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There was a painful mundanity to it all. He’d thought about it all for so long that he expected once finally putting it to action, it would feel like a bigger deal.
The day after his dad died, all of the birds in the whole of Hell’s Kitchen seemed to be chirping. The sun rose and all the working folk went to work, and Matt heard all of it, every single bit, like he did every single day since the accident. Nothing was different.
He knew he wasn’t dead yet, but he knew he would be soon, and for some reason, he thought it would feel more monumental. But it wasn’t.
The day hadn’t felt special when he went to pick up his suit from the dry cleaner’s. His best suit. It was grey, so he’d been told. And he hoped it was true because that’s how he’d had it labelled in his closet, and he wore it often. He’d sent in a plain white shirt and a plain black tie. Foggy said he looked good in red, but Matt didn’t want a red, bloody death. He didn’t want to ruin the color forever.
The women who worked at the dry cleaners were nice and but not memorable. They spoke over each other and never necessarily introduced themselves, not even after years of Matt being a patron. They didn’t bother, they treated him like any normal customer, he assumed. He was blind, though. They spoke in brief pleasantries and on his way out one of the women said
“Good luck in court, Mr. Murdock.”
And Matt waved absently and turned his head and hoped she could see the hint of a smile on his face as he mumbled some sort of thank you. The great thing about wearing the glasses was that no one could ever tell when his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It hadn’t in a very long time.
He didn’t feel much of anything when he walked into the hardware store, either. He’d only been there a half-dozen times, almost all of those times within the same day though. It had been when they’d first started Nelson & Murdock’s. The door handles were slightly lower than they were in every other door in Hell’s Kitchen. Sure, Matt could have used his powers and effortlessly avoided them, but out of all the things he was used to avoiding, doorknobs wasn’t one of them. He’d kept running his thighs into them, and eventually Foggy had had enough.
They’d taken a trip down to the hardware store and bought about six new ones. Neither of them really thought about the fact that the door itself and its placements of the knobs were the issue, not the other way around. It was fun for that one day, running around the city like kids on an adventure.
It hurt, thinking about Nelson & Murdock’s becoming Stahl & Nelson’s. Marci would never go second. But it was none of his business. He’d be dead anyway.
So, the hardware store. As he thought of it more often, the suicide store. Besides coming in with Foggy, he’d only come with a very specific goal in mind: buying things to kill himself with.
He’d never tried to be particularly subtle about it. Blind guys didn’t often do construction work, even those with enhanced sense. He never tried to hide the suspicious nature of it all, and it was obvious what he was in the market for.
Last time he’d come, he bought a couple dozen feet of rope. He’d told the cashier it was to hang himself. The man had laughed. Today, he didn’t feel like bothering to even ask. He made his way to the back of the store and picked up at least six cinderblocks. He wasn’t really counting. He wheeled them up to the front of the store in his cart. He noticed the hitched breath of the woman who worked the cash register, but he didn’t care.
“How are you pushing all of that? How strong are you?”
Matt shrugged. “I work out.”
Her heart rate was elevated, and Matt took it as her being a little bit shocked. But even then, the conversation didn’t lead anywhere. She didn’t ask any more questions, she didn’t seem to care all that much. People probably bought weirder, more concerning things.
He didn’t matter enough to warrant any type of real concern, anyway.
So, he grabbed his cinderblocks and placed them in his backpack. It was a hiking backpack that he had bought specifically for the purpose of killing himself. It was more expensive than he expected, but it was alright. He only had to dip into his savings a little bit. And his savings didn’t matter anymore, since he’d be dead anyway. Dead people couldn’t spend money. The rest of his money would be donated to St. Agnes. It was the least he could do. Oh, and some of it was for Foggy to cover a few months of rent.
He wanted so badly to be excited, but he really just wasn’t. He’d heard time and time again about how one of the many signs that someone was about to commit suicide was something called “the surge.” An immense bout of relief, or happiness.
He’d had his heart set on this date for months, but he didn’t feel any of that. He knew that it’d all be over soon, that his suffering on Earth would end, that he’d be free. And yet he felt nothing. There was no relief in his heart. It felt silly, expecting the world to change for him just because he was going to leave it.
