Chapter Text
It was a mild day. The scorching heat of summer lay long behind them. Shadows grew longer and the night fell sooner, but so far autumn had been kind. Refreshing head wind streamed through the open window, its sough mingling with the music and the nervous tapping of Matt’s fingers against his own knee.
Foggy smiled. Matt, cane between his lightly spread legs, chewed on his bottom lip, probably monitoring Foggy’s heartbeat and the sounds of the motor. His distress was obvious. And Foggy understood. Not every day someone stumbled across your dead grandfather's lost fortune, including a house in the middle of nowhere - and hands it to you because the rest of your family is dead or unaccounted for.
However, Matt was not afraid of paperwork or legal issues. Foggy was sure of that. After all, Matt was an awesome lawyer and his best friend was one, too.
Matt was wary of talking about his past. Never did Foggy pry, but sometimes, after a few beers, Matt shared something about his paternal family. Personally, Matt had never met his grandfather and his memories of his grandmother weren’t exactly fond.
“She always said ‘be careful of the Murdock boys. They have the devil in them.’.”
Foggy still remembered Matt’s expression when he’d shared that. Haunted, sad, but somehow… accepting. Which Foggy found astonishing. Who said that about their son and grandson? And actually all male family members? It was an especially fucked up thing to tell a kid. But apparently, Matt’s father had never objected so Matt had just… taken it.
Matt’s memories of family were often painful. So having a whole house full of it dumped on him probably was an ambiguous feeling at best.
However, Foggy was happy to come along. Whatever support, emotional or legal, he could give, he would. He was especially glad that Matt had asked Foggy to accompany him before Foggy could even offer it.
Matt asking for help. Not a given at all.
Foggy’s eyes fell on two street signs. One announced Pleagrove in 58 miles, the other a nearby gas station.
“Fuel should be enough,” Foggy told Matt. “But I wouldn’t mind a bathroom break and a snack. Is that alright with you?”
No reaction.
“Matt?”
“Hmm?”
Foggy smiled fondly. “Daydreaming?”
“Maybe…” Matt laughed and blushed adorably.
“Pee break and snacks at a gas station?” Foggy asked.
“Fine by me.”
Behind the exit, the street took a slight curve, after the station directly leading back to the main road. Foggy steered the car towards the gas pump and halted. Looking out of the window, he said, “Behind the station seems to be a little picnic area. Or… well, the idea of it. Do you want to wait there?”
“Yes, I think I will.” Matt smiled gratefully and made his way to the wooden tables and benches on the semi-maintained meadow near the road. “Thanks, Foggy.”
“Sure, buddy.”
Of course, Matt had learned to deal with smells of all kinds. But Foggy knew that - if given the chance - he avoided places with sharp scents like, for example, petrol.
Foggy filled the tank. Whistling, he made his way inside the station. He grabbed two lemonade bottles and found pre-made sandwiches. The one with tuna was calling to him, but they’d be in the car for about another hour. Not wanting to subject Matt to tuna breath in a confined space for so long, Foggy picked two cheese sandwiches.
Behind the counter stood a woman with strawberry blond hair and freckles on her tanned cheeks. She smiled at him when he put down his choices and pulled out his purse.
“Hey, hon! Romantic lunch for your boyfriend?” she joked and, when he cast her a surprised look, explained, “I saw him from the backroom window at the meadow.”
“Oh… no, that’s not… we’re just friends-friends,” Foggy said while the temperature in his cheeks rose.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “My brother always says I gotta stop making assumptions.”
“It’s fine,” Foggy answered. “You’re not the first to make that assumption.”
“Well, neither of you has a reason to be offended by that.” She winked and turned to the register to cash up. “It’s 31.50. You need anything else?”
“Not for now. But after lunch I might be back for the bathroom key if that’s alright.”
“Sure thing, hon. Wouldn’t want you to have to hold out until Pleagrove.”
“How do you…”
“Pretty much the only thing in that direction,” she pointed northwards, “and you came from the other so…”
“Makes sense, Miss Holmes,” Foggy laughed.
A light pink painted her cheeks. “Well, not much to do here. Why not play detective?”
*
“Finally, my romantic lunch,” Matt greeted when Foggy joined him on the meadow.
“Heard that, huh?”
“Of course. Just as I heard how she started flirting as soon as you cleared it up.” Matt’s tone was light and teasing. Foggy shoved away the thought of how nice it would be to hear at least a tinge of jealousy.
“Well, she is cute,” Foggy said. “Why not manage a gas station in the middle of nowhere with a lovely wife?”
Matt smiled. But he appeared subdued. Without much enthusiasm, he took a first bite of his sandwich.
“Nervous?” Foggy asked.
“A bit,” Matt admitted after a few seconds. “I catch myself thinking, ‘hey, they had lost these documents for decades. Why not keep that up forever?’”
