Prelude to Mayhem, Part III: Demons of the Past

PRELUDE TO MAYHEM, PART III: DEMONS OF THE PAST

1.27.10
MARION COUNTY EXECUTIVE OFFICES
INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA
11:26 AM LOCAL TIME

"Mr. Cassidy, are you certain there aren't any other options left to us?"

Wendy Briese-Thompson looked at her boss, pleading in her eyes. Her meeting with Simon Cassidy had been going on for a little more than twenty-minutes, and it had not been an enjoyable experience.

Simon Cassidy was a fairly well built man in his fifties. With his bald head, power business suit, and short-temper, Wendy often thought her superior was better suited to be the chief of the Indianapolis Police Department, rather than the director of the Marion County Department of Parks and Recreation. If he dealt with crime the same way he dealt with misfiled expense reports, Indianapolis would be the safest city in America.

But Cassidy's normally stern gaze was softened now as he looked at the redhaired woman. The first thing Cassidy had told her after she entered his office was that he was impressed with the diligence she showed in running the theater. That immediately raised a red flag with Wendy. Simon Cassidy was the type of guy who showed his approval through lack of criticism, not compliments.

Mr. Cassidy then had gone over the budget reports with her, and every minute Wendy knew more and more that the fears she had expressed to Megan the previous evening were correct. The Marion County Community Theater was a money-pit.

A taxpayer funded money-pit.

"I'm sorry, Wendy, but its just not financially viable. Your sole source of income right now is from ticket sales, and that's not nearly enough to cover expenses. The County Commissioners will vote next week on the latest round of budget cuts. The MCCT is not expected to survive."

"But..." Wendy paused. "What about sponsors? Donations?"

"Haven't you called damn near every business and philanthropist in town several times? Wendy, I'm sorry. You put tremendous time and effort into the place, and the productions have been delightful, but in the current economy, the government needs the money for more important ventures."

Wendy opened her mouth to argue the point, but thought better of it. The MCCT surely wasn't the only taxpayer-funded entity to be on the chopping block, and it was hardly a vital life-or-death operation.

Wendy sighed, and looked down at her dark red blouse, and long black skirt. She had read that red and black were power colors, and wearing such hues gave one a subconscious advantage in negotiation experiences.

A fat load of bull that was turning out to be.

There was one avenue left for her, but she loathed the thought of taking it. In fact, she had a feeling Terrence would kill her if he ever found out she even offered it.

"What if I work for free?" Wendy said quietly. "I'm the only paid member of the staff- everyone else is a volunteer. What if I became a vol-"

"You know that won't work, Wendy." Cassidy replied sternly. "Its county ordinance that anyone in a position such as yours be a full time employee. For liability concerns."

Wendy bowed her head, defeated. "Then that's it?" she could hear her voice trembling. "I just show up at the commissioner's meeting next week to watch the trial, conviction, and execution of everything I've worked for over the past three years?"

"Don't take it personally, Wendy. I guarantee that the MCCT will not be the only thing in the rec department to be shut down." For the first time, Wendy noticed, Mr. Cassidy looked as old and tired as she was feeling. She suddenly wondered just how many of these meetings he was holding today.

"In fact, I would bet that if the vote goes against you, we would easily be able to transfer you to another department."

[I]But I don't WANT to work in another department![/I] Wendy felt like screaming, but she reckoned such a course of action would be counter productive. In truth, she wasn't worried about her job. Ever since Terrence had hit the jackpot at a slot machine in Las Vegas, she and Terrence had not wanted for money. Even with most of their funds tied up in investments and a trust fund set up for Theresa, she and Terrence could live comfortably with no income for a good while.

In fact maybe SHE could...

"You do not have rehearsals today, right?" Cassidy's voice shattered her thoughts like glass.

"No, not until tomorrow"

"Then go home, Wendy. You look like you need time to think. Go home, play with your daughter, and just enjoy yourself. What happens with the theater happens."

"Thank you, Mr. Cassidy" Wendy said, standing up. She knew she had just been dismissed, and she intended to take Simon up on his offer.

But not before she performed one last order of business.

After exiting Simon's office, Wendy walked over to the desk of his secretary. Ariel Miranda was just finishing up a phone call as Wendy approached.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. BT?" The pink haired woman in her early twenties asked, using her abbreviated version of Wendy's hyphenated last name.

Wendy smiled. Ariel looked every bit the young punk-rocker, with her dyed pink hair, tattoo on her neck, and nose piercings. Wendy always wondered what ever made the ultraconservative Simon hire her as an administrative assistant. But she genuinely liked the girl, and from the looks of things, Ariel was an amazing secretary.

