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Fan Fiction

Paradise Lost

by Russell Paulette (inadvertant@hotmail.com)

This story features DareDevil and related characters, which are trademarks of Marvel Entertainment Group. This is an unauthorized work and no profit is being made on this work. This work is copyright of me (Russell Paulette). The only original character, so far, is Bruce McConnel.


Paradise Lost

Prologue

Lurched above the limp, broken form below, the killer laughed a deep and throaty laugh at the weaknesses of his victim. In a city of millions, he thought, the one victim I chose was not only unaware that I was stalking her nightly, but was oblivious to her saftey. In the past two weeks she left her doors unlocked seventeen-SEVENTEEN- different times. If she only knew, he thought...if she only knew how easy it really was...and how much easier she was because of her carelessness.

* * * * *

Deep below the busy streets of New York City, a traffic jam of people quickly formed as those heading out of the city following a long day of work were running into the crowd of those heading into the city for Friday night entertainment. The ensuing commotion brought about much confusion and occasionally violence.
Officer Bruce McConnel was walking his beat, slowly wandering around a lonely subway platform as the various potpourri of citizes waded past him. He spotted the usual buisnessmen, nervously walking with their heads tucked into their stereotypical overcats and their briefcases gripped firmly in their fists as they quietly slip past the dilapidation surrounding them.
Walking, or rather sauntering alongside the nervous stockbrokers were the stereotypical gangbangers, with their measured steps, and their gaunt, tense faces as they peered out from behind thin, wraparound sunglasses which made them appear bug-like. Their baggy jeans sagged somewhere around their crotch, and gathered around their expensive tennishoes, they corrected the position of their baseball caps and sauntered past, heading up the flight of stairs to Bruce's immediate left.
His head whipped around when he heard commotion from the landing above him and as he drew his nightstick, he heard the distinct pops of a smal handgun. Racing up the stairs and drawing his service revolver, he stormed onto the landing, his pistol at the ready, when the tunnel around him exploded in a hail of ceramic tile, twisted metal, and human bodies.
Officer McConnel was thrown into several of the gang bangers, and as they fell to the floor, his body whipped overtop of the railing and onto the platform below. He felt crimson flow across his forehead into his eyes, blinding him in one fell swoop. He scrambled about for his revolver while he screamed into his radio about assistance.
He heard more shots being fired overhead and felt a sickwam growing from his left thigh. He yelped in pain and stumbled, dangerously close to the tracks as three more bullets struck im in the back. He glanced upward, and in his last, fleeting moment, fired his revolver again and again into the body of the assaliant standing above him.