Foggy chuckled. “It could be worse though. Money is never a bad thing to get. Any idea how much yet?”
“Why? You want me to invest in your wife’s gas station?”
Snorting, Foggy almost choked on a piece of sandwich. “No. No ulterior motive, just making conversation.”
“Of course.” Matt grinned, but soon looked thoughtful again. “No, I don’t know yet how much. For all we know it could have cost us more to book the hotel.”
“There is still the house though.”
“That’s another thing. A house of unknown condition in a town I know nothing about,” Matt said.
“Well, I can help with that last part,” Foggy said and spoke in his favorite lecturing voice,
“Pleagrove has - as of last December - 1003 inhabitants, one school, three supermarkets, two churches, one of which is catholic, just saying, an old mine that fails as a tourist attraction due to its danger of collapsing. Pleagrove is among the 5% of American towns with the least criminal offenses, is of no historical significance but semi-famous for its apricot liqueur.”
“That’s… not helping,” Matt said fondly. “But thanks anyway.”
“Look, we’ll only have to get along with those people for a few weeks,” Foggy said. “We sort things out and are on our merry way. Unless you like Pleagrove so much by then that you keep the house and settle down.”
“Join the liquor business?”
“You wouldn’t be as cool as me with the gas station, but we can still be friends.”
Matt smiled. “That’s good to hear.”
*
Foggy had expected worse. The hotel had been surprisingly affordable so Foggy was prepared to spend an hour disinfecting their room. But if the lobby was anything to go by, the place was simple yet clean.
A young brunette man stood behind the reception desk. His name tag identified him as Derek Corter and he smiled politely as they approached him. Behind him, in a wheelchair, sat an old lady with thin gray hair, but she did not look up, nor did she react to Foggy’s greeting.
“Hello,” Foggy said, letting his eyes flick between the two. But only Derek nodded politely and wished him a good day.
“Matt Murdock and Franklin Nelson,” Foggy said. “We booked a room for two.”
“Of course, sir. A moment, please.” Derek turned to the computer on the reception desk and typed. “Ah yes. Nelson and Murdock, one room, two beds.”
“That’s us, yes.” Foggy felt the familiar joy of a booking gone right.
“You booked the room for three nights, but here is a note that it might be longer?”
“Erm, yes,” Foggy said. “My friend here inherited a house in Pleagrove. We need to sort things out but have no idea idea how… um… stable the place is. We’re meeting with a surveyor tomorrow. So I asked the young lady who was on the phone to block the room if your capacities allow it.”
Derek smiled friendly. “I understand. It’s no problem.”
“Thank you!” Foggy sighed in relief. He hoped for their budget’s sake that they could stay in the house after some tidying up, but it was good to have a plan B.
“Is the house on Maple Drive, by any chance?” Derek asked. “Excuse my curiosity, but it’s the only unoccupied house I know.”
Foggy turned to Matt. After all, it was his house so he had to decide if he wished to share the address.
“It’s fine,” Matt said. “Maple Drive 17. That’s the one, yes.”
“May I ask why…”
“Apparently, it belonged to my paternal grandfather, but my grandmother never claimed it and - so it seems - it got lost in the Hell of paperwork,” Matt explained with audibly strained patience.
Derek shook his head. “Bureaucracy, huh?” he said. “Supposed to keep things in order, but then they go and lose a house.”
Foggy laughed politely. He was a lawyer, so this was hardly the first joke like that he heard. But Derek was nice and understanding. So Foggy did not hold worn out jokes against him.
Derek grabbed two keys from the key board. Then, he stepped from behind the desk and gestured towards the stairs.
“Let me show you to your room, gents,” he said.
Matt and Foggy grabbed their suitcases. To signal him to go first, Foggy put an arm on Matt’s shoulder. Foggy really looked forward to lying down for a bid after the long journey, but when he’d taken only a few steps, Matt stopped so abruptly that Foggy almost bumped into him. At first, he wanted to laugh and ask Matt to stop goofing around.
However, when he saw why Matt had halted, he did not feel like jesting. Looking down, Foggy saw a thin freckled hand circling around Matt’s wrist.
The old woman who until now had sat in her wheelchair, unmoving and silent, had turned and grabbed Matt’s arm. Her eyes, having worn an eerie distant expression before, were staring intensely at Matt.
“Never in the moonlight,” she said, her voice hoarse but insistent.
“Pardon me?” Matt said, way calmer than Foggy would be in his place.
“The silver thread,” the woman said. “Never cross the silver thread in the moonlight.”
“I don’t understand.” Matt tried to free himself, but the woman’s grip was unrelenting.
“Never,” she repeated.
“Yeah, alright,” Foggy said. “We’ll keep that in mind, but could you release my friend now?”
