Hudson View Condominiums- Suite 713- Study
Manhattan Borough, New York City
4:31 PM Local Time
“Many a day I travelled a hundred miles or more! But laces on a flower pot I’ve never seen before...”
Augustus Briese’ smiled as his baritone voice echoed around the room, and he chuckled to himself, before turning back to his ledger. It wasn’t often that he was in a singing mood while paying bills, but things were going so well, he could hardly contain himself.
It was hard to believe that merely six months ago, he was on the verge of hitting rock bottom. He was out of work. His wife was voluntarily out of work due to her her pregnancy, and that bitch Ivana was coercing him for money. Well, Ivana was gone, back to some shitty little town next to a power plant on the Belarussian border, and she had taken a little bastard with her. The only memory to her legacy now was the secret bank account Gus had established, which he put a thousand dollars into every Wednesday. Fifty-two thousand dollars was a fine price to pay to make sure that one problem stayed in the Ukraine, never to return again.
Funnily enough, Gus found himself not being bothered so much by the other problem that had come. Gayle had given birth just after Memorial Day weekend, to a fussy baby girl with the most startling green eyes Gus had ever seen. Gayle had wanted to name her Wendy, after Wendy Darling, the heroine of her favorite childhood story, Peter Pan. Gus had balked- naming his daughter after an English brat wasn’t exactly something that sat well with him.
They had settled on Gwendolyn, after his maternal grandmother, which suited Gayle fine, since Wendy was an easy derivation of the name anyways. Gus hadn’t expected to feel pride at seeing the little girl, but everytime he looked at little Wendy sleeping in her crib, he couldn’t help but smile.
With his and Gayle’s genetics combined, and the best training and education they could afford, he knew this girl would become the greatest actress to ever grace a stage. Already, Gus had sought out experts, wondering if there was any way he could groom his child for her future stardom, even in infancy. He had been told that such development really couldn’t start until the child was old enough to walk and talk, and the best thing to do for now was to ensure she would grow up healthy and strong.
If it was patience that was required, then so be it. Until then, Gus had other things- his career and Gayle’s, mainly- to focus on.
His break had come in only the last month. A friend of a friend had hinted that Andrew Lloyd Weber had been planning on bringing his newest creation, a musical based on a book of poems by TS Elliot, to the Broadway stage, and after pulling in several favors and connections, Gus had landed himself a role. Not just any role, one of the main, most challenging roles that had ever been required on the stage. It wasn’t often that Gus had the opportunity to use the exhaustive dancing training he had spent years on, but the role of Mr. Mistoffelees would certainly require that. Him, in a Weber production! It was something beyond his wildest dreams.
And now that Wendy was approaching two months, the time had come for his wife to return to work as well, something he planned to discuss with her this evening.
“I’m home!”
Gus grinned. Show-time. No pun intended.
Gayle had immediately gone to the bedroom to set Wendy in her crib, and Gus joined her in there, watching as she gave the girl a pacifier, and sang her a quick Irish lullaby. Turning on the baby monitor next to the infant, and grabbing the receiver set, she bent over, gave the little girl one last kiss, and turned, seeing her husband in the doorway. “Hey, Gus,” she said, smiling.
Gus smiled back. “How were the immunizations?”
“Tiring. Both for me and her, I think,” Gayle responded, sighing deeply. “It hurt to watch them stick those needles into her, and hear her cry. But I know she needs them. Especially in a city this big, you have to be vaccinated against diseases.”
“We all have to do painful things to help the ones we love,” Gus replied, somewhat enigmatically. “Come on, let’s have a drink. I have something to talk to you about.”
Gayle nodded, and took her receiver with her to the condo’s living room, while Gus headed back to his study, pulling out his favorite Glenfiddich whiskey, and pouring two glasses. Carefully, he carried the liquor into their living room, where Gayle had sat down on the couch, the baby monitor still in her hand. She set the monitor down on the end table as Gus passed her one of the glasses. He sat down on the other end of the couch, and looked over at her, smiling.
