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Karen Page is, above all, a rational woman. Yes, she’s full of emotion, and she often reacts on impulse without thinking through the consequences, but that’s only sometimes. Most of the time, she plans, she reflects, she searches. And she hasn’t always been very successful at it.
All Karen wanted most of all was a little peace and quiet, a little simplicity and normality. But the longer she kept breathing, the more her chances of getting that were taken away from her. No matter what she did, no matter what she tried to change, even the slightest progress was undone, and she was left alone again. Her whole life she had run from loneliness, searching for a place where she would belong. And when she found it, it was taken from her in the cruelest way possible.
Karen Page overcame mental anguish, grief, pain, fear, and her own searing rage. She endured a ritual of humiliation from both her inner world and the world around her. She became a wanted fugitive, a fierce fighter. She clung with both hands to every possible outcome, every thread of events, every scenario. She sank her teeth into it and searched for answers. How effective was this? How much closer would it bring her to that happiness that seemed so far away?
Karen had once been happy; she had once felt that emotion, but she had never fully trusted it. It was as if she had always known that happiness was fleeting. What else did she have to do so that happiness would finally never leave her, would come and stay? She would never see a normal life again. She was broken, lost, and completely alone.
The only person who meant more to her than the whole world around her had sacrificed everything he had for her sake and the sake of this city. Something they both fought for. And she blamed herself, tormented herself with it, tried to fix it, but all in vain. It seemed her fate was sealed. She can still see and talk to him, but she’ll likely never be able to truly touch him. Once, he had already become a ghost, and it was excruciatingly painful. But he was never in her line of sight, never close enough to reach out and touch.
When he turned into a ghost, he was far away. Whether it was the separation of life and somewhat of a death, or the miles between coasts. But now she knew where he was. He was imprisoned on the Island of the Damned, Rikers, and with every new court session, his imprisonment was extended again and again. Karen could stand just a few inches away from him, but she could never embrace him. He was too dangerous, according to those who had imprisoned him. And the more time he spent in that cage, the more evident it became that he was losing himself. Every return from the courtroom turned into a flood of tears she had held inside for weeks.
It had been so much easier when she thought he was dead.
All she had left were memories. And dreams. Dreams where she could drown in his touch. It was the only state where Karen Page didn’t exercise her rationality, and the flight of her imagination was unrestricted by fear, pain, or grief. The only thing that stopped her was waking up in the mornings in the cold, empty, cramped apartment she rented with the meager pay the firm with his name on the wall offered her for her services as a private investigator.
In her dreams, she could fulfill her fondest desire. To run away, not from him, but with him. And only in her dreams could Karen Page live her best life. One that could be called happy. The dream was always the same, but each time, it grew richer in detail. So detailed that it turned into a plan. A crazy plan, unrealistic. The quintessence of how messed up she was. A compromise where normality was earned through this very insanity of hers.
Every night, Karen Page, having taken a pill to fall asleep faster, would lie down in bed. Her hands would wander melancholy over the empty, cold side of the bed. She would close her eyes and drift off into a fairy tale where there was no place for realism or rationalism. The fairy tale was all she had left. It was warm and bright there. There, she could love and be loved. Not from a distance, but up close. In the fairy tale, she could be the best version of herself.
This dream always began on a helipad, by the pier, by the water.
Karen gazed gloomily at the landscape of New York’s concrete jungle, savoring every detail as if for the last time. Bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, the buildings of the Big Apple looked especially stunning. Karen tapped her heels nervously and bit her lip. Somewhere out there, a few blocks away, in the courthouse, another hearing was taking place, one she had deliberately skipped. That would have been the first and most important clue. A van, prepared in advance, was already parked outside the courthouse, with Jessica at the wheel.
All it took was a little push, an impulse. And she hoped, prayed, that the long separation had tormented him as much as it had her, and that he wouldn’t let this chance slip away. Someone’s jaw would be broken, someone’s arms would be shattered. Karen stood at the edge, staring at her reflection, trying not to look behind her. As if she were about to surprise herself, even though she had been the one orchestrating this plan all along. She dressed up beautifully, as if for a special occassion. She took special care with her makeup and hairstyle. Because it was an important day. It was the last, this time definitely the last, day in New York.
Finally, the roar of a car slamming on the brakes sounded behind her. The doors swung open. He tumbled out of the van, panting, burning with adrenaline, a fresh trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. With a thick, unkempt beard, crooked red glasses, an orange prison jumpsuit, and still in handcuffs. Luke, who had been there all along, casually snapped the chains and, without a moment’s hesitation, Matt Murdock rushed to meet Karen.
They collided with a heavy thud, awkwardly and rather painfully, but immediately locked themselves in an embrace that made their ribs ache. The helicopter, kindly provided by Danny, was ready for takeoff. Without wasting a minute, before the police, the National Guard, or something even worse arrived, they boarded the helicopter, holding hands. Only when the helicopter rose into the air did they allow themselves to give in to their feelings and merge in a passionate, unbreakable, and very long kiss, while tears streamed down both their cheeks. Next stop: a private airport. And from there...
Karen had always imagined Paris. She had no illusions about this city, despite its ubiquitous marketing in books, movies, and music. She knew perfectly well that it was a rather unremarkable European city that impressed only tourists who came to see the sights. But she planned to live here, at least for some time, while she got used to her new life starting from scratch, which she had bargained for with her reckless act. Otherwise, Paris was just like Hell’s Kitchen, only with slightly more nuanced architecture. It had its own crime, but there was much less of it. Which meant fewer sirens. Which meant it was quieter. Which meant that even if she and Matt did go out at night, it would be rare instance. They would finally be able to devote all their time to themselves and to each other.
