Dear Karen,

I was clumsy last night. I was stupid. There was a small gang of about four young boys; they must have only been between 16 and 18 that had been mugging people. I found them last night, and I wanted to put the fear of God in them. They had cornered an older man, maybe in his late fifties, and pushed him into an alley. I jumped down from the opposite building to make a dramatic entrance.

The trick to fighting more than one person is to always take out the bravest one first. He's often the leader, and if the others see him go down first, they're more likely to run away. So that's what I did, I assumed the kid with the knife was the leader. So I walked calmly towards him, and as intimidatingly as I could said,

"You're all going to leave Hell's Kitchen now, and never come back."

I thought that would be enough. Why am I always wrong about these things? Two of the kids sprinted away suddenly, the sudden sound of them running distracted me for the second it took the leader to lunge in and stab me in my shoulder. He never got a second chance though; I immediately grabbed his wrist, and broke it by spinning with it, and using the force of the spin to kick the remaining idiot in the head. When I was done, the leader was on the ground, holding his wrist.

"Go, turn yourself in, and name your accomplices. If you don't, I will know. Understand?"

The kid answered yes, and I could hear he was telling the truth.

"Good," I then gave him a right hook that floored him to the ground. I do have a reputation to live up to after all. Still, the stab wound hurt, and the bleeding was doing me any favors. Claire has been out of town for a while now, and I didn't want to call her over one stab. So I told the older man that he should be fine now, and jumped back up to the roof, over the garbage cans.

It took me about twenty minutes to run back to my apartment. I had to run past your apartment to get there. A part of me wanted to go in, but I didn't. Instead I just kept running, trying to focus. I was losing blood quicker than I thought I would. By the time I got to my apartment, I was dizzy. Honestly, I was scared of losing consciousness and bleeding out in my kitchen. I thought how ironic it would be, for the rugged vigilante Daredevil to bleed out in his own home because of some punk with a knife.

Luckily, I got the bleeding stopped relatively quickly with dressing and bandages. The knife the kid had been using was small, so the stitches were relatively quick, I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt though.

The last time I had been stabbed, you noticed right away. It had been far worse than what had happened last night. A member of the local Yakuza had been trained in Isshinryu karate, and he carried a tanto knife on him. He had practically gutted me. He had stabbed me right between the plates in my abdominal armor, and had punctured one of my lungs. I had to hold his hand and force the knife to stay in me just to keep him in place so I could finish him off. While he struggled to get his knife back, I whipped one of my billy clubs into the temple of his skull, and he went down instantly. However, I still had the problem of the gaping stomach wound he had given me.

That night, I did call Claire. I told her to meet me at my apartment. She was waiting for me when I got there. I don't remember much, just that I climbed in through one of my windows, and literally fell inside. She said something, asked me what had happened I think. I just managed to mumble out "stomach" before I passed out.

It's strange being knocked out, most people just see nothing and hear nothing until they wake up. For me, it means that I'm completely at the mercy of who is there with me. I can't respond to any of my senses, and I lose all of my "sight" for lack of a better term. It's a terrifying process when I wake up. I have to reorient myself completely to all of the sounds, smells, and feelings of where I am. The one thing I do love about being asleep, or knocked out though, is dreaming. It's one of the handfuls of times I can see color again, besides the reds, the yellows. I dreamt of you that night. It was like you were there with me. You were watching over me, you never left me.

I woke up halfway through the makeshift operation Claire was performing. The pain had awoken me, and it was all I could do to keep from yelling and drawing attention from the neighbors.

"Matt, Matt you ok?" Claire sounded desperate almost, that wasn't a good sign.

"What happened?"

"Your lung has been punctured, I fixed that relatively easily, but the real problem is the internal wound to your stomach. You're bleeding on the inside, and if it doesn't stop, you'll pass out and die within fifteen minutes." That's one thing I did like about Claire, she always told you the truth, whether you wanted to hear it or not.

"What do we do then?"

"I've done everything I can Matt," she sounded defeated, "We just have to wait now. Either you'll make it, or…"

"I won't," I finished her sentence for her.

"We'll just have to wait, and hope."

"Claire, I need you to do two things for me, get my phone, my normal phone."

I heard her get up, and she silently handed me the phone. It took me a few seconds to decide on what to do. You were the first person I called. I didn't know if I hoped I'd get your voice mail or not, but after a few rings, that is what happened.

"Hey, this is Karen Page, I can't get to the phone right now, so just leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Karen," I must have sounded awful, I struggled to talk, but everything just came out then, "Look, I've made alot of dumb decisions in my life. But, meeting you, hiring you at the firm, that wasn't one of them. When you get this message, don't come over, just stay at your place, lock your doors and windows, and head to the office tomorrow. If I'm there, I'll explain everything I promise. If I'm not, then you'll learn the truth anyway, just not in the way I wanted you to. There are so many things I want to tell you Karen, now that I know I might not get the chance. Promise me you'll take care of yourself, and Foggy too, and try and forgive me if I'm not in the office tomorrow. And know that, you mean the world to me. Goodbye Karen."