"Listen, Ariel. I need you to do me a favor. Do you still have the budget reports from December?"

Ariel nodded. "Right here," she said, gesturing to a nearby filing cabinet. "Whatcha need?"

"Could you send copies over to my office by tomorrow morning? I'm going to take the rest of the day off."

Ariel nodded. "Sure thing, Mrs. BT. "

"Thanks, Ariel."

Wendy nodded to the secretary, smiling to herself. Maybe, just maybe, she could save her theater after all.

But first, she had a daughter to play with.




1.27.2010
THOMPSON & THOMPSON AUTO REPAIR
INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA
12:32 PM LOCAL TIME

"Hey Terrence! The alternator for the Buick's here!"

Terrence Thompson looked up from the white Impala he was installing a new radiator in, and nodded his acknowledgement, before turning back to his work. Finishing attaching the proper hoses, and adding coolant, Terrence stepped back to admire his handiwork. Another car, another would-be satisfied customer.

Terrence looked around at the bustling repair shop, where eight cars sat in various stages of dissemblance. Ever since Steve had given him an equal share in Thompson Auto, the business had been booming. In addition to these eight cars, another six sat outside, and he wouldn't be surprised if four more came in today.

Wiping his hands on a rag, Terrence gently shut the Impala's hood, and turned to walk towards the office. In truth, he liked being here working on cars more than he needed to be. Even though he had received half ownership of the shop as a wedding present, Terrence and his Uncle Steve had agreed that Steve would be in charge of the day to day operations of the store, and Terrence would help whenever able. With a full time schedule running on the American Late Model Series, it was an arrangement he was happy to have.

Terrence entered the office, giving a nod to his uncle, who was hunched over a computer, trying to find a fuel pump for a '91 Legacy.

Steve Thompson was a heavyset man, just a year or two past his sixtieth birthday. Always happiest in a mechanics jumpsuit, Steve cared little about his personal appearance. He had short gray hair, with gray sideburns and a beard that grew out several inches from his chin. Terrence smiled affectionately at the man who had raised him since he was five.

"You have to be kidding me." Steve was grumbling. "I'm gonna have to overnight this from fucking Connecticut?"

Terrence laughed, and reached for the package containing the alternator, but stopped as he felt his stomach growl. The Buick was going to have to wait.

"Hey, Steve, I'm gonna go grab a bite. You want anything from Subway?"

Steve looked up in disgust at his nephew. "Taking off now? When I was your age, I didn't even get a goddamn lunch break."

"Yeah, I know." Terrence said, rolling his eyes. "And the shop was bitterly cold in the winter, blazing hot in the summer, and you had to walk five miles uphill both ways to get here. Barefoot"

"Watch it, bucko" Steve snarled. "Just because you used to wrestle for a living doesn't mean I wont remind you who's boss here. Goddamn, I miss the old days, when kids were respectful, and everyone knew the value of a good work ethic."

Terrence grinned. "Well, unfortunately, we now have these little things called labor laws. Now do you want anything from Subway?"

"Black Forest Ham Footlong" Steve muttered as he finished up the order for the fuel pump. "I suppose I should go tell the boys to take a hike, too" he said, referring to the other four mechanics the shop employed.

Terrence nodded, and turned to exit the shop, but stopped as the door swung open, and in walked Daniel Pollaski.

The portly manager looked well rested and cheerful, Terrence noticed. The previous night, Dan had eaten dinner silently, almost distracted. Then he had stayed up long into the night, working on his WWA column.

"Hey-o" Pollaski greeted as he shut the door behind him. "How's the day go?"

"Fine," Terrence smiled as he looked at his ex-manager. "I'm just about to go to Subway. Wanna come?"

"Ah! Lunch! My favorite part of the day." Dan grinned. "Well other than dinner. And breakfast"

Terrence laughed, as Pollaski walked to the wall of the office, looking through the glass windows into the garage. "It looks a lot nicer than I remember"

Terrence nodded. "We shut down for a week a couple years ago and did a complete renovation."

"Probably the best idea my thickheaded nephew ever came up with." Steve said shortly, looking up from the computer. "Other than finally leaving and getting me my Black Forest Ham footlong!"

Terrence laughed, and again turned to leave. Dan started to follow, but stopped at something that caught his eye. "Whys this hanging up?" He asked, pointing to a frame hanging on the wall.

The temperature in the room immediately dropped twenty degrees. The object in the frame was a work order for a set of a brakes installed on the car of one Richard Thompson.