He really wanted to help Matt out, but also didn’t want to hurt an old lady. Derek, however, had no such qualms. Harshly, he took hold of the woman’s hands and all but ripped her off of Matt.
“Gran! Are you mad?” he hissed. “These are our guests.” Turning around, he shouted, “Marnie!”
A few seconds later, a young woman appeared from a corridor behind the reception. Her sharp features as well as the dark hair and pale skin betrayed her as a close relative of Derek, maybe a cousin or a sister. As she realized the situation, she cursed underneath her breath and hurried closer.
Meanwhile, the old woman still tried gripping Matt’s arm again. She repeated the words “moonlight” and “silver thread” over and over again. But it made no more sense than the first time - at least to Foggy.
The younger woman, Marnie apparently, joined Derek in his attempts to calm down their grandmother. She, however, was gentler and spoke softly. In the end, she managed to get the old woman to look at her instead of Matt. The grandmother fell silent.
“Come on, gran,” Marnie said. “Let’s make dinner.”
“Is it time already?”
“Yes.”
“Huh,” the old woman said. “Time flies, time flies.”
Marnie grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and maneuvered it towards the corridor she had come from. On her way, she said, “I’m so sorry, sir,” to Matt.
“It’s alright,” Matt said though Foggy saw he was shaken.
As soon as Marnie and her grandmother had disappeared around the corner, Derek turned to Matt.
“I can’t apologize enough”, he said. “I have no idea what has gotten into her. Most of the time, she’s just…”
“As I said,” Matt assured, “it’s fine. Something must have startled her and it’s neither her nor your fault.”
“Still, you must accept dinner on the house,” Derek said. “Let me show you your room now.”
*
“They aren’t being mean to her, are they?” Foggy asked while eating his free Spaghetti. “Can you hear?”
“She’s fine,” Matt said, his head tilted in this typical, adorable manner of his. “Derek is mad, but he didn’t talk to her, just to Marnie. Marnie is very kind, more worried than angry. Usually, Marnie takes care of her while Derek is at the reception. Not sure why they switched up today. Apparently, Derek and Marnie’s mother, who normally works here too, is in the hospital so they’re stretched thin.”
“Yeah, okay, okay,” Foggy said. “The old lady is fine. No need to violate their privacy any more.”
“Sorry.” Matt blushed and guiltily scratched his head.
“It’s fine. You get carried away while collecting info,” Foggy said, as soft as he could. “But these aren’t criminals. You can relax.”
“I know.”
“Cheer up, Murdock,” Foggy laughed, “this wasn’t your fault. At all. Eat your gratis meal and then get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll visit your new residence.”
“Don’t remind me!”
“Hey, it won’t be that bad.”
*
It was that bad.
The house was beautiful - as far as Foggy could see over the wild proliferating flora. Foggy was reluctant to call it all weed since there were some quite pretty flowers among it. Unfortunately, it blocked not only the path to the building, but also the gate.
With an apologetic face, the middle aged man who waited for them, pointed at the entrance.
“I’m Gregory Myers, the court tasked me with the estate management,” he greeted. “I would have gone in, but as you see…”
“I don’t,” Matt said. “Foggy?”
“Um, the local flora has formed a bond with the metal of the gate,” Foggy explained.
“Ah.”
“We’ll get through,” Foggy said. “I’m sure the surveyor will have some protective gloves with him so we can remove the stuff.”
“Good thinking,” Myers said. “Shall we look at some paperwork while we wait?”
“Why not?” Matt sighed.
Paperwork unfortunately meant no answers. Matt confirmed that he got three keys to the house, the estate manager guaranteed that to his knowledge there were no more. Foggy signed this as a witness.
“You should see me tomorrow for the rest,” Myers said. “I’ll try to provide some answers as to how this whole inheritance vanished, but most of it…”
“...happened a long time ago,” Matt finished the sentence, grumbling.
Foggy suppressed a grin. Of course, Myers couldn’t know but “this happened a long time ago” was a sentence Matt and Foggy had heard uncountable times after learning of the inheritance while trying to find out how that was even possible.
The awkward silence that followed was broken by a loud motor. Way too fast and in a way too old car, two men came driving down the road. They halted in front of the house. The sidecar passenger stuck his head out of the window and waved.
“Murdock?” he asked.
“That’s me,” Matt said. “You’re here to check if my house will collapse?”
Laughing, the man pointed at the driver. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Unfortunately, said house is held hostage by plants.” Foggy pointed at the overgrown gate. “We hoped you could help us out.”
“No problem.” The man nodded. “We got some tools in the back.”
Together with the surveyor, Mallory his name, and his assistant Cauley, they freed the gate’s hinges from the clingy weeds. After a while, the gate opened. Cauley brought the tools they had used back to the car. Moments later, he returned with new ones.