“I’ve gotten you a role.”
Gayle was so surprised by this, she nearly dropped her glass. “I’m sorry?”
“They’re going to be reviving the play “Medea”, and I got wind of it and talked to the director. Do you know him? Larry Barrett? No? Well, anyways, I told him about you, and how you saved the Lyric back in Belfast, and he’s interested. Very interested.”
Gayle looked surprised, then broke into a smile. “How... how did you do that? I thought you were convinced that my career was over.”
“Well, sometimes doors can open when you least expect them. But you’ve lost your baby weight. Wendy’s old enough to where we can hire a nanny to watch her while we’re working. It’s time to go back, Gayle.”
“I know.” Gayle replied, taking a deep breath. “And I have been missing it. Do you really think that I’m ready?”
“You are, Gayle. You’re the Angel of the Lyric, and you’re ready for anything.”
“Well, that’s great Gus. And thank you. So, when do rehearsals start?”
“Soon,” Gus replied, grimacing slightly as he realized the ifficulty and delicacy of where this conversation was about to go. “Mr. Barrett is interested in you, Gayle. VERY interested. But.. he did present me with a... minor concern.”
“What concern is that, Gus?”
“Well, we know it was to have our baby, but word has gotten around that you did leave Fiddler on the Roof right after being cast in it, and, well, like I told you, it hasn’t exactly done your reputation any favors. There is a certain question of your... dedication to this.”
“Dedication?” Gayle eye’s narrowed in indignation. “I’m plenty dedicated, and you know it! It’s just that family comes first. Family should ALWAYS come first!”
“I know that, Gayle. You’re right. But, unfortunately, this is show-business, dear. Things can get a little... warped. But we play the game. We have no other choice.”
“So what do we do?” Gayle asked, finishing the last of her whiskey and setting it down on the end table next to the monitor.
Gus shrugged. “We convince Mr. Barrett of your dedication, in a way that leaves absolutely no room for dispute.”
Gayle looked puzzled. “And exactly how do you expect me to do that?”
Gus closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. This was the difficult part, and he didn’t want to panic his wife into fleeing from the best opportunity she was ever going to get.
“I’ve arranged a... meeting for you. A personal audition, if you will. Tomorrow night, you’re going to his house. You’re going to convince him of your dedication... the best way a woman knows how.”
Gayle paused for several seconds as the implications of what Gus was saying rattled around in her head. Finally, her jaw dropped. “Gus, surely you don’t mean-”
“Do you remember that green dress you wore to the gala at the Guggenheim last September? I think you should wear that. It was very... fitting on you.” Gus interrupted, paying his wife’s outburst no mind.
Gayle’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Gus, listen to what you’re saying! I can’t do this! I can’t just go over to another man’s house and... and...”
Gus nodded, an expression of sadness on his face. “I know that, Gayle. And no, I’m not happy about this either. But it is the price, and it’s one we have to be willing to pay.”
“No we don’t! I’m your wife, for crying out loud!”
“And thus obligated by your vows to remain faithful to me until our deaths,” Gus replied, nodding. “I know that. But for this... for YOU, Gayle, and your future, your faithfulness to me is a price I’m willing to pay.”
“And what if I’m not willing to pay it? To go to some strange man’s house and...”
“We all must make sacrifices, Gayle!” Gus replied sharply. He had known this was going to be a difficult conversation, but still it was trying his patience. “I’ve told you before, Gayle. Everything has a price, and very seldom it’s a stack of paper with some world leader printed on it. When you told me you wanted to keep our baby, I told you there would be consequences. This is the price you’re paying now, for your inguldences then. Don’t you understand?”
“Then I won’t pay it. It’s too high. I’m not going to.”
