. There had to be a way to get them off the streets, without getting them sent back to the shitty home lives they'd escaped from. A thought occurred to him: they could go to court and ask to be emancipated. That might work. Briefly, he wondered where the idea had come from. Then he shrugged. He'd figure something out. Soon, he promised himself, before sleep overcame him.

In the morning, Maddie cornered him after breakfast, insisting she needed to check his head and arm. "Nice shade of purple," she commented, gently touching the knot on his forehead. He winced. "You remember yet how you got this?" she asked.

He thought for a moment, but the only thing that came to mind was a confusing swirl of motion. "A . . . fight," he said. "I think."

"Makes sense," she said. "Can you take off your shirt? I need to change the bandage on your arm." He pulled the shirt over his head. This time, she didn't comment on his scars. She removed the bandage from his arm and touched the wound gently. "Oh, shit," she said.

"What?"

"It looks like it's infected. It's red and it feels hot."

"Yeah," Matt agreed. "I can tell. Damn."

"Don't worry, I can take you to the free clinic over on 40th."

"No." It felt too exposed, too public.

"Don't be stupid. You need antibiotics, and I'm not gonna rip off a drug store to get 'em for you."

Damn. She was right. "OK," he said reluctantly.

They left the apartment and headed down the alley. After they went through the fence and turned onto the sidewalk, Matt unfolded his cane and took hold of Maddie's arm.

"Why're you doing that?" she asked.

"Doing what?"

"Hanging on to me like that. It's not like you need me to lead you."

"I don't know," Matt confessed. "I think . . . I don't want people knowing about me, you know, what I can do."

"What, you want people to think you're some helpless blind guy?"

"Not helpless," Matt snapped. That ended the conversation until they arrived at the clinic.

They stopped just outside the entrance. "We're here," Maddie said. "This is as far as I go."

"You're not coming in?" Matt asked.

"No, I don't want – "

Matt nodded. She didn't need to say it. He understood. If she went inside, she risked being sent back to her stepfather. He swallowed hard, then said, "Thank you. For everything. I'll come back when I, you know, get my shit together."

"Ha," Maddie snorted derisively. "When pigs fly." She spun and walked away without looking back.

Admitting wryly to himself that she might be right, Matt stepped into the clinic. A man approached him. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, please."

"What's your name?"

"Matthew."

"And your last name?"

"Um . . . ."

Somewhere on Matt's right, a heartbeat sped up. Then a woman spoke. "Wait a minute. I think I know him."