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“I’m proud of you, Matty,” came a voice next to Matt.
Matt closed his eyes and concentrated on the audio playback of yesterday’s client meeting.
“I know you’re going to automatically reject my praise.”
Matt pressed pause and pulled his earpiece out. Removing his glasses, he leaned back in his office chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t had these kinds of hallucinations since they’d put Fisk away – and that was two months ago.
“You’re going to dismiss me as a fault in your brain – maybe even a figment of your imagination.”
“You’re not real,” Matt croaked. He cleared his throat and reached for his glass of water. He was tired from the events of last night – he’d finally hunted down the man responsible for the human trafficking ring operating out of Hell’s Kitchen. Crime had flourished in his absence, and there was plenty to do at night. Still, if he was hallucinating again, perhaps it would be a good idea to say home tonight. He pressed the bruise on his thigh in an attempt to return to reality.
“You don’t deserve pain, Matt.”
“Huh,” Matt laughed bitterly. “You’re funny.”
“I’m not joking when I say I’m proud of you though. I love you.”
Matt tipped his head, even though there was no form to the source of the voice. It was habit more than anything else. He furrowed his brow and said, “who are you? You’re too articulate to be my father, but your accent-”
“Stan Lee.”
“Stan Lee?”
“Yes, I created you.”
Matt huffed a laugh. “Sure you did.”
“Believe me or don’t, I don’t mind.”
“So you’re saying God’s name is Stan. Isn’t that name a bit banal for the Lord Almighty?”
Stan replied, “only because you’ve assigned that judgement.”
Matt licked his lips. He didn’t know what to say to that.
“Matt, you always wanted to talk to God. Now’s your chance. Three questions. Go!”
“Only three?”
“Yes. Now you have two left.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. That wasn’t a question.”
“Life’s not fair.”
Matt bit his lip to stop himself from swearing at God-Stan-whatever this figment of his imagination was. He could hear Foggy shifting papers around his desk, the tick of the clock, his own heartbeat pulsing slightly faster than usual. He sat forward, his ancient second-hand desk chair creaking painfully with the movement.
“Okay,” Matt said half to himself. “Two questions.” He took a sip of water, swirling it around in his mouth before swallowing. He shook his head. “No, this is ridiculous. I shouldn’t entertain the idea.” He returned his earpiece and pressed play. For the next minute, the audio ran uninterrupted. Matt didn’t take in a single word. Finally, he pulled the earpiece from his ear again, and said, “are you there?”
“Yes,” Stan answered. “You have one question left.”
“What? That’s not fair.”
“Is that a question? I think I heard an inflection.”
Matt gave an exasperated growl.
“You’re angry, Matthew.”
“Of course I’m angry. You put the devil in me-” Matt quickly added, “that wasn’t a question by the way.”
There was a slight sigh from Stan – the kind of noise a sentient being would make if they were shrugging.
Emboldened, Matt continued, “you killed my father, you took my sight, you-”
“I gave you life.”
Matt snorted.
“Come on, Matt, you’ve wanted to talk to me for years. Now I’m here and I’m offering you the chance to ask me anything. Most people would kill for that opportunity.”
“I thought killing was a sin.”
“You also know that it’s a figure of speech. Don’t get smart with me, young man.”
Matt scowled. Stan was starting to sound like Maggie. But that made sense if Stan was his own projection of what a God-like figure might sound like.
“One question,” Matt whispered. “Okay. I can do this.” Matt put his head in his hands and thought through his options. He was about to ask how long he had, but fortunately caught himself from accidentally asking the third question just in time, biting his lip with such force that he drew blood.
Matt was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Foggy approaching his office. “Knock, knock,” Foggy said as he tapped at the door. Matt startled, knocking his glasses right to the edge of the desk.
“Sorry,” Foggy said, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just-just tired.”
“I can imagine. I was just reading about last night’s arrests.” Foggy looked at Matt’s discarded glasses and earpiece. “Uh, who were you talking to?”
“Talking? No one.” Matt replaced his glasses. Better.
“Matt, I could hear you talking – on the phone.”
“Oh, yeah,” Matt stammered. “Uh, I was talking to – to Stan.”
“Stan who?”
“Oh, you don’t know him…. I think.”
“Is he a client?”
Matt gave an amused huff. “No.” He tipped his head. “Hmm, maybe.”
Foggy raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said slowly, evidently not buying Matt’s deflections. “Do you need to go home? You’re not sounding so good. You didn’t take a blow to your head last night did you?”
The hot lump on the back of Matt’s head started to pulse again now that attention was drawn to it. Damn. Matt fought the instinct to reach up and touch the wound. Instead, he forced a smile. “I’m fine, Foggy.”
“Okay, but maybe take the night off, okay? You did more than enough last night. We can even go to Josie’s after work if you want.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks, Fog.”
Matt could practically feel the heat of Foggy’s critical gaze as he lingered at the door. Eventually there was a small sigh, and Foggy said, “cool, I’ll leave you to your work.”
As Foggy made his way back to his office, Matt muttered to himself, “why does he always do that?”
“Because every superhero needs a sidekick,” Stan replied.