Gus closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm, even though his blood was starting to boil at his wife’s reluctance. “This is ultimately your call, Gayle, but if you choose to walk away now, I’m going to be very disappointed. After all, when you think about your dreams, and your lifetime, is one night of misery really such a high price?”
Gayle only stared blankly at him in response, and Gus stood up, giving another sigh. “Think about it Gayle. Think about it, and realize its for the best. I trust that you’ll do the right thing.”
Gayle still didn’t move, remaining staring blankly in front of her. Gus turned and walked away, heading back to his study. He knew what his wife would choose, and it would be the correct decision. Tomorrow she would be at Larry Barrett’s house in SoHo, and she would prove to him just how dedicated she was about restarting her career.
The thought pained Gus, and he sighed, sitting down in his chair, and pouring himself another glass of Glenfiddich.
“The sacrifices I make for us...” he grumbled, before turning back to his work.
====================================
Friday January 27, 2012
Indianapolis International Airport- Concourse A
Indianapolis, Indiana
8:03 AM Local Time
It had been a long time since Wendy Briese had felt this awful.
She had barely been able to sleep the night before, wracked with sorrow and worry as the news came down that her father had escaped from the Indiana State Prison. And even though Michigan City was nearly three hours away from her home, she had spent half the night expecting to hear a knock on the door, or a car pulling into the driveway, or the sound of a breaking window. It had never come, and Wendy’s worry had finally wore itself out, and she had fallen asleep, only to be woken up two hours later by Terrence, who was sympathetic, but absolutely insistant that she get to the airport.
So here she sat, waiting for the direct Delta Airlines flight to Los Angeles with her entourage. Terrence sat next to her, idly playing around on his Droid, but she could tell at least every other minute he was darting a concerned look in her direction. Pollaski sat a ways away, his headphones on, tapping his foot to some song that only he could hear. And nearby her ever gracious nanny, Cassie, sat, playing a game of go fish with Theresa.
They shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be boarding a plane to Los Angeles. She wanted to stand up, gather up her family and belongings, and take them to some remote vista in the middle of the wilderness where no one could possibly find them. Or at least be home, spending time with each other as they awaited word on this difficult situation.
“This is a mistake.” she finally muttered aloud.
“Pardon?” Terrence looked up from his phone, looking both alarmed at her words, and relieved that his wife had finally said something.
“I can’t do this, Terry. I can’t go to LA. Not now. I should have pulled out of the match. Lumina and Starla can fight it out, and I’ll just...”
Terrence clicked his tongue a couple of times, and put his arm around her. “You don’t want to do that, hon. You don’t want to give this up.”
“But how can I even focus? How can I walk down to that ring tomorrow night, knowing that monster is on the loose?”
“Because it’s what you do, hon. The moment that music hits, the moment you get out to that ring, and the match starts, it’ll all take over, and you’ll be fine. You’re the one who always says that we can’t spend our time fretting about the things we can’t control, but focus on what we can. This is one of those times.”
Wendy shook her head. “What if he comes to the house, Terry?”
“Would you rather we be there if he did?” Terrence asked, scoffing at the logic. “Wendy, we’ve talked to the police. They’re going to keep an eye on the house. And you heard what the detective said. They think he’s gone north, to get into Canada and try to return to Ireland. He knows there’s a manhunt going on for him here.”
Wendy still wasn’t convinced. “What if they’re wrong?”
Terrence shrugged, and hugged Wendy tighter. “Then we’ll worry about it then. Look, hon, this is your call. If you want to turn in our tickets and go home, and spend tomorrow holed up in our house instead of competing for a title you’ve spent the last four months dreaming about, then let’s go. But you know, and I know that you’re going to wake up tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and you’re going to be wracked with regret. I don’t want that for you.”
Wendy didn’t respond, so Terrence continued. “And what after that? The Super Bowl’s in a week hon, and we’ve got great tickets, and we have so many friends joining us for that game. Do you want to hide from that too? And do you want to keep Theresa home because there’s a chance he might find her school?”
