Survivor | Frank Castle

.18.

The first light of dawn creeps through the thin motel curtains, casting a muted glow across the room. Frank, sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the dimly lit window. Mary, still wrapped in the motel sheets, watches him with a mix of wariness and curiosity. The events of the night, the clash with the masked assailants, the revelations in the darkened room, hang in the air like an unspoken agreement.

Frank turns to face her, his eyes, pools of intensity, locking onto hers and proceeds to catch her up on the events that unfolded in the previous days.

"Karen got called into Homeland Security," He begins, the weight of the information evident in his voice, "Madani's leading the investigation."

" Madani," Mary repeats, the name sounding ever so familiar on the tip of her tongue," What does she know?"

" That I'm alive," Frank utters," And probably that you exist."

" My secrets aren't exactly hidden anymore," She sighs," You have a lead?"

" Gunner Henderson," He says," Was in my unit in Kandahar. He's the one who made the tape."

" What tape?"

" The tape they killed my family over."

Mary's eyes narrow, the gravity of Frank's words sinking in. The connection between their pasts, intricately woven through Kandahar and the shadows that linger in its aftermath, becomes a tangible thread binding them.

"Your family... they killed them over a tape?" Mary's voice carries a mixture of disbelief and anger.

Frank nods, the memory a specter that haunts the recesses of his mind, "Henderson recorded something he shouldn't have."

The revelation hangs in the air, a sinister tableau of conspiracies and hidden agendas. Mary, still wrapped in the motel sheets, absorbs the weight of Frank's words. The shadows of their shared past, once dormant, rear their heads in the face of a truth that defies the simplicity of their lives.

"What's on the tape?" Mary's inquiry is a quiet plea for a revelation that could unravel the mysteries they find themselves entangled in.

Frank's gaze, a reflection of the complexities within, meets hers with a hesitance that borders on vulnerability, " The life I'm never going back to."

The room, bathed in the soft light of dawn, becomes a makeshift sanctuary for shared confessions. Mary, grappling with the weight of revelations, shifts on the bed, her gaze locked onto Frank's.

" You think you can handle Henderson?" She asks, to which Frank nods," I've got something I want to pursue. Call it a hunch."

" You sure that's a good idea? To split up?" Frank questions.

" You'll be fine, you've got Lieberman to watch over you," Mary utters.

Frank's eyes narrow, for he's never mentioned Lieberman. Up until this point, he had no idea Mary knew he even existed.

" Lieberman, huh?" He asks," You always snooping around like that?"

" Call it a habit," She shrugs," Give me a meetup point and I'll catch up to you."

Frank takes a moment, the weight of trust a palpable force in the room. After a contemplative pause, he relents, giving her the address of Lieberman's garage where they can rendezvous. Mary, seemingly satisfied, starts to dress, the motel sheets falling away like the vestiges of a momentary respite.

As the first rays of dawn paint the city beyond the window, Mary emerges from the motel room, the door clicking shut behind her. The cool morning air greets her, carrying with it the promise of a new day fraught with uncertainties.