“Well, let’s have a look then,” Mallory announced.
They left the cars at the front. Carefully, they walked towards the entrance. Matt’s nostrils flared, probably his super-smelling sense reacting to the different flowers and trees. It would be a lot of work to get the garden presentable, but it should be possible to clear the path with an hour or two of work. The inside would be a different matter.
Turned out, the keys were superfluous. There was no lock at the door which was ironically sturdy and would be hard to force open. But as it were, it stood ajar. Upon seeing this, Foggy fully expected to find the house vandalized and the walls full of graffiti. He was also fully prepared to fight off a drunken teenager. But only the odor of old dust and mold greeted them when they stepped in. Nobody had been in here for a very long time.
The house was nice. Well, it must have been in its better days. The once homely ochre wallpaper peeled off the walls, exposing the naked plaster. A staircase with steps of dark wood spiraled upwards and next to it the basement door stood open, pitchblack darkness behind it. A doorless frame opposite the entrance led into a kitchen and through the dirty window, Foggy could see a wide green landscape of a meadow in front of a hill with large trees on its top. From somewhere, the murmur of running water reached his ears.
Mallory and Cauley took off immediately to do their work and Foggy and Matt were left to their own devices. Going into encouraging mode, Foggy turned to Matt.
“It’s old,” he said. “So far I see nothing that couldn’t be explained by that fact alone.”
“But how much will it cost to make it presentable enough for anyone to seriously consider taking it off my hands?”
Foggy opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Myers did.
“If I may,” he offered, “I can’t tell you yet how much money your grandfather left you. But it should be enough to fix up this house and sell it without loss, maybe even with profit.”
“Oh, a wealthy granddad, Matty? You never told me what a catch you were.” Foggy grinned and watched Matt blush.
“I only knew he was a realtor and not a bad one. But I also have no idea how much fixing a house like this costs.”
“I’m far from an expert either,” Myers admitted. “However, I don’t think you need to worry about going into debt.” He checked his watch and smacked his lips. “Oh, is that the time? Gentlemen, if there aren’t any questions so pressing they can’t wait until tomorrow…”
“I don’t want to keep you, Mr. Myers,” Matt said quickly. “I’ll have to sort my thoughts anyway.”
“Of course.” Myers stretched out his hand and shook first Matt’s, then Foggy’s. “See you tomorrow. Does…” he pulled out an old fashioned appointment calendar, “...14:30 work for you?”
“Well, I don’t exactly have anywhere else to be here,” Matt deadpanned.
Foggy began to feel a bit bad for Myers. After all, the poor guy just did his job. Even though Foggy understood Matt’s confusion and frustration, Myers was the wrong target. So he gave the man a friendly smile.
“Matt will be there,” he said. “Thanks for your time.”
“It’s my pleasure. Until tomorrow then.”
After Myers had left, silence fell. Matt stood in the entrance corridor of his new house like a lost kitten. One could basically see old wounds breaking open inside him. Sighing, Foggy put his arms around his best friend and squeezed his shoulder.
“No matter what happens, Matty,” Foggy said. “I’ll be here, okay? Be it scratching mold of the walls or processing a house sale, I can do it, if it’s too much for you.”
Audibly, Matt swallowed. His hand found Foggy’s on his shoulder and patted it. With a light smile, he nodded.
“I know,” he said. “I think that’s the only reason I can handle it. Knowing that you’ll help me.”
“Sure thing, buddy,” Foggy answered. “How about we ask Mallory and Cauley how long they’ll need? Maybe we can grab a bite and find someone who can install a lock at the door.”
“Good idea,” Matt agreed.
“That’s me. Full of good ideas.”
*
Mallory announced that he’d need the rest of the day. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but to Foggy he appeared optimistic. Money was one thing when staying at the hotel. However they’d also have way more time each day to fix the house if they wouldn’t have to drive from and back to the hotel everyday.
Foggy informed the surveyor that he and Matt would be out for a while. They drove to Pleagrove’s center and were lucky enough to find a parking spot near a plaza surrounded by different stores. As they got out of the car some people scrutinized them.
Understandably so. This was a small town so they were easily identified as outsiders, but their car, despite being a rented one, was too packed for the usual tourists who stayed for a weekend.
“We are interesting,” Foggy told Matt. “Picking up any hostile heartbeats or are they just curious?”
Chuckling, Matt took the arm Foggy offered. “I don’t think I could tell apart people hating us and people being excited about us,” he explained. “But nobody is about to attack if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You sure?” Foggy said. “Because I think I could handle the granny with the dog, but you’d have to take care of the old gents in the cafe. And one of them wears a hat.”
“Not a hat,” Matt gasped dramatically.
“Yup, indoors no less. Guy’s a maniac, obviously.”
