Chapter 10

"So you're pretending to be autistic?" 

Murdock asked, sitting next to me in the passenger seat. 

We had just completed a medical examination where my physical condition, all injuries, and overall health were recorded.

Health 240/1000

They wrote me a report that was quite impressive. It stated that I was alive by a miracle and was good, could think logically, and act with enough confidence. 

The doctors wanted to double-check me right there, but I flatly refused, officially signing all the papers.

We were now on our way to my place.

"Not exactly."

I replied in a normal voice and tone after a moment's thought.

"The diagnosis is real. I'm just a bit better adapted to social life than they want to believe and see. After all, there are different kinds of autistic people. It's not cancer, after all."

"Well, yes, it's a special mental state and not well understood by others."

"That's right." 

I nodded, keeping my gaze on the road.

"Just a month ago, things were 'really bad.' I was more like a robot than a human…"

"And what happened then?"

"I lost my family. There was no one left to care for me. I sat in my apartment for a week; thanks to Mr. Sanderman, I had enough food in the fridge. Then I realized that I either had to get up and start doing something or... well, no one was going to take care of me like my parents and uncle did. It's hard to find a good person who wouldn't be tempted by money over time..."

"Money?"

"I own a two-entrance, four-story building. That's twenty-four apartments. One of them is mine. So that leaves twenty-three. The rent for a one-bedroom alone is a thousand a month. Of course, expenses for taxes and maintenance cut that amount in half, but I have more than just one-bedroom apartments in my building. So you can do the math yourself."

"So that's how it is." 

Murdock mused.

"Matt."

I decided to have a serious conversation. 

"Can we call each other that? Just Matt and just Tom?"

"No problem, Tom." 

Murdock replied without hesitation.

"Matt… let's be honest."

"Sure." 

He said, slightly frowning. 

Despite his "heroic" alter ego, Murdock wasn't immune to the weakness of all blind people—expressive facial expressions. 

Since they can't see other people's faces, they don't really control their own either. 

Murdock demonstrated this to a lesser degree, but it was still evident.

"I'm guilty, Matt. On all counts except resisting arrest." 

I confessed, feeling like I was jumping into cold water.

"I actually bought a firearm without a license. An automatic one, with a magazine capacity of more than ten rounds."

"Is that so?" 

Murdock frowned even more. 

"Start from the beginning."

"It was a setup from the start, and I fell for it." 

I muttered in response to his request. 

"I tried to get the license officially. I reviewed all the necessary procedures and paid the required fees and taxes. I wasted a ton of time—only to be denied, citing an old diagnosis, even though I went through a medical exam again and was deemed completely capable."

Murdock nodded, likely marking this in his memory.

"So, I walk out of the department feeling discouraged, and some shady guy approaches me, offering me a gun…"

"And you went." 

Murdock nodded.

"I went, and I bought."

"What did you buy?"

"An M4, a pump shotgun, pistol, and a ton of ammo."

"And then?"

"I was caught just a block away from where I dropped off the seller. That can only mean that they were waiting for me there, and the seller wasn't a cop. Otherwise, they would have caught me at the moment of the deal. Therefore, it's someone from the firearms division running their little business. The dealer lures a fool right after they leave the licensing office, sells them guns, and then hands them over to his cop partner after the transaction. After that, the options are either to throw them in jail or shake them down for a "buyout." The scheme is as simple as can be..."

"If you figured out all this, why did you go?" 

Murdock scoffed.

"It's hindsight, Matt."

I sighed.

"Two questions: first, where's the weapon?" 

Murdock asked, still frowning.

"Let's just say I "made it disappear." No one will ever find it, and it won't appear anywhere. I have a… let's say "ability" for that… but I'll give you the serial numbers. You should check them because they may have shown up elsewhere."

"That leads to my second question: why do you need the weapon?"

"That's a complicated question, Matt. 

I sighed. 

"Let's head to my place and grab some lunch because I'm really starving. Not just hungry but starving. Besides, we've already arrived." 

Murdock nodded. 

We left the car and climbed the stairs in silence. We entered my apartment quietly, and I took off my shoes and asked Matt to do the same. 

He huffed but didn't argue, probably accepting that everyone has a strange way of living. 

He sleeps in that "water coffin" of his, and I take off my shoes.