He was just one man; he did not matter.
He had booked himself a room in the nearest hotel. He didn’t tell Foggy or Karen that he wouldn’t be coming in, but they hadn’t called. He hadn’t called them either, the only thing he had called was a taxi.
He recognized the driver’s scent, well more like the scent of the man’s car. Matt could normally walk to work, but when he was summoned down to the courthouse, he always took a taxi. His cane took up too much space on the bus, and there were so many scents and sounds around him that it was hard to navigate.
Matt understood on some level that he must have not looked well. There was a pause before the man said anything, probably looking Matt over. But Matt was blind, wasn’t he? He couldn’t be bothered to cater to some nonverbal cue. It wasn’t like it mattered either way. Nothing was going to change his mind.
He rode with his backpack full of cinderblocks to his hotel, and checked in at three o’clock, the second that check in started.
The woman didn’t comment on the fact that a local was checking into a hotel, she’d seen him around before. He knew because he’d seen her too or rather smelled her. A soft vanilla musk soured by the faintest hint of ammonia. She had a few cats at home. But she didn’t say anything about him coming to the hotel. Twice now. Same way the cab driver didn’t say anything.
A part of him knew he should been grateful. His plan was thought out, solid, and he was unwilling to change it. But a part of him wanted someone, anyone, to notice that there was something wrong. For someone to ask if he was ok. For someone to care.
It was wishful thinking.
He hadn’t been able to book the same room that he’d stayed in before. He wasn’t particularly attached to the room or anything, but it would have been nice. It was room 306 on the second floor. He wasn’t sure why it worked out that way. He’d been able to book room 310, just a few doors over. There was no one in 306, the room was clean, he could smell the fresh bleach on the toilet, but he could also smell the spit still on the pillow.
He hadn’t asked for much, not really. But room 306 would have been nice. But the world didn’t suddenly revolve around him just because he was going to die. He was so selfish.
The room he was in now didn’t have a ceiling fan. He’d done a shit job at hanging himself the last time. He’d put the noose on the ceiling fan, obviously. No one makes noose tying tutorials for blind people, it turned out. All tutorials were images, and even the videos on YouTube were silent. It took nearly thirty minutes, but he’d managed to do it. Hanging it up was easy. So was putting his neck in the noose and kicking the chair out from under his feet.
He didn’t realize how true it was when people said your body would want to survive even if you didn’t. Curse his Murdock strength, the second he couldn’t breathe, he’d started struggling. It was damn near animalistic; he basically tore the rope apart with his bare hands. Had he been thinking straight, he probably wouldn’t’ve, but he wasn’t thinking right.
He had no plans of failing this time, though. Drowning wasn’t an easy death. He knew that. But he didn’t want to leave a mess. He didn’t know how to shoot a gun, he couldn’t figure how to line it up right. And still, he didn’t want to make a mess. He’d heard that drowning was fairly unpleasant. He knew how to swim, sure, but that’s what the cinderblocks were for. No matter how strong he was, he certainly wouldn’t be able to fight his way against them. They’d weigh him down too much.
So, after a few hours of deliberating and praying, waiting, and praying some more, he knew he was ready.
There were no notes. No final goodbyes. He didn’t physically write any, on account of the fact that he couldn’t write on paper in any way that was anything close to legible, and he didn’t want to type them on his computer. It seemed too informal. It wasn’t like he wanted his friends to ask “why” for the rest of their lives, but there was nothing he could do. He knew they’d ask themselves that anyway, no matter what he said.
So, he put on his suit, tied his tie tight and polished his shoes. He asked his phone when the sun would go down and then waited some more. The last thing he needed was some unsuspecting family going to the pool at the same time as him, and the father of the family risking his life to save him. If he didn’t die from drowning, the embarrassment would kill him.
He needed to be thoroughly drowned by the time morning came. Thoroughly dead.
When it hit ten, he headed out. The pool was technically closed, but he didn’t care. What? Would they arrest him for breaking and entering post-mortem?
The backpack full of cinder blocks was tied to him, courtesy of the rope he’d bought for the last attempt. He didn’t want to just shrug the bag off and be done with it. He was ready to go, now. Really ready.
