Ophelia ↠ Frank Castle

05 | consequences (I)

BACK AT FRANK'S apartment, Amy lay helpless on the faded brown couch, both hands clutching her stomach as Frank frantically called anyone he could think of — Kurt, Karen — even Matt's nurse-friend Claire.

But no-one was answering. And Frank was panicking big time, hell he was almost hyperventilating, and Amy's labored breaths weren't helping his case. He struggled to think of what to do. With the bullet not leaving an exit wound, it was obvious there'd be some kind of major surgery involved.

Finally, on the seventh ring, Claire picked up.

"Hello?" Her voice sounded through the phone, sounding every bit as collected as Matt made her out to be.  Yet she was on-guard, her voice rough around the edge of the word, not to entirely detach emotion from the syllables, but to fake toughness. He liked it. It was upfront, straight to the point, and he thought that's how everyone should talk. It would get rid of fake flowery sentiments that clog up conversations, and for Frank, that would be a hell of a good thing.

An ache lifted from his chest, and he was so built up with apprehension and worry that it took him some time to answer.

"Look, if your just some prankster I'm hanging up. I got enough shit to deal with as it is".

Frank's eyes widened, caught off guard from the harshness of her words, he rushed out, "Don't go! — I-I need your help." He swallowed, and failed to keep with voice steady as he stammered, and Frank Castle never stammered, or appeared even remotely nervous. Ever.

"Ma-" He started to say Matt's name but stopped himself. He was willing to bet that she only knew him as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, he doubted Matt would share his secret with anyone but his closest friends. So he stopped himself, and momentarily chastised himself before recovering.

"A friend recommended me to call you in an emergency", he added, with extra emphasis on the 'emergency' detail, hoping she'd instantly join the dots. She didn't, of course. But Frank knew the world rarely worked in his favor anyway, and chastised himself again for the sudden optimism.

"This friend?", she started, curiosity balancing on the tip of her tongue, "Who is it?".

He knew she was at least considering it, so he took a risk, but it was the only option they had — Amy still in immense pain, with no aid from the 3 painkillers he made her take beforehand.

"The devil of Hell's Kitchen," He rephrased it, "I-I know his real identity and he told me to contact you. He would've done it himself but ..." He took a risk, hoping she could read between the lines "he's out doing what he does best".

She understood perfectly.

"I'm on my way, keep me on the phone." He heard keys clanging somewhere in the distance and knew she was prepared to drive to him.

He told her his address. God he hated this. He hated putting all his faith into someone he'd never met — hated being reliant on others, in his experience it only leads to bitter disappointments and cruel revelations. It never ends well.

"How bad is it?" She asked, already in full nurse-emergency mode. He analyzed Amy's condition grimly, "Not good" he whispered, his mouth stretching into a thin line.

Amy looked up at him, her irises seemed to be as big as the universe, and Frank swore that he could see stars swirling in them -- her irises were as big as the moon. He wished in that instance that the universe in her eyes could swallow them up, not to hell or death, but to a better place. Somewhere far away from Hell's Kitchen, where they could live without the fear of constant danger and not have to deal with situations like this.  But fairytales don't change anything, and they certainly don't make your wishes magically come true — optimistic outlook or not.