Foggy couldn’t find a locksmith. But there was sign for “Old Gus’ Tools and Repair Shop”. He told Matt about it and suggested to try it.
“Sounds good. The door is definitely in need of repair.”
A little bell announced their arrival in the shop. It was small but the space was well used with shelves lining the walls and ware tables in the center. A subtle hint of vinegar based cleaner reached Foggy’s nose and when he turned to Matt he was not surprised to see him make a displeased face. Through a door behind the counter clattering of tools and low music rang and a male voice called, “One moment, please.”
About a minute later, an elderly man, probably Gus, with gray hair and a long beard entered the shop. He had a kind face and red cheeks and Foggy wanted a price for not calling “Santa!” upon seeing him. Gus raised his bushy eyebrows and gaped for a moment. Then, he shook his head and smiled.
“Excuse me,” he said. “How can I help?”
“Hello,” Matt said. “I inherited a house and there is no lock. Could you install one?”
“Oh, that’s you!” Gus exclaimed instead of answering. “I knew you looked like someone I know! So finally someone is coming for the house.”
“Ah well, I’m just here to sort things and…”
“Of course,” Gus laughed, “a young man like you hardly has use for a home in such a small town. But if you two retire one day… maybe?”
Neither Matt nor Foggy felt the need to clarify this time. Instead Matt gave a friendly smile and said, “Who knows? For now, I only need a lock. Oh, and maybe you could have a look at the basics? Wiring, water, heater?”
“Yes, yes, sure, sorry,” Gus said. “I never answered your question. I can install a lock and bring someone for the rest. Is tomorrow around 10 alright?”
“That’s fine,” Matt said. “The house has probably been without a lock for decades. One more day won’t make a difference.”
“That’s true,” Gus said on laugh. “Tomorrow then.” He fell silent for a moment, hesitated. But then he said, “I know I’m very very late. But for what it's worth, I’m sorry about your grandfather. He was a really nice guy.”
“You know more than I then,” Matt said. “I never met him. Just my grandma.”
“I see. But they were so in love,” Gus said fondly. “She must have talked about him a lot.”
Matt’s features hardened. “Not one word,” he said and turned towards the door. “See you tomorrow.”
He was out of the shop within seconds. All that was left for Foggy was to wish Gus a nice day and hurry after Matt.
“You okay?” he asked breathlessly when he finally caught up with Matt.
“Yeah, no, I… I don’t know,” Matt stammered. “Just… I never minded that I didn’t know my grandfather. For the longest time, I didn’t even know my mother. Some people grow up without any family around. But meeting a complete stranger who knew my grandfather… and imagine, this complete stranger is the first to tell me I look like my grandfather. Nobody else told me.”
“Well, to be fair, the only people who could have told you only knew you as a kid…,” Foggy said and immediately bit his lip. Not a good thing to say. “Sorry…”
“No, no, you’re right,” Matt said. “But still… this random old guy knows all this, knows how my grandparents’ marriage was while I know nothing… that stung.” Matt groaned. “God, I was a total jerk, running out like that.”
“You’re stressed,” Foggy said. “Gus doesn’t seem the type to hold a grudge. Come on, let’s find you something to eat.”
While they were eating waffles at a cafe, Matt sighed.
“They’re all staring, aren’t they?” Matt whispered.
“Nope, just the senior citizens.”
It was true. Foggy saw and felt eyes on them. However, as he looked around, it was mostly older people staring. Young adults, teenagers and kids hardly paid them any mind.
It made sense. Judging by Gus’ reaction, Matt looked very much like Thomas Murdock who lived and died in Pleagrove decades ago. To those who knew Thomas this must at least be a little weird. In addition, if they knew who Matt was, it was no secret to them why he was here. They were probably curious what he planned to do with the house. If he would stay or if someone else, even more foreign to this place, would move in eventually.
“They’re just curious, Matty,” Foggy assured. “And can you blame them? Usually, all they have is the apricot liqueur. Now there is this guy who looks like another guy they knew in a different lifetime.”
“I don’t know…”
“You’re better than the liqueur, buddy.”
That at last, got a laugh out of Matt. “I’m so flattered.”
“Speaking of, wanna pick up a bottle?”
“Trying to get me drunk and into your hotel room?” Matt asked with a raised brow. “Sounds suspicious, Mr. Nelson."
“Oh, cut me some slack, Murdock! I’d be wayyy smoother.”
They found a small supermarket where Foggy grabbed some cleaning supplies and snacks. At the hardware store next door, he got a spray bottle, plaster and a wall scraper. He felt a bit bad since he could have bought these things at Gus’ shop as well, but Matt’s quick exit had made him forget it. Returning though, would be awkward.
In the end, they decided against apricot liqueur. But the liqueur found them anyway as they returned to the house. An old lady stood in front of the gate and waved, bottle in her hand.