He took his phone with him in his suit pocket. He didn’t know why. It was late. Foggy and Karen (the only people who’d really be bothered by this) were probably asleep. And probably pissed at him for skipping work. Again. He hoped their hatred trumped their hurt. He’d rather be hated in death than hurt his friends.
He walked until he was on the edge of the water. He hadn’t brought his cane, and he hadn’t brought his glasses. He’d lied about needing them for so long, he was surely going to hell for it. There was no point in keeping up the act anymore.
Standing on the edge of the water, he began to mumble a final prayer.
“Father, I come before You today seeking both forgiveness and healing. My heart carries wounds—some of which I have inflicted upon others. I ask for Your forgiveness for the times I have failed You and those around me.”
It sounded cold and empty. If He was listening, God, Matt was sure He would never forgive him. Suicide itself was a sin; Matt knew that much. But he supposed it didn’t matter at this point. It was all already over.
“I’ve sinned more than my fair share in life, I know I have. I don’t at all deserve Your grace. No amount of repentance can fix what I am. Please watch over Foggy and Karen and Maggie and Father Lantom. Though I know they don’t need prayer from someone like me. I pray my punishment isn’t so harsh. And I—”
“Calling Foggy.”
Matt paused. He could hear the muffled little voice from inside of his pocket. He had considered turning his phone off completely, but again, the tiniest part of him wanted to be saved.
“No, cancel. You don’t need to—” He huffed. His phone was so frustrating. He could hear it ringing. “Stop. Hang up. Google, hang up.”
“Calling Foggy.”
But the line kept ringing. He thought about just chucking into the water when—
“Matt? What the hell? Do you have any idea how late it is right now?”
Matt’s whole world froze. Foggy had picked up.
“Matt, buddy,” Foggy sounded annoyed but also concerned. “You’re real quiet on me right now. Are you alright? Don’t tell me you let yourself get sliced up by some ninjas or something.”
Matt didn’t respond. His mind was racing. Everything had been so perfectly planned out. But his fucking phone had messed the whole thing. He felt momentarily insane. Foggy’s breath felt like cold water. No, warm, salty water. Like the ocean. Comforting and nice. A world away from the water he was just moments away from throwing himself into.
“Matthew Michael Murdock, I swear to God—”
Matt shook his head, chuckling slightly. “Don’t swear to God. Don’t worry, the ninjas didn’t slice me up too badly. Just some flesh wounds.”
“Well, you’re not hurt too badly if you can still wisecrack.” Foggy groaned but chuckled. “What am I supposed to tell Karen tomorrow, huh? How bad is it, really.”
“I’m not hurt,” Matt assured him. Not yet, at least.
Cars drove by the hotel, honking their horns. The pool was on the first floor, after all.
“Hey, Matty? Where are you? Are you seriously ok? If this is a Daredevil thing… We can talk about anything, remember?
“I know, Fogs.”
There was no book entitled Thing to Say in the Last Conversation You Have Before Committing Suicide. And if there was one… Well, Matt hadn’t been able to find a braille copy.
“Hey, Buddy,” Foggy chuckled. “Still on the phone with me, by the way. Did you forget to tell it the thing, or are you stalling on purpose?”
Matt shook his head. “Not a Daredevil thing, no. Just a Matt thing.” His voice cracked at the end.
“You’re scaring me a little bit here, Matt. Where are you?”
Matt sniffled, trying to hide it with a chuckle. “I think you’re the first friend I’ve ever had. And the best best-friend anybody could ever ask for. My avocado buddy.”
“Matt.”
The tears wouldn’t stop rolling down his face, and he knew it was obvious in his voice.
“I think it’s divine intervention, maybe, that my phone called you. I didn’t know how much I wanted to hear your voice one last time.”
---
The last thing Foggy had been expecting was a phone call in the middle of the night. He assumed it was his mom, maybe his dad. Maybe Theo. Maybe something had happened. His day had been relatively blah as far as days went, mostly paperwork and phone calls. Karen was busy, and Matt hadn’t shown up, something that had become a bit of a new norm.