* * * * *

The air flowing through the cafe was a cool October breeze, lightly skimming leaves across the rough concrete wilderness. The food was Italian, the wine was French and theconversation was Bland.
Matthew Murdock sat, his fork twirling strands of spaghetti into a wrapped ball inside of his poon. His nose followed the fork into his mouth as the heavy garlic aroma permeated throughout his sinuses. Looking across the table at his lunch date, it was clear that with the fun she was having, she would have preferred a miserable time.
Karen Page sat, shredding her tortellini absent mindedly with the prongs of her fork as she occasionally sipped the effervescnt wine.
"Wine good, hon?" Matt asked, wiping his mouth with a red linen napkin.
"Sure." she mumbled, as she shoved a small chunk of pasta into her mouth.
"Is that your way of not speaking to me?"
"I'm that transparent..." she mumbled, looking down at the table.
His hand set down the fork, and covered hers across the table.
"What's the matter, Karen...are you okay?"
"Matt...I'm...that is...yeah, sure...I'm fine."
Matt's hypersensitive hearing, a byproduct of a freak childhood accident which removed him of his sight but accentuated his other senses, zeroed in on her heart to see if it skipped a beat. Of course, Karen's heart always does when she talks like this. Matt decided to put diplomacy into effect and let the matter be.
"Anytime you want to talk, I'm here." He ran his fingers through his ash-red har and re-adjusted his black sunglasses to cover his dead blue eyes. He took a slight sip on his wine and returned to his pasta. He felt a rumbling that he was sure was in his stomach.
"Do you know how it makes me feel?" Karen asked, once Matts mouth was full of pasta. As he quickly chewed, swallowed, and wiped his mouth, she continued. "Night after bloody night I lie awake dreading that moment when I'd have to identify your body at the morgue."
"Honey, you know how it is for me. That's something I have to do...it's like eating for me."
"I guess impersonating your own death is like eating too, huh" she said, leaning forward and whispering. He took both of her hands in his and said in his most endearing voice, "You know why I did that..."
"On an aesthetic level, yes, but you still don't know how it felt thinking you were dead."
"Karen, how do you think I felt. I had to pretend like you and Foggy had never been a part of my life...I had to live a lie; you remember how hard it was for me to recover from my elaborate con game on myself..."
"But still...Matt..."
"I though Foggy was the one who was upset with me."
"Well...I have been the whole time, I just...I just...nevermind. I'm sorry I brought it up." she began to stand and gather her woolen coat and purse.
"Karen, don't leave yet..."
"Matt, I'm late for an appointment anyway, and you should get back to the office before Ms. Sharpe fires you."
"Karen..."
"Matt," she said, leaning forward and sweetly kissing him on the lips, lingering for a few seconds. "I love you. We'll talk about this later. I know it upsets you, and I'm sorry."
"I love you, too, Karen."

* * * * *

The coffee bubbled, black and muddy, as Foggy Nelson poured the steaming sludge into his mug. Snatching a candybar from the machine, he turned from the lobby and into his office. Shutting the door with his foot, and nearly using an important casefile as a coaster, he set the mug on a clean area of his desk. Matt had done most of the legwork on the case in question, leaving Foggy to deal with the paperwork. And deal with it he did, in his accostomed way of sinking his teeth into the rich chocolate and chewy caromel.
He propped his feet on his desk and loosened his tie as he sat the folder in his lap and began reviewing, two- fisting the candy and coffee. The door to his office burst open in a hail of red-suited, buisness authority and dominance as Rosalind Sharpe, Foggy and Matt's senior "partner" burst in. Funny, he thought, how her definition of partner is God.
"Franklin, I would like you to meet an associate of mine," she said, turning to the open door as Foggy quickly closed the file, straightened his tie and lost the candy wrapper in the trash. "Norombi-san, this is Franklin Nelson; Mr. Nelson, Saki Norombi."
"How do you do?" Nelson said, with an awkward gesture of handshake, which was recieved by a quick bow which Foggy tried to return with a disasterous effect.
"Mr. Norombi is the head of Norombi Industries, a major international electronics firm. He has heard of the reputation of Sharpe, Nelson and Murdock, and has asked that we handle his legal matters. I was going to offer this client to Mr. Murdock, but since he is-" she said with a wry smile, "-out to lunch, so to speak, I am offering him to you. You can handle his needs as well as Murdock can, and I hope you do well, Mr. Nelson. Here is his card; I just wanted to introduce the two of you before we head over to the Rainbow Room for a lunch."
"Well...how can I...let me get my coat." Foggy said, a smile growing on his face.
"Mr. Nelson, I don't think you understand. Mr. Norombi and I will be having lunch. I believe you do have other cases. As you always do," she said leeringly. "I'm sure you can handle lunch, yourself."
"Well...that is...yes...yes, ma'am." he said, his face flushed with embarrassment.
"Good day." she said, and led Norombi out the door as Foggy gave another akward bow and saw the door slam shut.
"Uh...I...I need a snack." he said, to nobody in particular, downed the steaming coffee in one gulp and walked into the lobby.
On his way to the candy machines, he ran into Matt just returning from lunch.
"Foggy, how is everything."
"Fine." he said, a tinge of iciness creeping into his voice.
"You get those memos to Rosalind?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. And she dropped by my office just before you came back." The pride of his winning a big case over Matt, evident in Foggy's voice. Foggy began to walk back to his office, trying to inject suspense in the conversation.
"Oh, really? What did she have to say?" said Matt, taking the bait.
"She's giving me Norombi; I get to work on him myself."
"Really." Matt said, searching for the name. "Isn't he the electronics guru? Richer than avarice?" Matt closed the door behind himself.
"Yeah."
"Start billing him now." Matt laughed. Then, the freight train hit his forehead with a rocketing force. Norombi; Matt knew he recognized the name from somewhere, and now he realized where. He heard it with the horns on. "Did I get any calls?" he asked, worry dripping from his tounge.
"Yeah, Ben Urich." Foggy said, passing the concern he just heard in Matt's voice as jealousy.
"Oh, that's right. Today's the day Doris gets out of the hospital." Matt dissmissed the Norombi affair for a later crisis.
"Times are tough for him, huh?"
"Yeah. She's been in a coma up until about three months ago, thanks to that Kruel guy. The doctors have been putting her through rigorous physical therapy."
"She doing all right?"
"Yeah. I visited her a few weeks ago, with Ben, but I didn't stay long." he said, lingering on childhood pain. "I hate hospitals."
"His message was pretty weird. Said to tell "Red," not "Matt." Foggy turned serious now. "Does he know about...you know," Foggy said, holding two fingers to his forehead.
"Yes." Foggy's eyes began brimming with anger. "Foggy, please understand, he researched my background and figured it out; I didn't confide in him."
"Whatever." he said, taking his anger out on the bite of his candybar. "I've got work to do, Matt, so if you'll excuse me."
"Sure." Matt said, defeated. A second wedge seperated him from those with whom was closest, and he didn't have the first notion on how to repair that breach.

