Ophelia ↠ Frank Castle

03 | the let down

4 months later: present day

OPHELIA FOUND HERSELF lately to be the epitome of emptiness. Emotionless, melancholic, it was as if the weight of her entire being had dissipated, leaving a gaping hole of life to seep from her veins, and internal architecture. She was a being, that of she knew, but one of hollowness, an absence of life.

Of course, she was dire in nature, she presumed, pondering the great unknown of her very being, never counting on the fact that this spiral would ultimately consume her.

Feeling breathless, she clutched hold of the windowsill so tight her knuckles displayed a vivid white in an effort to steady herself. This was not an uncommon circumstance, just reduced to a state she so often helplessly found herself in, her mere consciousness grappling to stay afloat.

As if her panic attack wasn't bad enough, her anxiety worsened as she noticed the pan bubbling past the brim on the stove. Shit.

Still folded over in a vulnerable position, she half walked half-waddled to the stove, clutching desperately at the bench opposite, her fingers barely skimming the dial to turn the heat off.

The flame turned off, and she relaxed slightly.

Still in a state of unease, she knelt to the floor, the soles of her feet sinking into the cool tiles.

This happened often. It always came in the worse times, and was unpreventable. It stemmed from her nightmares, and trickled in in discolored waves from her past.

It was something she could never quite get rid of; couldn't persist past, and so, her struggle became engrained in her everyday routine.

Pushing past the battle inside her mind, she contemplated resting her head on the tiles and falling asleep, if not for the rest, but to shut off her restless mind, just for a while.

Hunched in the corner of her flat, the worlds off-white walls closing in around her, she could only wish that life would be better on the other side.

<> <> <>

At the other end of town, Frank found himself in an odd predicament. The type of moment that makes you feel a certain deja vue. A euphoria of sorts, if you will. It was in this particular moment that his breath caught in his throat, an invisible hand clawing at his heart, ripping it out of his chest and squashing it on bare, cracked concrete. Of course this was all metaphorical, but it was what it felt like to see her after all this time.

He choked up, words already forming unfamiliar patterns in his head. She was here. Amy, in all of her sarcastic, energetic glory, was here, in Hell's Kitchen, and all he could do was watch completely dumbfounded through the scope of his sniper rifle. His heart threatening to escape the confides of his chest. Meanwhile, his body stayed motionless, fixed in a lethal position.

But not for her. Never for her. Frank vowed to himself the very second they met when her small, trembling hand was enclosed in his that he would never, upon any circumstance, hurt her. And his vow had rung true several times.

Still, the words he had wanted to say to her in person never got the chance to leave his lips as he swallowed hard, repositioned the scope of his gun and shook his head.

No. He wouldn't utter those words, no matter how much he wanted to. He may of made a promise to never hurt her, but he also made a promise to himself long before he was the Punisher. A promise that he would never love again - no matter the circumstances.

His trained eyes were fixated on her. He knew he should've been looking at Matt's six instead, at the danger closing in tightly all around them, slowly squeezing the perimeter of the building, deadly ink-black tendrils holding them in a suffocating grip as the minutes amassed. But he allowed himself to ignore the details for just this one short glimpse of the girl who was like a daughter to him. For now, he would drown his useless feelings of danger into the deep waters of his mind, only resurfacing them when necessary.

He sucked in a shallow breath, and then another, as he looked at her. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her company. He huffed. Stuck up socialites. They didn't deserve her.

"Armed guards at all exits", Jessica's voice cut through his silence. "Frank, imma need a heads up when they're close".

"Copy that", he replied into the radio, taking his eyes off of Amy for the first time. He could almost sense Jessica's rolled eyes through the device, her sarcasm laced in each and every word. If this mission wasn't so critical, he would've laughed (or at least slightly chuckled). But he couldn't risk it - especially with Amy now caught in the crossfire.

He tracked Matt's movements, internally counting the number of guards he knocked out as he made his way up the staircase of the building's side entrance.

He slowly nodded, pleased with Matt's progress, even though he wouldn't verbally annouce it. His pride would never allow it.

"Red", he whispered, "lights out at the third exit, theres two guards waiting for you. Looks like they came prepared."

He could see Matt cocking his head, nodding to himself. He raised his fist when he got to the other side of the door on the third floor. It was empty.

Matt's voice rang through the radio, "It's empty. Are you sure they were here?"

Frank clarified, clearly confused. "They should be right behind that door", slowly trailing off, then narrowing his eyes, a guarded expression shielding his face.

Matts voice got slightly more panicked, his voice raising just in the slightest, a hard edge cemented onto his tone. "I can't sense them. I- I Can't pick up their heartbeats". Frank swore, aiming the scope of his gun blindly in the dark. He couldn't see a thing. Not that Matt's rising paranoia was helping, either.

"Hey Murdock", Jessica joined the conversation, noticing the edge of paranoia creeping into Matt's tone.

"Just keep a level head, they must've changed routes for some reason. Happens all the time - Relax."

Frank was just about to second that, when two shots rang out in the dark on level three, Matt's voice dissapearing entirely from the radio. All frank could hear on his end was static.

At least he still had Jessica in sight. He kept his eyes on her surroundings as she retraced Matt's steps.

Suddenly she turned a corner, and his vision of her was lost.

Then her radio fell, and all he could hear was the rhythm of his own frantic heartbeat, a deafening symphony of white noise as his ringing ears echoed around the empty room.

The four walls closed in on him, seemingly squashed by the surprising grip of a child squeezing a snow globe. In which the base in question was the room he was in, and every merciless shake of the object was an earthquake, not in the room physically, but in his mind. His thoughts were scattered to each corner of the quarters of his mind, thoughts and solutions bearing less helpful than if he were intoxicated as words yet again failed him.

And just like before on that frightful day, Frank was alone. Only this time without the image of his family's scattered remains in front of him plaguing his mind.