They received their fake documents with silly French-style names, a small suitcase with their belongings, and a small apartment in a low-rise building. On the top floor, with large windows and access to the roof. Everything just the way they liked it. Everything just the way they’ve always loved it. As soon as the doors closed, Karen immediately, without any delay, began to take off his spare clothes. She paid no attention to the long flight or to how many things they needed to unpack. Matt did exactly the same. Engaged in the hottest sex they’d ever had, in which every touch and every movement was intensified by a long and agonizing longing, Karen moaned, “I love you” .And Matt whispered hoarsely but tenderly into her ear, “I love you too”. That same night, they decided never to waste time again. They had already lost too much. They vowed to devote themselves entirely to their shared happiness.
Just a week later, they had a small wedding. Without family or friends. The few they had were still back there in New York. It was a modest ceremony: just her, him, cheap outfits, and a priest who declared them husband and wife. Their wedding night had a pragmatic goal: to have a baby. Karen wanted to make the most of the time she had left and hoped the stars would align so they’d have twins right away. A girl and a boy. She had long imagined a scenario where she would be a mother. She didn’t consider herself in the least bit worthy of the opportunity to bring a new life into this world. And this world was clearly not the best place to condemn an innocent child to exist in. It wasn't the right moment. But there never has been a right moment, and there never would be. And she wanted to take everything from this life. Every grain, every little piece of what, all added up, would equal a perfect, polished picture of happiness.
Soon, they grew tired of Paris. Even though Matt knew a little of the language, it still wasn’t enough to find a promising job there. And soon, the pretense grew tiresome too. Quite some time had passed, and they wanted to reconnect with their former selves a little. With the obscenely large sum their friends had collected and donated to them before their departure, they set off on a trip through Europe. From majestic capitals steeped in history to the most unassuming villages with very unique pastimes. They wandered, discovered a whole new world, and tried new things. From food to hobbies specific to one culture or another. They did all of this together, and loved each other endlessly.
At the end of their tour, they found themselves in the UK and decided to settle there. They reclaimed their English first names, albeit with a different last name. They welcomed their first child into the world, and began to establish themselves in a way that would free them from dependence on the donations they had received to ensure a successful escape. They did not lie to their children. They didn’t hide their past from them, nor the memories of the people who once meant so much to them and had given them the bright present they now enjoyed. It was impossible to say for certain what traits their daughter and son had inherited from whom. Both children were perceptive, empathetic, intelligent, and lively, taking after both their father and their mother. All the light and dark.
For herself, Karen had always envisioned a return to journalism. Perhaps not big ol' investigations, but something where she could write and speak to people’s hearts. Or maybe she would work at a publishing house. Perhaps she would write herself. Sooner or later, Matt would have returned to working in his profession. It would be difficult to hide the fact that he was blind, and making a splash in high-profile court cases wouldn’t be an option for safety reasons, so he would probably have worked at a university, training a new generation of fearless lawyers. He always had a knack for mentoring.
There were arguments, of course. But they fought over trivial things, everyday simple matters. Sometimes loudly, sometimes painfully. There were slamming doors and exhausting games of silent treatment afterward. But in the end, they always found a compromise, making sacrifices for each other so as not to lose what they had. Because they had already gone too far and had no intention of stopping. Besides, they had something much greater than themselves.
Many years later, now gray-haired, they took a chance on one last crazy adventure and returned to New York. Just for a couple of days, simply to refresh their memories of old haunts.
They walked through Hell’s Kitchen, had dinner at an Indian restaurant, and quietly visited old friends. Both those who were still alive and those who hadn’t been lucky enough to make it to the reunion. After that, another flight, and that’s when Karen woke up.
In the final moments of their latest meeting through the glass, Karen whispered into the receiver, closing her eyes.
“Every night I have this dream… Where we have everything… And we’re happy…” she smiled crookedly. “It’s so tacky, but no, it’s… Just magic.”
She didn’t go into details; she didn’t want to scare Matt or make him worry. He was already exhausted and worn out by his time in prison. Gray hairs were already showing in his beard, and the bruises on his face just wouldn’t go away. But, of course, he was scared and worried. It couldn’t have been any other way. Matt placed his hand on the glass. He sighed heavily and raggedly when he caught the salty taste of her tears, rolling sparingly down her pale cheeks. There were only a few seconds left before the guard would grab him by the arm and lead him back to his cell.
“I’m so sorry…” he whispered in reply. “I’m so sorry, my love.”
They tried to avoid pet names and addressed each other mainly by "Matt" and "Karen". But their fate was uncertain, and time was running out. Matt allowed himself a touch of saccharine sentimentality. And as always, he wanted to comfort her, even just a little. So when they lifted him from the chair, he blew her a kiss through the transparent barrier and smiled tenderly. But instead of the promised healing, Karen’s heart only bled more. She let out a muffled, painful groan and blew a kiss back, just before the door closed.
The worst part was that Karen couldn’t read him anymore. Even during her visits, he was extremely tense, with a stern, almost impassive face most of the time. He couldn’t show too much vulnerability. They’d tear him apart for it, and he’d promised her they’d still have a chance. But something had shifted, something had changed. Was it just weariness from this broody persona, or had he already become so desperate?..
Karen returned home with a French textbook.