* * * * *

Ben Urich sat, staring blankly at the stark white paper positioned evenly in his typewriter. He blew a long, white plume of smoke out of his nose and neurotically positioned the paper from it's perfect, even position, to somewhere even more even and perfect.
He coughed unevenly and took a swig of the oil the Daily Bugle enjoyed calling coffee, and staired, again, at the typewriter.
The office was crowded, page boys and gophers scurrying through hallways, desperate for updates on the subway bombing. Through the cacophonous hallways, Doris' voice, weak and filled with pain echoed. She was coming home today. He looked at his notes on the story of the month; Jameson gave it to Ben, but not a word leaked onto the page. She was coming home today. The stenographer's pad, with its chicken scratch notes on the location of the explosion, the name of the deceased officer, obtained without NYPD permission, the approximate damage to subway traffic and taxpayer's pockets, all of it, screamed at him. She was coming home today.
Behind him, the cool October wind ruffled through the pages on the notepad. Suddenly, the wind stopped, as if obstructed by some physical barrier.
He turned and saw Matt, squatting on the windowsill outside of the office. No, it wasn't Matt, he had the suit on, and it wasn't Matt when he had the suit on. He was DareDevil. He was the Man Without Fear.
"Hello, Ben." He said, softly. "Can I come in? It's a bit nippy out here."
Ben looked up at him. He had only met the horns twice since he wrote that fateful eulogy to Matt a little while back. The first was that imposter; that damned imposter who let Doris's skull get...
Don't think about that, now, you old bastard, he thought. Doris is fine now. The second time he saw DareDevil was when the original-it had to be Matt-came and declared war on the imposter. Another front page credit came to Urich's resume, again, thanks to this strange, strange man.
"Yeah, Devil. Come on in, I wanted to talk with you."
"Sorry about Doris. She doing better?"
"She's coming home." Ben said, evasively. He didn't want to say that he didn't know how the hell he was going to deal with his wife's injuries. Adjusting to the sudden change that has come over Doris will be difficult. If nothing else, Doris' return will mean less hours at the paper, that's for sure.
"Actually," Ben said, "I wanted to talk to you about a story I was working on; wondering if you knew anything about it...subway bombing on-"
A subway bombing? That's why the office was a noisy jumble. That explained Urich's shirt soaked with sweat. That explained why nobody was noticing the Scarlet Swashbuckler standing in the midst of this confusion. DareDevil cut him off immediately.
"When was this?"
"About forty-five minutes ago," during Matt's lunch with Karen. "Look, I was wondering if you'd gone by there; I figured you had, but by your expression, I guess not, huh?"
"No." DareDevil's face drew itself into a tight scrawl. How had he missed this?
"I guess it's a good thing you came by here then, eh?"
"Look," DareDevil said, stepping towards the window. "I know you're worried about Doris, Ben. I know how it goes when you have to deal with someone after a horrible accident. I grew up and saw Dad deal with it daily with me. Anytime you need to talk, just get word to me. But," he said, his countenance turning on Ben. "you have a responsibility to this city to get that story on the front page, and I know you haven't written one word. Jameson's about to step out of his office and yell at you about deadlines for the evening edition, so I suggest you put Doris out of your head for right now, and get that written. Dealing with Doris will come when it will come." DareDevil smiled. "See ya around, Ben." And in a flash of scarlet, he flew out the window.
He never ceases to amaze me, Ben thought, despite his blindness he still knew how much I had written. Hypersenses probably helped, but still...
Just then, the Publisher walked out of his office, slamming the door with a rattle that halted the commotion in the office.
"Urich! Show me what you have on that subway!" Amazing, Matt...simply amazing.