So, he rolled over out of his bed and saw the caller ID. Matt. Bad news.
Ever since Matt came to him about the… Everything, things had been different. It was sort of fun, in its own way. Matt could do a lot of things that he’d never seen anyone do before. And it was cool.
But Matt was Daredevil. A fucking vigilante. They were lawyers, for Christ’s sake. Lawyers. And his blind best friend was flipping around and fighting ninjas and… Ninjas… dressed as the devil? It was insane. He knew it was a dangerous pastime, but normally Matt would just call Claire, no? The alarm bells were going off faster than Foggy could form genuine thoughts.
So, he picked up.
Matt sounded all kinds of wrong on the phone. Foggy had always been worried about Matt’s mental health, ever since back in college. Sometimes he was UP! But a lot of the time he was down… Still, he’d never heard Matt sound as broken as he did in that moment. He tried to keep the conversation light, but it only took one sentence to derail all of that:
“I think it’s divine intervention, maybe, that my phone called you. I didn’t know how much I wanted to hear your voice one last time.”
It was like the air had been snatched right out of Foggy’s lungs. He couldn’t think for a moment, but he quickly snapped himself back into it when he realized that Matt was still talking.
“—n’t mean to call you, not really. My phone did it all by itself. I didn’t prepare anything to say. Honestly, I didn’t want to call you. I can’t imagine how it’s going to feel for you to be the last person I spoke to. I’m so sorry.”
“Matt, slow down. Where are you? I’m glad you called me, buddy. Let me help.” Foggy did his best to keep his voice even.
“It doesn’t matter,” Matt said, sounding dull. “I’m not going to tell you, I mean. I don’t want you to have to find it.”
“No, no, no. Hey, Matt, c’mon. Talk to me.”
Matt sighed loudly. Sniffled too. “There’s nothing left to say.”
He was crying, Foggy realized. He could hear it. Matt didn’t often get choked up like this. Foggy thought he might just throw up, personally. But it wasn’t about him right now, it was about Matt.
“Buddy, please. Please don’t do this, ok? You don’t have to. Just talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk,” Matt chuckled wetly. “I’m so tired, Foggy.”
Foggy nodded. No, no, no, no way this was happening right now. “I know you’re tired, buddy. I know. I… Let me help, ok? We can fix this.”
“He will never forgive me. You probably won’t either, right? That’s fine. I’d ask you for forgiveness, but I don’t deserve it. Not after everything I’ve put you through.”
“I forgive you, Matt. He… God will forgive you. You’re a good man, Matt.”
“My grandmother said that all Murdock boys have the devil in them.”
“I know, Matt. I know.”
“I know she was right,” Matt chuckled sadly. Foggy’s heart hurt. Matt Murdock was not supposed to sound like that. “I know… That He will never be able to forgive me for all I’ve done. And I know He makes us suffer for things we might not ever understand in this lifetime. But it doesn’t make sense to me, Foggy, why he makes me suffer if there is no afterlife for me.”
“Matt, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m going to hell, Foggy.”
What? What, what, what? “Matt. C’mon. You’re the most Catholic Catholic I’ve evet met. If anybody’s going to hell, it sure as shit isn’t you.”
“That’s not how it works, Foggy,” Matt sniffled on the other end of the line. “Just because I pray and go to Mass, that doesn’t mean I’m forgiven. I don’t know why it’s only hitting me now. The amount of sacrilege that I commit… Nightly… That’s unforgiveable.”
“So that’s what this about? You being…” Foggy dropped his voice to a whisper, “Daredevil? Maybe God’ll think It’s funny! C’mon! You’re fine.”
Matt shook his head. “Every single night I hear them. The crying, screaming, wailing. I hear the whole city’s pain, Foggy. Child abuse, kidnappings, rape. All of it. I can’t stop it all, Foggy. And I understand that people have to suffer for reasons that they’ll never understand in this life. But I can’t handle hearing it. I don’t want anyone to suffer.”
Foggy was hastily walking down the street, hoping to any God anywhere that he’d somehow find Matt. Would another dose or divine intervention hurt so bad?
