Blurry Vision ∷ Daredevil; Matthew Murdock

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Chapter 47

"Fabian Madera, you said he died. You said he overdosed and you saw him wheel his body away. How is he still alive if he overdosed—Ember?"

I'm hugging my knees to my chest, trying to keep as much body heat in, but my blood is literally running cold. He's alive... he's alive. He's working with Fisk and he's alive.

He was dead. They told me he died. They put me in my first foster care home. They... the police...NYPD... They are in on it.

He's alive. He's going to come after me. He knows about my healing, the knows my weaknesses, how is he alive?
Is my mom alive—no don't think like that. He cannot be alive. Someone is using him as a coverup. Don't be stupid, it's just someone impersonating him.

"He's not alive," I whisper, "I watched him die."

"How can you be certain? Did you check his pulse?" Matt presses, moving around the couch to the front of me, his voice still strong—a lot stronger then mine.

"No." I answer, my voice shaking due to my shivering, why would he fake his own death?

Matt straightens his back and runs a hand over his mouth, "So he faked it?"

My stomach flips at the mention of him still breathing. I stand up suddenly, moving past him and into my bathroom. I spill my stomach contents into the toilet, which isn't much, mostly just stomach acid. How is this possible? How is any of this possible?

I wash up, avoiding looking at my dark reflection in the mirror, not wanting to trigger another flashback to my mom dying. A chill goes down my spine at the mention of her death. My eyes can't help but glance up and I cringe at my likeness to her. Her eyes, her lips, her nose, her everything.

My feet stumble out of the bathroom, and Matt is sitting on the edge of the couch, seemingly in deep thought, but my presence breaks it and he stands up immediately his eyes boring into me.

"You need to run." His words echo through my mind, but are quickly overshadowed by Frank Castle's.

"...lets face it, if we were to leave, we would only end up running back here."

"People like us, Ember, people like Red, we don't run away from the fights."

"We run towards them."

I clench my fists, taking in a shaky breath, "I'm tired of running, Matthew. I've been running all my life."

"Ember," He takes a few steps towards me, but I straighten my back and stand tall, gripping my shaking hands within one another, "I'm not sure if you can handle this."

"Oh, now you don't want my help?" I ask bitterly, "Now that I want to help, now the offer is off the table?"

He tilts his head down to face me, his facial expressions are soft, most likely pitying me right now, "Yes."

My lips pull to the side in anger, "Too bad, I'm helping whether you like it or not–"

"No, I'm not going to let you kill yourself over a vendetta." He states, his voice veering on the edge of similar anger and frustration, but he can seemingly handle it better.