* * * * *

"So, this is American hospitality?" Norombi said, scanning the menu while sipping a fine white wine. He looked out the window at the naked city landscape. "Such an ugly city."
"Really?" Rosalind said, smoothing a silk napkin across her lap. "I find the city quite...charming."
"It has it's own charm, but...urine ruins fine Italian lofers, now doesn't it?"
"Yes it does, Norombi-san." she said with a laugh. "But we didn't come here to talk about the sanitary nature of the city streets."
"No, we didn't. This-Nelson, is it?-how good is he, actually?"
"He's a fine lawyer. Not as much of a boy scout as Murdock is."
"Nelson worked for Fisk a few years ago, did he not?"
"He did. I don't know what transpired of that whole affair, though."
"Does he respect the...what is it...Lawyer-Client confidentiality?"
"As does everyone in my law firm." she said with a smile and a sip.
"So the firm is yours?"
"The 'Nelson-Murdock' partnership is smoke and mirrors, Mr. Norombi." he smiled. "Their strings are pulled by me alone."
"And this Nelson will handle any legal problems I may encounter here in America?" he said, a coyness invaded his smile.
"Nelson will handle it directly. Myself, I see no evil, nor do I hear it, and thus, will I speak none."
"That will be fine with me, if you can help me break Nelson."
"It can be done." she said.
He turning his attention back to the menu. "How's the lobster?"

* * * * *

"...it's coming up on five A.M. New York, and you know what that means. This is Paige Angel for WFSK and I'll be leaving you in the loving hands of Adrian Cronauer, great guy." she laughs, majestically and with wings. "So anyway, again, this is Paige Angel saying it's been a Long Night, New York, but I love you, anyway. Have a good day, everyone. Laters." His black gloved hand flicked off the radio and sat back in the driver's seat. The WFSK radio tower protruded out of the roof of the skyscraper; Freud would have loved the irony.
Fifteen minutes after she finished her broadcast she walked out into the cold October Saturday morning, her blond hair shining against the dark, bleak cityscape. She was so beautiful; she was an angel. He brought the cab to the curb just as she stuck her hand out to hail one. She entered the back of the cab and gave him the address. Beautiful, he thought, whatever you say, beautiful. It was starting again.

Chapter 1

Daredevil (and other related characters appearing) and the distinctive likenesses are Trademarks of Marvel Characters, Inc. and are used WITHOUT permission.
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