No Heroes, No Villains

Chapter 3

"A lot, but just know, right here is the safest spot for you. Please, stay. Lock the door. I'll explain more later."

Sincerity. Fear. Worry. Honesty. Foggy managed to convey all of those emotions in those two short sentences. Trying to argue would be futile, and with the way he spoke I'm too afraid to. Both Foggy and Matt are shaken up by whatever is going on, and now I am too. Matt said they've put their careers and lives on the line. Yeah, I'm not ready to die right now. I nod and give Foggy a tight hug. He embraces me back tightly, as if he were afraid I'd fly away if he let go. Pulling away, I grasp Matt's upper arm before letting them leave. As they rush out, a loud groan falls from my mouth.

"GAAAAAAA..." Slinking over to my desk, I plop down in the cushioned chair. Tapping the space bar of my keyboard a few times, the screen pops up. "Welp, guess I'll have to do some googling."

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"Here she is: Charlie Phoenix at the free throw line. This shot will determine whether or not the Knicks take the game." Taking the shot, the paper ball bounces from the side of the trash can, landing beside the other lost game balls. "Ah fuck me."

It's been four hours since Matt and Foggy had to rush from the office. No texts, no calls, no emails, just me and my imaginary NBA final. The floor groaned loudly on as I make my way back to the desk. The office had warmed up slightly as the sun shined through the windows that had been painted shut. Flopping back into the cushioned chair, my heels slip off before my  feet land on the desk. I crossed my legs over each other before leaning back comfortably. What to do, what to do? The silent question hangs around without anyone to answer.

Googling 'Frank Castle' gave me no leads on who this secret man was. It's as if anything on him had been removed from the face of the earth. No social media, no address on file and no phone number. It's like he was a construct of Matt and Foggy's imagination. After finding nothing on him, I moved to Karen. Karen Page. It took about 20 minutes to find out who she was, as I had to hit every letter in the alphabet to get a possible last name. After some deducing, Karen Page seemed to be the only Karen the guys knew. She used to work at 'Nelson and Murdock' and a picture of them graced an old newspaper cover. Karen was definitely a looker. Her build is tall and slender and it fits her perfectly. She has long blonde hair and bright, inquisitive blue eyes that seem to yearn for adventure. The smile she gives radiates confidence and pride. Oh Charlie, if we were into ladies, we'd hop after that.

Knock! Knock!

A loud pounding on the door kills the comfortable silence that was encompassing the room. A grumpy moan mixes in with the noise of the knocking as I sit up. Without slipping my heels back on, the trip to the opposite side of the room is almost noiseless. The cool wooden floor feels comfortable against my bare feet. The knocking continues until I grab the door knob. The cold metal sends goosebumps up my arm, causing the small hairs to rise. The door struggles to open, but after a good tug it comes loose.

"Welcome to 'Nelson and Murdock'! How can I he-l-p you?" My voice raises almost a full octave before the sentence is over.

Intimidation. The first noticeable attribute of the man standing in the door way. His dark, feathery hair sat messily under a YANKEES cap. Tiny wisps tickle at his intense brown eyes. These two piercing irises were the color of rich mahogany, with iridescent flecks of gold pooling randomly. A proud Roman nose created a slight shadow over pale chapped lips. A strong jaw was covered by a thick beard, matching the color of his hair. The clothing that hung from his body was worn and comfortable. A dark pair of denim jeans sat comfortably around his hips, while a gray hoodie adorned his midriff. He towered over me while trying to peak into the office.

"Uh, yeah, is Murdock here?" His voice was tough, rough and gravel like. It sounded primal and curious. The strange man moved forward, but I held the door and myself firmly in place. Something about this guy just seemed dangerous. Yeah but in a good or bad way? Shut up inner monologue.

"Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson are out of the office currently. If you'd like I could grab your information for them, are you a client?"

"Yeah, yeah, sumin like that." He grumbled checking the hallway leading to the office. As he strained his neck to check further down the hall, prominent scars protrude from beneath his sweatshirt. Gulping loudly, I capture his attention before speaking.

"Wonderful, Mr.?"

"Castiglione. Pete Castiglione."

"Okay, Mr. Castiglione, if you don't mind I'm just goin-"

"Yeah ya see, the thing is, I really need ta leave him a message too. Ya know, client privilege stuff darlin. So can ya please just lemme in?"

"Okay buddy listen closely; I'm not your 'darlin', you can address me by Ms. Phoenix or by Charlie." I hiss before opening the door and side stepping so Pete can move inside.

The combat booted feet stepped loudly into the office. Closing the door lightly, I glance over at the baseball capped figure. With his military boots he stood at six foot solidly. The sweatshirt that donned his torso hugged his back snuggly, his muscles visibly rippling with his movement. Pete stood in front of my desk, examining the plaque. His long finger traced the engraved letters before turning around.

"Charlotte huh? Think I like that better than Charlie." He smirks before cocking his head toward the window.

"Yeah well, good thing it doesn't matter what you like, Mr. Castiglione." I grumbled, trying to loudly stomp over to the strange man.

Before I could even cross halfway he hushed me and I froze. The ice in his voice created a tangible buzz in the room. Pete stood as a statue, only his eyes moving; surveying the area. My breaths are shallow and silent as his gaze shifts back toward the window. My eyes follow, hoping to see whatever he's noticed. The view is an even older building than the one we're in currently. Rust colored bricks are stacked neatly, an extra two stories added to the opposing structure. A small glint sparkles in the sunlight from a window adjacent to our own.

The next few moments went in slow motion. I could feel the words forming as Pete moved. His reaction quick and precise as he dove for me. His hard body moved so fluidly, it was as if he was a snake striking its prey. Pete flips the office desk over to shield our bodies from incoming glass and ricocheting bullets. A shrilling scream pierces the air as Pete's hard body lands on mine. The rough floor rips the fabric of my dress as we come to a skidding stop. Pete lay's his hard body over mine, taking the brunt of any incoming debris. Screams continue to mix with the shattering glass and light clinks of metal. The old wood splinters from the walls, covering the area around us. This is it Charlie, we're going to die. We're going to die with a weird lumberjack on top of us.

Silence.

Our breaths halt as the room settles. Dust hangs in the air, sparkling in the new sunlight pouring in. My eyelids squint open, finding Pete's dark irises staring into my own. He moves his finger to his lips, before reaching for one of my heels. My eyes widen in wonder while watching Pete's movements. He returns to his original position, settling comfortably on my torso. He places a hand over my mouth and throws the shoe high into the air. I slam my eyes shut in anticipation for the worst. The wait for crashing, shattering, screaming, anything that would confirm Pete's theory was painstaking.

Silence.

A breath of relief falls from Pete as he positions himself to get up. Pete reaches down to help me up and I gladly accept. With little effort he pulls me from the floor and together we take in the damage. The aged walls around the office now show just remnants of remaining paint. The monitor screen has a large spider like crack from the impact of Pete flipping the desk. Bullets that had missed the hard oak walls lay scattered across the floor. The paneling around the window was littered with holes, and the realization finally hit me. If Pete hadn't flipped the desk, we would be dead. Full of holes. The Swiss Cheese of dead people. 

"Hey, hey, you alright?" Pete questions, slowly moving forward to place his hands on my shoulders. 

"What, the aCTUAL FUCK!"