“Don’t even say that!” Wendy protested, looking at her husband in alarm.
“I’m sorry, hon. But that’s... one that I keep thinking about myself. But Wendy, the only way your dad is going to beat you here is if you let him drive you underground. If you let your fear of him control your life for even a SECOND, he wins. You don’t want him to win, do you?”
“Of course not, Terry. But...”
“That’s why you’ve got to go to Los Angeles and win this title, hon.” Terrence cut her off. “Because if there’s anyone who deserves a belt dedicated to not giving up, it’s you. YOU were the one who insisted we keep trying even after our career started off rocky. YOU were the one who returned to the ring after you were humiliated by the Lincoln Park Mafia. YOU were the one who kept going, even though you were grieving the loss of your mom. YOU were the one who stayed on her feet, even after discovering that your dad was the reason behind Gayle’s death. YOU were the one who walked to that ring to face that asshole Ronin, despite him showing a tape of your dad giving him full-fledged permission to kill you. YOU were the one who survived two weeks being tortured in Victor Mandrake’s dungeon, only to emerge stronger and more determined than ever. All that you’ve gone through, Wendy... an escaped convict should be nothing!”
Wendy scoffed, half in amusement, half in irritation at her husband’s flippancy. But she had to admit, she was right. She’d been in rocky patches before... rockier patches in fact. “I guess I’m getting soft if I’m wavering now...” she sighed.
“Nah, we’ve been through this before, hon.” Terrence said. “That’s why I love you. You’ll buckle, you’ll waver, you’ll sway. But you’ll NEVER collapse completely, even if you need a bit of support from the outside sometimes. You’re strong, Wendy. Stronger than most people give you credit for. You’re too stubborn and too caring to break down when you’re needed most.”
Wendy took a deep breath, and nodded, smiling at Terrence. “Thank you, Terry.”
“No problem,” Terrence said, giving her another squeeze before releasing her. “Just remember, I have faith in you. We all have faith in you. Just will yourself on each moment until that match starts, and once you’re there, your instinct will take over. Don’t let this keep you from your dreams.”
“I won’t.” Wendy said, before sighing. “How’s Theresa holding up? Have you told her?”
“Nah,” Terrence said, looking over at his daughter, who was laughing gaily, having just beaten Cassie at Go-Fish. “I don’t want to frighten her over nothing. They could have the bastard in custody by the time we get off the plane, for all we know.”
Wendy nodded, but suddenly blinked, as if something had just occurred to her. Terrence didn’t miss that strange look on her face.
“What is it?”
“I.. just thought of something. Remember, focus on the things in our lives we CAN control?”
“Yeah, well?”
“Well, maybe I can’t catch him. But I have an idea that might help...”
Terrence looked at his wife curiously, but Wendy only smiled back grimly, refusing to say any more for the time being. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, and turned his attention back to his droid.
Wendy looked up at a nearby clock. The plane should be boarding in five to ten minutes, and then it was on to LA. On to Cold-Blooded. On to her destiny.
For better or for worse.
Saturday January 28, 2012
Staples Center- Briese Locker Room
Los Angeles, California
3:39 PM Local time
The scene opens in Wendy Briese’s locker room. The redhead Femme Fatale is sitting on a chair in the room. Unlike her pervious promo, where Wendy looks excited and bouncy, here she looks... stressed. She’s not smiling, more of a grimace, and although her eyes burn with the same determination they normally do, they look weary. Noticing the camera’s on, Wendy leans forward, and takes a deep breath.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I know you probably tuned in here to hear my final thoughts before Cold Blooded tonight, and I promise you, you’ll get them. But first... I know that this video is going to be watched by thousands, if not millions of people across the United States, and I feel it’s my duty to make an announcement first.”
Wendy swallows hard, then takes a deep breath.