“Hello!” she called when Matt and Foggy were just around the corner.
Awkwardly, Foggy smiled at her as they approached her. When they finally were close enough, she stretched out her hand and shook theirs excitedly.
“Good afternoon! I’m Mrs. Miller from across the road,” she said, pointing at a house at the street corner. “It’s so good to see someone move in again! And such a nice handsome couple!”
“We’re not actually…”
“And you look exactly like Thomas!” she went on. “I’m sure he’d be delighted to see his grandson getting to enjoy his beautiful home.”
“Maybe, but…”
“Such a waste that it was abandoned for so long,” she sighed.
“Mrs. Miller…”
“Though I don’t blame Laura for not wanting to stay after Thomas passed,” Mrs. Miller said quickly.
“Do you know what happened to Tho… my grandfather?” Matt asked.
Surprised, Foggy looked at him. He’d expected Matt to want to end the conversation as fast as possible.
“Oh, Laura never told you?” Mrs. Miller raised her brows in surprise. “Had a stroke while they were taking a walk on their property. A tragic chain of unfortunate circumstances. They had wandered pretty far out and the phone in their house was broken. So poor Laura had to run across the yard to get to the street and then to the phone booth at the corner.”
“That is unfortunate,” Foggy said. “Valuable time.”
“Indeed,” Mrs Miller agreed and sighed. “I think Laura blamed herself. Silly of course, what could she have done? But I guess, women always feel guilty when something happens to family. If only she had opened up to me or others. She could have trusted us! We never believed… ah, doesn’t matter anymore”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh just… She wasn’t as outgoing as Thomas, didn’t have as many contacts. Though we as a community would have supported her after he died. But she never approached us and nobody wanted to impose.” She sniffled and blinked, giving Foggy the impression she didn’t tell everything that was on her mind. Finally, she let out a long wistful breath. “Such a short time they were destined to have here. What was it? Two years? If even… So sad.”
For a moment, Mrs. Miller was quiet. Then her eyes fell on the bottle in her hand. “Oh! Silly me! This is for you!”
She handed Matt the bottle.
“Thank you,” Matt said politely.
“It’s apricot liqueur, our local speciality!”
“So I heard.” Matt smiled.
“Anyway, if you need any help, ask,” she said and smiled, “My husband and I aren't as young as we used to be, but we can fill a wheelbarrow with rubble and trash and steer it away from your house.”
“We’ll be fine, Mrs. Miller,” Foggy said, sensing that Matt did not like the thought of her participating in fixing the house. “Though we may want to borrow that wheelbarrow.”
“No problem,” she said on a laugh. “I’ll have to go now and prepare dinner.”
“Of course,” Foggy answered. “Thanks for the liqueur.”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Miller,” Matt added. “Good bye.”
They waited as the old woman hurried across the street. Only when she had disappeared into the house, Foggy let out a sigh of relief.
“Phew, making a good first impression is hard and awkward work.”
“We did it though,” Matt said, his head tilted. “She is telling someone named ‘Irving’ that ‘the nicest homosexual couple is moving into number 17’.”
Foggy felt a blush rising. Damn, he really needed to stop enjoying Matt and him being taken for a couple so much. As always, he used humor to steer the cliffs.
“Ah well, poor Irving will be disappointed on two fronts then,” he said. “No gays, no new neighbors.”
“We can try selling the house to ‘nice homosexuals’ though,” Matt suggested.
“I can see this going over well in the advertisement.”
*
The surveyors had good news for them.
“You got a house like the truth here,” Mallory said. “Not always pretty but sturdy.”
“So it won’t bury us alive,” Foggy asked.
“Unless you have explosives on you - nope.” Mallory grinned and patted the walls.
“Also,” Convey chimed in. “It’s not my field of expertise, but the mold isn’t that bad either. Flying mold if you ask me. Not nice, but relatively easy to get rid of.”
“Sounds good.”
“Indeed.” Mallory nodded. “There are some damages to the wall in the attic. Nothing a carpenter can’t solve. One may not think this at first sight, but with regard to how long nobody looked after it, it’s in a very good condition.”
“You’re right,” Foggy said. “Nobody would think this at first sight.”
“Or on first smell,” Matt grumbled.
The surveyor and his assistant laughed.
“Don’t be too pessimistic, Mr. Murdock,” Mallory said. “It’s a good house.”
Mallory promised to send the report in the next few days. Afterwards, he and Convey bid their goodbyes and left Matt and Foggy with the old, dirty - but certificatedly not in danger of collapsing - house.
Carefully, Foggy studied Matt’s face. Distress and nostalgia met in a weird dance on his features. Foggy could not blame him. There he stood in the shadows of his father’s childhood without having had a clue about them before. In addition, the dust, the mold, the overall decay must be a hundred times worse on Matt’s senses than on Foggy’s.