Claire didn't say a word through any of it, through both of the calls I made. She just listened. But I knew she understood. I got my phone out again, and this time, I called, and I prayed that he would answer. God must have heard me, because he did on the third ring.

"Hello?" Father Lantom asked and greeted at the same time. I wonder how often it was that a Priest got a call at four in the morning.

"Father, its me Mathew. I may need you to deliver the last rights on me tonight."

"Where are you?"

"It's better you not know, just in case I do die, I want there to be as little linking you to me as possible." I had thought of this before. It only takes one lucky shot to die, so I had planned for this.

"I'll be at the Church as soon as I can. You'll perform the rights on me there, and in case I die, you'll tell the police I just stumbled in and asked for the rights. Understood?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Of all the priests I've ever had, Father Lantom is my favorite. His sacrifices for his calling are inspiring, and his advice and help has been invaluable.

"Thank you, Father."

"Claire, I need one last favor from you. Will you drive me to the Church?"

"Matt, that isn't a good idea. I just fixed you up, moving you may damage your insides even more."

"Are you Catholic Claire?"

"No."

"Then you wouldn't understand." I said, and she seemed to give in.

"Fine, come on."

I don't like relying on other people for much. If it's one thing that Stick did beat into me, it's that self-reliance is key. Stick took it too far, thinking that people are only useful when you need them, and you shouldn't form attachments. But I had come to rely on so many people. For advice and moral questions, I always went to Father Lantom. When I was busted up, and needed patching up, I relied on Claire. I had relied on Foggy to ground me, and keep me thinking straight for years, ever since law school. And you, I relied on you for everything. I still do. I thought about that, and I thanked Claire for everything she had done. I didn't like asking her to drive a bleeding, and possibly dying, vigilante to his church. But she did it; she was there for me. I told her how much I appreciated her. She told me it was fine, and she tried to hide her tears, but I could hear her trying to hold back her sobs and I could smell the salt and water from the streaks that were running down her face.

I passed out again, and they had to carry me into the church as a limp body. When I finally did wake up, I was in a cot, in Father Lantoms office in the Church. I was still wearing my Daredevil attire.

"Here." Father Lantom gave me a cup of water and made me drink it. My mouth was so dry, it was a relief to have something to moisten it.

"I can honestly say that was the first time I've ever performed the last rights on a devil." Father Lantom finally said. I apologized, and tried to explain what happened.

"There's no need to explain what happened Mathew. You should thank God you're not dead. You were knocking on death's door."

"Where's Claire?" I asked.

"She went home after you stabilized. But she also brought you this." He handed me a gym bag with a shirt, tie, jacket, pants, shoes, and socks. "She told me to tell you to take it easy, but she also told me you wouldn't listen so I'm not sure what to say."

"My phone?"

He handed it to me, and when I passed my hand over the screen, the electronic voice on it said "five missed calls: missed call from: Karen Page, Karen Page, Foggy Nelson, Karen Page, Foggy Nelson, and Karen Page." That's when the memory of what I had said hit me like a hammer. I had to get to the office.

"What time is it father?" I asked

"It's about seven in the morning. You've only rested for three hours, and you were practically dead for one of them. You really should rest." He said.

"I can't, I have to leave." I said, and I began to take off my armor in full sight of him.

"Matt, son, really you need to take care of yourself. Take the day off."

"I can't father, you weren't the only one I called last night, just in case." I explained. We kept talking as I changed.

"Who else did you call?" He asked.

"A girl."

"Ah, I see. You love her."

"I," I didn't know how to answer. "She means everything to me."

"That's a yes then Mathew." He said, practically chucking.

"It's just, I don't want to hurt her. The kind of life I have, you know." I said, pointing to the now discarded red and black armor in the gym bag. "She doesn't need to know, she shouldn't know."

"Well, won't she know now anyway, since you called her?" I froze when he said that, he had a point. I had pulled you into my world by calling you anyway.

"She doesn't deserved to be dragged down to this, to me." I said, looking down.

"Mathew, how do you know you will drag her down? How do you know she won't lift you up?" Those were the last words he said to me, I was dressed by then, and was already moving as fast as I could toward the office. I didn't have my cane, I didn't pretend to be blind, I was just focused on getting to you.

I ran up the stairs, and burst into the office. And you were there. Your makeup was running down from where you had been crying. You looked up at me, and you got up. You practically ran to me, and I to you. You slapped me and then hugged me. You sobbed into my shirt, and I cried into your dress.

"Damn you Matt Murdock." You squeezed out. And I knew there was no going back.

I knew I had to tell you everything.

Love,

Matt