“Thursday night, there was an incident at the State Prison in Michigan City, Indiana, and in the chaos, three prisoners managed to escape. Authorities are still on the lookout for these men. They are Marcellus Carlock, a gang-leader from Gary convicted of shooting four people in a McDonalds drive-thru in 1998, Raynaldo Esparza, convicted on numerous drug charges, and Augustus Briese, convicted for... for mudering his wife in 2002.
Wendy stumbles just a bit, and the mug shots of the three men are interposed on the screen for several seconds, along with a 1-800 telephone number.
“All three men were serving life sentences, and are considered extremely dangerous. Police suspect that all three men are likely hiding in either Northern Indiana, Southern Michigan, or the Chicagoland, and may or may not be together. If you have any knowledge of their whereabouts, please... PLEASE do not approach them. Call the number listed on the screen, or 911, as soon as you can, so that these men may be returned to justice.”
Her voice is almost robotic as she recites this, although it sounds more to keep her emotion from breaking than from any lack of motivation. The screen disappears, showing Wendy again. She pauses, and takes another deep breath.
“And yes... just in case anyone’s wondering. That last man... Augustus... Briese. Is... is my father.”
Another deep breath, and now Wendy’s really struggling to keep it together.
“Also, two guards at this prison were killed in the line of duty during the escape. I would like to personally extend my thoughts, prayers and condolences to the families of Armando Montgomery and Timothy Eddy. If there is anything I can do... please.. I’m sorry.”
Wendy breaks off again, and rubs her eyes for several long seconds, breathing deeply before continuing.
“Obviously... this is something that has weighed heavily on me for the past couple of days. I can’t tell you how many times Thursday night and Friday morning I had the phone in my hands, ready to call Mr. Kincaid and tell him to scratch me from tonight’s lineup. I didn’t think I could possibly come here and compete after all that had happened. My husband... God bless him, convinced me to go through with it, and come here, ready to compete. He reminded me what it is that I’m fighting for tonight. He convinced me that the best thing I could do was come here to Los Angeles and lace up the boots.”
“Because, in truth, I’ve dealt with hardship through much of my life, and my career. Most of us have, and all of us will go through a difficult time at least at some point in our lives. The world doesn’t stop spinning, and we can’t afford to sit on the sidelines feeling sorry for ourselves. We have to get brushed off, and back into the game as quickly as we can. The only time we’re really, truly vanquished is the time we don’t get back up.”
Now that Wendy’s done talking about the break-out, and is getting more and more into her wrestling match, she seems to calm down just a bit, gaining more confidence and surety.
“Thrusday... God that seems so long ago... I told all of you that I had made a couple of resolutions for 2012. Well, it’s never to late to add another one. So here it is. In 2012... I promise to never surrender.”
Wendy cringes, as apparently only now she’s realizing how close that is to the title she’s about to fight for.
“Listen, I’m not talking about refusing to tap out in a match, no matter the cost. I’ve already given my opinions on that, and I’m not changing them. But no matter what the odds, or the circumstances, or whatever, I’m NOT going to back down, and I’m not going to stop fighting for what I believe in. And I don’t care where it is. In the ring, outside of the ring. Wherever, I don’t care.”
“And that means standing up to bullies. My father was one, to be sure. The weird thing is... he was never physically abusive, at least to me. But he had this way... this awful way of manipulating your emotions, to get what he wanted. He made you think that any disagreement with him made you the most horrible person in the world, and you would cave to him, just to keep that from happening. It was effective... REALLY effective. At least it enabled him to keep me under his thumb for twenty years.”
“And maybe it was for the best that I was prone to his manipulations. Obviously, his... incarceration proved to me that should his... primary modus operandi fail, he wasn’t adverse to using more... direct methods.”
Wendy sighs sadly and shakes her head.
“And you know what? I was a bully too, when I was younger. I was part of the in-crowd, hung out with the popular girls. We... did and said some pretty horrible things to some of the other students. It took me a long while to wake up and realize how badly I was hurting some people. Some of those girls... they never did. They still spend their entire lives trying to feel better by making others miserable.”