“How about you explore the garden a bit,” Foggy suggested. “I’ll look around and see which room appears the least worn so we can make it our center of operation.”
“That… sounds pretty good,” Matt answered on a deep sigh. Brushing his hand over Foggy’s arm, he said, “Thanks, buddy.”
“Of course.” Worried, Foggy watched Matt leave. As if this man needed any more concerns in his life. But Foggy would take as much weight off his shoulders as he could.
A quick tour around the ground floor told him that the rooms here were not ideal starting points. The kitchen furniture was pretty much ruined but the walls and floor looked alright if pretty dirty. However, it was directly connected to the dining room which decidedly looked not alright. The living room was worst when it came to mold at the walls and even Foggy’s nose reacted offended. Matt couldn’t sleep here.
Upstairs, Foggy found an old bathroom, two bedrooms and what probably once had been a home office. In one of the bedrooms, the window stood open. Therefore it was colder and more populated by spiders. But it also smelled fresher and had significantly less mold on its walls. In addition, instead of a carpet, a once elegant wooden floor adorned the ground which would be much easier to clean. Only the frame was left of the bed and should be easy to take a part and get out. The large wardrobe would be a bigger problem, but not unsolvable. Maybe it was even usable still after a thorough cleansing. The bedroom was not perfect, but he could work with that. So Foggy closed the window and gave the spiders a heads up that they were on thin ice, should they leave the corners.
In the attic, Foggy found no light switch. The spare light that streamed in through the small window fell on crates and cartons. ‘Baby toys’, ‘coats’ and ‘blankets’ was scribbled on some of them, the rest Foggy could not see. He was about to head back, when he spotted, right next to the hatch, a little wooden box.
There was a pattern carved into the lid. Still, it did not seem to be special for it, more like the kind one could buy at a gift shop or the market. Nevertheless, it piqued Foggy’s interest so he took it and put it on the window sill of the bedroom he had picked as their “lair.”
Going back down, his gaze landed on the basement door. He had not much hope to find it any less messy than the rest, but curiosity had him head for the stairs anyway.
To his surprise, pulling the chain actually switched on the lamp. It was a weak dark orange glow that did hardly more than illuminate the steps and the first half of the large room downstairs. Usually, the small windows to the garden might have provided some additional light, but they were grimy and the wild vegetation blocked any beam of sun that might find its way here.
However, Foggy could see the traces Mallory and Convey had left in the dirt on the floor and at least for his way down, he followed their path.
The front half of the basement was lined with shelves. Some forgotten cans told Foggy they’d been used for storage and the thick layer of dust on every board spoke of the time that had passed. In the back, waited the remains of a workshop, the size suggesting a hobby level at best. Old rusty tools lay on the workbench and on the ground before it. It stung to spot some among them in the size for a child’s hand. Dust had covered them, but Foggy saw the initials J.M. and T.M. carved into the wood of the workstation.
A brush of fabric across the ground startled Foggy. Maybe one of the windows was broken or open, letting through a wind rush. Foggy turned to find the source.
He yelled. A tall dark figure peeked from behind a gray curtain, staring right at him. His heart thundered and his skin prickled.
It took him a while to realize that he knew the dark figure. Breathing heavily, he stared at himself in an old dusty mirror, half covered by a large piece of cloth draped across it.
“I’m such an idiot,” Foggy mumbled.
Above him, the entrance door was thrown open. Of course, Matt had heard him scream like a child.
“Foggy?!” his friend’s panicked voice called out to him.
“I’m okay!” he gave back. “Startled myself with my own reflection. Wait, I’m coming to you.” As soon as he stepped through the basement door, Matt’s hands were on his shoulders and his head. Awkwardly, Matt patted around as if looking for injuries.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, Matty,” Foggy laughed. “As I said, just gave myself a scare. The wind must’ve moved a curtain that was covering a mirror before. And apparently, I look very scary in a dark dusty basement.”
A sharp rush of air escaped through Matt’s nostrils. “Good.”
Together, they stepped outside. Foggy took a relieved breath of fresh air. The greenery and the sunlight were a nice contrast to the basement.
“The good news is, I found a room that isn’t half bad. We can camp there.”
“I suppose that is good news,” Matt said and added on a laugh, “That and the radio.”
“Radio?”
“The one you found in the attic.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you… music was playing shortly while you were inside,” Matt said, confused now. “The stupid song about the idiot who gets himself killed in a car race because he wanted to buy a ring.”
“‘Tell Laura I love her’?”
“That one.”
Foggy took a deep breath.
“First of all, this is a very beautiful song,” he said. “Second of all, Tommy is not an idiot but a romantic who tragically loses his life. Third of all, if you heard it, you didn’t hear it from inside the house. There is no radio in the attic. Well, maybe in one of the gazillion boxes up there. But I didn’t find one, let alone turn it on.”