Terrence's father.

The same brakes that later failed, leading to the car accident that turned Terrence Thompson into an orphan.

It hadn't been until six years ago, when Terrence had learned the truth of his parents death, when he had discovered that same work order in a box of old papers. Steve had kept the truth from him in shame, and the knowledge that the man who had raised him had actually. caused his parents death had pushed Terrence over the edge.

Which was putting things mildly, since that day had ended with Terrence pinning his uncle against a wall, fully ready to slit the man's throat with a knife, with Pollaski desperately trying to diffuse the situation.

Luckily, Terrence had settled for merely plowing his fist into his uncles face, and had long ago come to terms with his uncle's error and forgiven him. But it was still not a subject easily breached.

"I hung it there," Steve said quietly, "to remind me the consequences one faces when he cuts corners."

Terrence squeezed his uncle's shoulder reassuringly, and looked at Dan. "The past is the past" he smiled. "Lets go, Dan. Lets get Uncle Steve his meatball marinara."

"BLACK FOREST HAM!" Steve bellowed as the door closed behind the two younger men.

Damned kids, they better get him the right order.


1.27.2010
THE NEST
INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA
12:45 PM LOCAL TIME

"I'm home!" Wendy called out as she closed the front door behind her, taking off her coat and delicately hanging it in the closet.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Theresa's voice echoed in from the living room as the toddler turned the corner in the hallway, running full tilt for her mother.

Laughing, Wendy scooped her daughter into her arms, giving the girl a quick kiss on the cheek. "Were you good for Cassie, Terr-Bear?"

"She was fine" Cassie DeSlair said, walking into the entrance room. The young woman brushed blonde hair so pale it was nearly white from her face. "She and I spent the morning doing a jigsaw puzzle"

"Did you finish?" Wendy asked her daughter, looking impressed when Theresa nodded. "Good for you!"

"You're home early," Cassie commented as Wendy set Theresa down. "We were just about to have lunch."

"Well, I haven't eaten yet, either. How about I make us all some macaroni and cheese with fish sticks?" Wendy asked, as her daughter gave a shriek if delight as he favorite meal was put into play.

"That's fine, but I'll make it." Cassie quickly volunteered, and Wendy acquiesced. Although she had a better track record than her wrestling days, when being within five feet of the oven generally caused Dan and Terrence to nervously locate the fire extinguisher, Wendy still seemed... well... accident prone in the kitchen.

Besides, she'd never be half the cook her nanny was.

Cassie began preheating the oven and filling a pot of water for macaroni as Wendy entered the kitchen, setting her purse down on the counter.

"So, why are you home so early?" Cassie asked as she started the stove burner.

"Mr. Cassidy told me to take the day off." Wendy replied. "I think he could tell I was... getting emotional"

"What happened?" Cassie looked at Wendy with concern.

"We're going before the county commissioners for a vote next week," Wendy said sadly. "There is absolutely no reason for optimism."

"Oh," Cassies face fell. She liked the redhaired woman, and felt sorry that she was about to lose her job, but she now also faced the reality that if Wendy was out of work, the Thompsons would have no need for a nanny.

Wendy immediately picked up on the subtext in Cassies expression, and tried for a reassuring smile, but something on the table caught her eye.

"What's this?" Wendy asked, eyeing the envelope. It was an ancient looking thing, more akin to medieval times than the modern day. Even more curiously, her name was scrawled across the front.

"Oh, yeah. Someone left that for you about an hour ago."

"He was a GIANT!" Theresa added.

"He was pretty big." Cassie admitted. "Probably the biggest man I'd ever seen. He was nice, though. Asked if you were home, and when I said no, he gave me that, and asked me to make sure you got it."

"Hunh" Wendy said grabbing the envelope. Her name had been beautifully rendered in Olde English style script, and she admired the handiwork. Finally, she turned the envelope over.

And froze.

The back of the envelope was sealed with black wax, and stamped into the wax was a seal she knew all too well.

Mandrake.

Oh God, why now?

Why would Victor Mandrake contact her again after five years?

With Ulfric dead, why would he contact her at all?

The kitchen table in front of her disappeared, and she suddenly saw the dirt floor of Mandrakes dungeon. She wasn't standing anymore, she was chained to a wall, filthy, covered in blood, and wearing her torn and tattered ring gear. And in front of her, his face merely inches from her own, stood the seven and a half foot monster, screaming in her face.

"You always presented yourself as one who could soar, who could fly with the eagles! Where are your wings now, oh mighty World Cruiserweight Champion? You're nothing! Everyone you know, everyone you ever fucking loved has abandoned you, and left you down here to rot with me!"