“Hey, that wasn’t a question-”
“Sure sounded like one. Nice chatting to you-”
“Wait!”
There was a silence and Matt thought Stan had left him, but Stan eventually said, “I’m waiting.”
“Let’s say that was my question – there needs to be more to the answer than – than – just a sidekick.” Matt said the last word like it was dirty. “And I’m not a hero, let alone a superhero.”
“Strictly speaking, you’re not classed alongside Captain America or Spiderman, but you’re pretty damn popular. You’ve put Hell’s Kitchen on the map. Plus you’re still going after 54 years – not many superheros last that long.”
“What are you talking about? I’m 34.”
“In body maybe. Your spirit is much older.”
Matt gave a non-committal grunt.
“Matt, you know exactly why Foggy cares about you. Say it.” When Matt didn’t respond, Stan repeated more forcefully, “say it.”
Matt brushed the hair from his forehead. “What – you want me to say he’s my friend?”
“Go on,” Stan encouraged.
“Fine. He’s my friend. I don’t know why he sticks around or why he cares so much, but he does.”
“Why are you angry about that?”
“Because I’m dangerous.”
“Arguably, you’re a very good person to know. Not everyone can singlehandedly take down a criminal gang and live. Moreover, not everyone cares enough to take on a criminal gang.”
“Yeah, well…” Matt puzzled for a moment and took a sip of water. “Why did you come now? Why not two months ago?”
“What, when you tried to kill yourself for the second time? I thought I’d let you figure things out yourself. There wasn’t any risk of you succeeding – I wouldn’t have it. It wasn’t your time, Matty. You have much to do.”
“So much for free will,” Matt replied. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair and eventually stuttered out, “thanks for that – saving - um, I’m glad now – I-I see that-”
Foggy called out, “Matt, is everything okay in there?”
“Yeah, fine.” Matt called out. He lowered his voice and said, “Stan?” After a moment, Matt repeated with less certainty, “Stan, are you there?”
Foggy’s chair groaned as he stood up. His fancy leather shoes slipped on the floorboards as he wandered back to Matt’s office.
“Stan, come on… please,” Matt begged, certain that once Foggy returned that was the end of this opportunity to talk to Stan-God.
“Seriously, Matt, are you sure you’re okay? You weren’t on your phone that time. I know you weren’t.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I were talking to God?”
There was a pregnant silence before Foggy chuckled, “and did he or she talk back?”
“He – Stan-”
“I think-” Foggy started before reconsidering. “I think… it’s time for a nap.” He wandered over to Matt and gave him a pat on the back. “But maybe we could swing by Josie’s first?”
“Is that a question?”
“Yeah, I guess. There was an inflection wasn’t there?”
Matt berated himself as he stood up. Caught out on a technicality… twice. What kind of lawyer was he if he couldn’t even get that right.
“So what did God – or Stan, whatever – what did he say? Any tips for the future?
“He didn’t give me the lottery numbers if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Damn, we could have been rich.”
“Is that all you care about?”
Foggy gave Matt’s shoulder a squeeze. “Returning to this shithole of an office answers that question, Murdock. No, the days of tailor-made, silk-lined suits are over, my friend. It’s back to crushing debt and payments in cake.”
Matt suddenly stopped still as he heard a whisper from Stan: “excelsior, Matty.”
“Wait!” Matt yelped, causing Foggy to trip in fright. Matt caught him just before he faceplanted.
“Matt, what in earth was that?”
Matt stood up and listened intently for a moment, his hand out to shush Foggy. “Mmm… nothing. I mean, I-I let’s go to Josie’s. I need a reality check.”
“You’ve needed one of those for a long time – and a brain scan,” Foggy joked as they started down the stairs.
“One thing at a time, Fogs.” He gave Foggy’s arm a squeeze. “I’m lucky to have you. Thank you for looking out for me.”
“Compliments from Matt Murdock? Now I know you really need a brain scan.”
Father Lantom had once said that talking to God was a rare experience. Was it possible….? No, it had to be a hallucination. Matt picked up the pace. “Come on, I need a drink.” Anything to not be alone, not think about the implications of his chat with Stan-God.
“You know, Stan called you my sidekick,” Matt said tentatively.
Foggy stopped and turned to Matt. “Sidekick? What? Come on, I’m much more than that.”
“That’s what I said.”
“I could help you out some time – I’m a mean batsman. I could clock those criminals square in the head.”
Matt shook his head and gave a deep chuckle. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t-”
“But God said-”
“It wasn’t God,” Matt snapped.
“Okay, your imaginary friend. What was his name – Stan?”
“He’s not – I don’t have imaginary friends.”
“Really? Cause that would explain a lot.”
By the time they reached Josie’s, the argument had been settled: Matt would be joining Foggy at the park the next day for batting practice. As Matt drew up a stool at a spare table, he muttered, “see what you’ve done, Stan?”
But Foggy wasn’t far behind. As he slid a bottle across the table in Matt’s direction, he asked, “what did you say?”
“Oh, nothing.” Smiling, Matt held up his bottle in a toast. “To Foggy, my sidekick... and-and Stan Lee, whoever he is.”