“And all through my wrestling career, I’ve dealt with bullies. There were times when I couldn’t go a week without being jumped by someone backstage. And I’m sure those who have followed me a long time can remember all the horrible things that have been done to me over the years. Victor Mandrake imprisonment of me, and subsequent harassment. Team Danger and their stupid “Faygo Shower”. Jacob Harrowsmith breaking my ankle, and continuing to grind away on it as I lay helpless on the mat. Red Dragon trying to strip me naked in the ring. Szalinski beating my husband up backstage with a video game controller. I could probably spend hours making a list of those who have tried to humiliate or destroy me.”
A grim smile.
“I guess it’s a testament to my strength that somehow, after all that, I’m still here, and I’m still wrestling. But it also saddens me. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised given that the objective of our sport is to punch, kick, slam, and twist someone else into incapacitation, but I’ve always been bothered by just how many mean-spirited people there are in this business.”
“Professional wrestling, like many other things out there, have its highs and lows. There are moments when I couldn’t be prouder of our sport, such as when we all get to bear witness to an absolute classic match, like Sophie and Desirae gave us at the last Breaking Point, or Colleen and Chris Striike did at New Year’s Retribution. And then there are moments where I watch, and can only shake my head, wondering how we can justify ourselves with what we allow to go on here.”
Wendy sighs, and gives a lopsided smile.
“Too often recently, those moments in the latter category are involving members of the A-List. What the A-List has tried to do to people like Isabella, and Eileen and Shane is deplorable. The A-List remind me every bit of the crowd I used to belong to back in acting school. Those who think they’re the queens of the scene, and that the only way to prove it is to squash anyone who might pose a threat. The A-List are, in essence, the quintessential group of bullies.”
“And Starla McCloud poses as the perfect prototype. Has there even been a time here in FFW when she hasn’t been running with whatever incarnation of the “in-crowd” Samantha’s tried to form? Is there a match Starla’s been in where she didn’t try to use strength in numbers to her advantage? I remember Starla from my first week here in FFW. Terry’s first race in ARCA, at Talladega, was sponsored by a tequila company, and they gave all the participants a few cases of their product. Neither Terry nor I are a fan, so we thought it’d be a great idea to hand the bottles out to of-age Femme Fatales as an icebreaker.”
“Well, Starla and some of her friends, Camilla, Payton.. and Isabella before she realized how fruitless running with that lot was... decided to take it all for themselves. They snuck into my locker room while I was out wrestling Charity Deas, and when I came back in after my match, I caught them in the act. And instead of fighting them over it, I let them carry it out.”
“I really regret doing that now...”
Wendy sighs, and grimaces forlornly.
“It wasn’t about the tequila. We wanted to be rid of it, after all. But to be pushed around like that, on your first day IN no less, it’s pretty humiliating. But Starla saw a newcomer, an easy mark, and she and her friends decided to show me who ‘runs things’ around here. And like most people faced with a four-on-one situation, I acquiesced, and in doing so empowered them.”
“Well, I’m not going to be empowering Ms. McCloud tonight, that’s for sure! The most ironic thing about the “A-List” is that since its formation, not a single one of them has actually managed to WIN a title, although Colleen did have the Evolution Championship when they formed. Heck, we’ve seen it time and again- in fair fights, the A-List continually comes up short. I’m not about to let them get their first major taste of success on MY watch!”
Wendy, for the first time chuckles, although its more of irony than humor, and shakes her head.
“But the saddest thing of all about Starla for all she throws her weight around, for all she tries to impose, Starla doesn’t even stand up for herself when it counts the most. I fail to see how anyone... ANYONE can stand idly by, and watch another woman kiss her husband. It baffles me... And the thing is, I KNOW Starla dislikes it. You can see it in her face! And yet... all she does is make mean faces and catty remarks, and somehow that’s going to solve the problem? It hasn’t, and now it’s gotten to the point where Casey herself is walking around claiming to be married?”