“You can’t save the whole world, buddy. You know that. I don’t agree with how you do it, but you’re doing a good thing, ok? You’re doing a good thing, Matt.”
“But why do I have to!”
It hardly even sounded like Matt.
Foggy frowned. “What do you mean, Matt? You don’t have to. You can stop at any time! You don’t have to die!”
“I hear people suffer all day every day, and therefor I suffer. No matter how much good I do, there’s never a moment of peace! Ever single second of every single day, I hear people suffering and I suffer! I know I can’t save all of them, and I know that he has plans for them that I’ll never know, but it doesn’t bring me any relief, Fogs! So, so, so, why do I have to suffer endlessly?! If I’m going to go to hell anyway! Why can’t He show me why I have to go through all the pain that I do? Why can’t there be any reward in this life? I know I’m damned. I know that. But I suffer in life as I do in Hell? Why would I want to live? My life feels like Hell.”
Foggy rapidly shook his head. He could hear Matt’s breath picking up, like he was getting himself ready to jump. “Let’s talk for a moment, ok? You don’t have to die! Your life doesn’t have to be hell.”
“But it is!”
Foggy cried out in terror. “Please, Matt!”
“Why won’t He show me, Foggy? Oooh, I’m selfish! I’m only one person, I don’t matter. In the eyes of God, I’m already forsaken. God, thy will is hard. But please! Can’t I see why I must suffer? Aren’t I doing the right things?”
Foggy was running out of breath as he ran aimlessly. The closest hotel with a pool… He was close. Please, God. Matt’s God. If He wouldn’t listen to Matt, then maybe He’d listen to Foggy.
If Foggy could will himself another miracle, hell, he’d become Catholic himself.
“God, take me!” Matt sobbed, “I can’t… Continue to suffer when I know… There’s no other side for me. I know I’ve sinned, God I’ve sinned, there’s no repentance for what I am. But I—”
“Matt! Calm down, ok?! God, He… He knows you can’t save everyone! He’s not making you suffer for— ugh, Matt! Please!”
“I can’t keep suffering, I can’t keep doing it, Foggy. You have to understand. I’m sorry I called. Thanks for everything.”
Matt’s shaky breaths from his mouth became louder and louder, same as Foggy’s pants as he ran faster and faster. Please, God! Matt couldn’t die like this.”
Turning a corner, Foggy could see Matt stepping forward at the deep end of the pool, one foot lifted with his eyes closed behind his glasses, backpack tied to him like a suicide-bomb.
“Matt!”
His voice reverberated between Matt’s ear through the phone and Foggy’s voice as he yelled, apparently so loud that it completely disoriented Matt.
Divine Intervention, Foggy thought as Matt fell backwards as he dropped his phone, gripping his ear.
Foggy was too wide to slip between the bars of the pool, so he knew he had to go through the hotel. “Don’t you dare move, Murdock!”
He blasted through the hotel lobby, ignoring the receptionist. As he ran, he cough Matt on the ground, still disoriented. It spoke to how out of it he was, Matt fought Ninjas and he was downed by a loud phone?
Or maybe Matt didn’t really want to die, he just needed a reason not to.
“Matt! Oh my God, Matt!”
He wrapped his arms around Matt and his… Cinder block filled backpack… Like he was scared he’d get away.
Matt almost…
He’d never seen the other so… sad… Covered in snot, eyes red, slobbering all over himself. Matt said something incomprehensible through his tears, Foggy just hugged him harder.
“You don’t have to carry it all alone, Buddy. I swear to… I swear, Matt. You don’t have to suffer everything all alone. Rely on me, ok? I’ve got you.”
Matt squirmed his way around to hug Foggy’s chest, and he stayed there and cried.
Matt almost died. Matt almost died because he thought his God had forsaken him? Please. Foggy couldn’t picture how any of this could have happened without some kind of higher power.
“I’ve got you, ok? It’s all going to be good, Matty. I swear. I promise. Let me help you. Let me help you… Not suffer.”
Matt nodded tearfully. "I'd like that. I'd really like that, Fogs. I never wanted to-"
"I know," Foggy nodded, holding him tighter. "You're good, buddy. You're good.
Thank God for Matt Murdock. Thank God.