“I was so sure it came from there…”
“Maybe all the smells out here mess with your super senses.” Foggy turned his head to all sides. “Who knows how many different plants are growing here.”
“How would that mess with my sense of hearing?” Matt grinned.
“Dunno.” Foggy shrugged. “Maybe your nose was distracting your ears?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Matt said on a laugh. “Walk the garden with me? I think I have a pretty good idea of it, but just to make sure I missed nothing?”
He held out his arm. Foggy could not help thinking how unfairly pretty this man was. The late afternoon sun caught in Matt’s dark hair and fell on his face in a flattering manner. A cute smile played along his lips and he bent his head expectantly, waiting for Foggy’s answer.
“Sure buddy,” Foggy said. “Show me your prosperous lands, Mr. Murdock.”
“A little too prosperous right now,” Matt joked.
It was true. Even without enhanced senses, Foggy realized the diverse number of plants that spread here. He didn’t know them all by name, but recognized some of them as cooking ingredients. Some he had seen on etiquettes of air fresheners. Along the fence grew two man high bushes with thick red berries that did look inviting. Foggy was almost sure it was red currant, but he would google it before stuffing any of them into his mouth, or Matt’s.
They had half-rounded the house, when Foggy stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth fell open. For a good 30 seconds he could only stare in disbelief.
“This… all belongs to you?”
“I guess so,” Matt said and chuckled without humor, “It is as huge as my radar suggests?”
“It is huge,” Foggy said.
Behind the house a hill led downwards. At its foot, wild flowers grew among knee-high grass and a small wooden bridge bravely stood up to time. A narrow river ran underneath and cut its path through the lush meadow. On the other side, the grassland continued, flowers providing colorful spots there as well. After a few steps, the ground rose upward, a group of large evergreen trees growing on top of the elevation.
“It’s beautiful,” Foggy told Matt. “The stones at the river’s ground are mostly silver white and the sunlight breaks in the water. Almost looks like light dots dancing on the surface. There is a very cute bridge - you can probably tell of course - formerly light wood I think, aged though and on the other side, is a little hill with trees.”
Matt didn’t answer. After a while, Foggy turned to him and saw him smiling.
“Thanks, Foggy,” he said softly and warmth blossomed in Foggy’s chest.
“No problem.” Foggy cleared his throat and quickly said, “Want to check the other side?”
“Can we trust the bridge?” Matt’s smile fell off his face, making room for concern.
“I’ll go first and you listen out for any signs of the thing collapsing, okay?” Foggy suggested. “If it carries me, it carries you easily.”
Determined, Foggy walked towards the bridge.
“Foggy, please, come back.”
“Buddy, sooner or later we’ll have to check that part, too.”
“Maybe Gus can have a look at the bridge tomorrow.”
The construct appeared sturdy so Foggy took a first tentative step. In his book, the following creaking was normal for a bridge made of wood and he carried on.
“Foggy?”
“Your super senses picking up breaking noises?”
“Not yet,” Matt said, annoyed.
Foggy smirked. Now and again, he liked showing Matt how it felt if one’s best friend was being reckless. And Foggy was only risking some bruises and wet clothes.
“Get back!”
“Geez, alright, Murdock,” Foggy said and turned around.
“What do you mean?” Matt asked
“I mean that you don’t have to yell at me.”
“I didn’t say anyth…”
“Whoa!” Foggy said as he looked upwards the river.
“What?”
“It’s… It looks, great…,” Foggy stammered. “The river - it’s like a golden cut through the landscape.”
“How so?”
“The hill on which the house sits and the one with the trees, the grass with the flowers near the river bends,” Foggy described. “From here, both sides look pretty alike, Just… on the one side is the house on the hill, on the other the trees.”
“Funny,” Matt said and added quickly, “Now that we know that please come off.”
“Alright, alright.”
In companionable silence, they walked back towards the house. The sun was slowly setting, bathing the property in the golden and red light of dusk. Foggy couldn’t help but imagine a tamer version of this garden and a young boy playing hide and seek in it. How different would his life be, had Matt’s family not left? How different a man would Matt be, had he grown up here? Matt probably wouldn’t be blind. Wouldn’t be Daredevil. Maybe not even a lawyer. They most likely wouldn’t have met. Foggy didn’t like the thought, but he wondered if Matt would be happier.
“Yes?” Matt broke the silence.
“What?”
“Didn’t you say my name?”
“Uh, boy, the whole thing is really getting to you, buddy,” Foggy laughed and put his arms around Matt. “Come on, let’s get you dinner and then some sleep, huh?”
Sighing, Matt nodded. “Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”
The two men crossed the garden and left through the rusty metal gate, leaving the old house to the falling night and the whispering wind.