In the kitchen, I pulled out some vegetables and herbs, washed them, and chopped them fiercely on the cutting board for the salad.

"You said you were "starving" right?" 

Murdock asked in surprise.

"I am."

"Then why a salad?"

"Diet." 

I said, pouring all my feelings and everything that had been boiling inside me into that one word. 

Matt pretended to understand. 

However, he didn't understand a damn thing!! He can't just understand this; he has to feel it…

"You still haven't answered why you need the weapon, Tom?" 

He decided to change the subject. 

I placed a frying pan on the stove, poured in some oil, took the meat out of the fridge, cut it up, tossed it into the pan, and started peeling onions and potatoes.

"You see, Matt… there's one place… a very dangerous place that I need to get into… And a weapon could… theoretically… increase my chances of survival in that place… And I want to live. So, I have to take risks…"

"Is it more dangerous than going out with a shady criminal at night to an unknown place with money in your pocket?" 

Murdock smirked.

"It's significantly more." 

I smiled back. 

"And with that shady guy… I'm not completely stupid… even if I am autistic. I wouldn't have gotten out of the car if I sensed even a hint of danger. I would've hit the gas and made a break for it. Shady Guy was calm… and I didn't step further than a step away from him. A boxer's punch is fast; it's quicker than a knife at close range."

"A boxer?" 

Matt asked, intrigued.

"I train at the boxing gym, right down in the basement. The trainer says I have a decent punch, given my weight…"

"And will your "ability" to make things "disappear" protect you from the police?" 

Murdock chuckled. 

"So, you've thought it all through, huh?"

"Not really." 

I replied calmly.

"I can't plan everything. I just considered a few possibilities and the risks…, and considered them acceptable. However, I miscalculated. Who knew those dogs would jump straight to zapping me with tasers without even trying to talk first? I thought they'd stop me, ask me to step out of the car, check my documents, search me, search the car, and naturally find nothing and let me go… What a naive boy I am… I almost kicked the bucket back there…"

"Do you have to go to that place of yours?" 

Matt asked after a moment of thought.

"No. Not at all." 

I replied, pouring the chopped potatoes from the cutting board into the frying pan with the almost-cooked meat, filling the kitchen with an intoxicating aroma.

"Do you have to go?"

"No." 

I answered just as easily.

"Will something terrible happen if you don't go?"

"No." 

I smiled, swallowing back saliva.

"Then why? Just don't go there, that's all." 

Murdock shrugged.

"Just imagine, Matt. Just for a moment, picture this: you have a door in your basement leading to a dangerous but undeniably "magical" place. A door that only you can see. A door that only you can open, and it's not going anywhere. You can leave it closed for a year, two, ten… you can forget about it… try to forget. But can you?"

"And it's really in your basement?" 

Murdock picked out the crux of the matter. 

I nodded, stirring the potatoes.

"And no one else can see it?" 

He asked again, and I nodded.

"And no one else can open it?"

"Exactly."

"And it's dangerous in there?"

"Very."

"How do you know that if you haven't opened it?"

"I just know."

I replied, covering the frying pan with a lid and turning to the lawyer. 

"It sounds like madness, right? Like an obsession with a delusional idea—sorry, I don't know how to put it correctly: paranoia or schizophrenia… It really seems that way, doesn't it?"

"More than that." 

He nodded.

"But the weapon is gone, right?" 

I smirked.

"You could have just thrown it away on the way."

"I could have, but the cops checked that first thing. Remember, I drove only one block, and they know exactly which one. They would have easily found three guns and a bunch of bullets. Do you agree? "

"You're right." 

Matt pondered.

I checked the readiness of the dish, stirred it one last time, then turned off the gas. 

I grabbed a trivet and placed the frying pan in front of him. 

I set a fork next to it, cut a piece of bread, pulled out ketchup from the fridge, and placed it there as well.

"Dig in." 

I said, lifting the lid off the frying pan.

"And you?" 

He was surprised.

"I'm on a diet. I'll be eating on my salad…" 

I sighed and reached for my bowl of greens.

"Then why…"

"What kind of host would I be if I offered my guest grass? You're not a rabbit, after all."

"You're strange, Tom."

Murdock smiled and picked up his fork.

"Ding!"

[Will +1]