It hadn't been true, and she hadn't let herself believe it. But the sense of powerlessness, being chained to a wall, while a seven and a half foot monster thrice her weight starved her, beat her, taunted her, and even sprayed her with a fire hose, was overwhelming. Terrence and Rick hadn't abandoned her, but their nonstop efforts to find Mandrake Castle had been futile. She had begun to wonder if she really, truly was damned to the pits of Mandrakes dungeon for all eternity.

All for befriending a man he desired as his acolyte.

"Wendy?"

Cassie DeSlairs voice interrupted her thoughts, and Wendy gasped. She hadn't even breathed since she had seen the seal. How long? A few seconds? A minute? Longer?

Time lost all meaning when you were in the Mandrake dungeon.

"Are you okay?"

Wendy slowly nodded. The dungeon floor, Victor, the screaming was all gone. She was in Indianapolis, in her kitchen, perfectly safe.

Or not, as she looked to the letter in her hand.

"I'm fine." She finally said, using everything she had to keep her voice sounding normal. She mustn't scare her daughter over this. "I think I'm going to go upstairs and change. Call me when lunch is ready."

Cassie nodded, staring at Wendy with open concern. She didn't say anything as Wendy left the room. It was just as well, as Theresa had remained blissfully ignorant of her mothers panic attack.

Upstairs, dressed now in a sky-blue cashmere sweater and a pair of jeans, Wendy sat down on the master bed again staring at the letter. Part of her wanted to burn the letter now, unopened. To pretend Victor Mandrake hadnt just visited her house. Pretend Victor Mandrake didn't just stand on her doorstop.

Pretend Victor Mandrake hadn't just seen her daughter.

Wendy knew she had to read it, at the very least to know how to protect herself and her family from whatever insidious design Mandrake was concocting. He hadn't contacted her without reason. He never did anything without reason

With a sigh, Wendy tore the envelope open. Surprisingly, instead of paper, the envelope contained a couple sheets of vellum, the handwriting as beautifully calligraphed as her name on the envelope.

Well, a dark corner of her mind admitted. No one ever accused Mandrake of not having style

She read:

My Dearest Wendy,


Six years I've been waiting for this moment. Six long years since you were ever so kind as to grace me with your presence in my castle. Six years since we secretly crept together in the dark of Sixmile Plantation, attempting to divine the secrets of your otherworldly inhabitant whilst your now-husband slept. So much has happened; to you, to me, to the people in our lives, to the industry that thrust us together.


Where to begin?


How about with the proverbial elephant-in-the-room, the reason why we were brought together in the first place all those years ago: Rick. I'm sure you've heard by now that he's dead. Shot himself in the head with a .45. Died two months later. I visited him often in the ICU, mostly unseen and during the night, looking at the lack of cards and condolences around him. After all you two shared, you couldn't even send him a quick "Get Better Soon" Where were you, Wendy? Did the guilt of knowing that, for all intents and purposes, you pulled the trigger steer you away? Did the realization that your meddling with his emotions set him on a downward spiral that ended with his demise become to much to behold?


Tell me dearest, how does it feel to be a murderer?


Was Terrence proud of you for finally ridding the world of him, or was he jealous that you didn't let him help? Did you grieve for him? Did you grieve for the man he could've been? I did. I grieved for my friend. I grieved for my brother. I grieved for the man he was supposed to be. I grieved for the mistakes he made and for the life he led, because it was not what his fate was supposed to be.


You did this.


You killed him.


You started all of it.


And now, I'm going to finish it.


You might ask yourself, why? Why am I back, with Rick dead and gone? What possible reason could I have for calling upon you once more?


Atonement, Wendy.


Atonement and attrition.


By the way Theresa's an absolute doll. She's got her mothers' gorgeous eyes.


See you soon, my dear.


Yours truly,


-V.M.

The now tear spattered vellum dropped from her hands. The entire letter. The threats. The accusations. None of it mattered. They might sink in later, but only one aspect of the letter had hit her.

Rick Logan hadn't died in the gunshot blast, like she had thought.

Rick Logan had initially survived.

Rick Logan spent two months in a hospital, clinging to life.

And Wendy Briese, his guiding light, his last link to humanity, his 'friend', hadn't done a damned thing to help him.

From downstairs, she could dimly hear Cassies voice calling that lunch was ready. But Wendy didnt move. She continued to sit on the bed, sobbing into her hands.

Grieving, for the eternally lost friend she had abandoned.