Wendy laughs incredulously, shaking her head.
“Let me put it this way... if anyone is EVER interested in seeing how Wendy Briese is in a backstage brawl, try taking a pass at my husband.”
“There’s a reason why, despite my obvious differences in opinions with Kaitlynn Stryfe, am hoping she wins tonight. When we get married, we don’t make suggestions, or even promises. We make VOWS, binding our words, and our wills, together in a single entity based on love.”
“So what the HELL happened to ‘forsaking all others’?”
Wendy snorts again, and rolls her eyes.
“I know. People will say it’s none of my business. But it sure says something about Starla McCloud when she is more than eager to stomp out anyone not in her precious A-List, but isn’t even able to stand by as someone else steals her husband away right in front of her eyes. It says something that Starla’s so eager to win a No Surrender Championship, but is more than willing to stand around and make angry faces while she surrenders something FAR more important.”
“And then there’s Lumina Ferrari, and I can’t understand her either. She entered this company alongside one of the biggest bullies professional wrestling has ever known- Johnny Moxie. And it was obvious to anyone that Lumina was used from the get-go by Moxie, who was simply here to try and poke the establishment in the eye and tweak a few noses. Lumina was his pawn, and she paid for that, time and again.”
Wendy grimaces, almost sympathetically.
“So finally, she separates herself from him. Breaks away, looks to reinvent herself, and break out as her own woman. That’s not something easy to do, especially considering how badly Johnny Moxie drove her down during her first month’s here. So how does she accomplish this whole reinvention?”
“She joins Club CK, an harem of women dedicated to the worship of another self-effacing bully. And if you don’t think Christian Kincaid is a bully, take a nice good look at the horrible things he’s doing over in SVW, alongside yet another of his harem members, Angel. Maybe it’s because Lumina can’t figure it out. Maybe she’s a nice girl who’s just gotten stuck in a rut, and can’t figure out how to be anything but the Grover Dill to her Scott Farkuses”
Yes, a Christmas Story reference.
“I saw Lumina’s promo. She seemed to go the same route I did, didn’t she? She deserves this title, because she’s gotten up from all her failures. She got into this match on her second try, and while so many people would probably deride that, I applaud it. She got back up, and got another opportunity. Second chances aren’t common in this business, so when one comes around, you’d best take advantage of it, and she did.”
“But ultimately, this isn’t going to be determined by who’s had a rougher road, or a tougher life, or who’s bounced back, or who’s had second chances. Storybook endings don’t just happen, you have to earn them, and I’m confident that when the dust settles tonight, I’ll have done everything in my power to earn that titanium belt around my waist.”
Wendy smiles, more broadly than she has yet in this video, and throws her arms out wide.
“As for me? I’m here. I won’t lie, I’ve got distractions, I’ve got worries outside this ring. And they’ve cost me focus these past couple of days. But that’s not going to be an excuse tonight, because when my music hits, and that bell rings, I’m going to do what I’ve done every single match I’ve been in for the last ten years. And that’s clear my mind, put the rest of my life on hold for twenty minutes, and dedicate every muscle and fiber of my being into performing my absolute best.”
“Because, at the end of the day, I’m a PROFESSIONAL wrestler... and that’s what we do.”
Wendy exhales, and closes her eyes, obviously trying to focus for tonight, as the scene fades.
============================
Saturday January 28, 2012
Lincoln Continental on Wacker Drive
Chicago, Illinois
7:41 PM Local Time
Augustus Briese sighed as he watched the tall skyscrapers of Chicago drift by through the car window. Despite the chilly weather, he longed to roll the window down, and breathe the sweet air of freedom. Prudence kept him from it- after all, with a region wide manhunt in effect, one should probably take advantage of any cover- tinted windows included.
It had been less than two days since his escape, and Gus was still puzzled by what had happened. There had been a fight in the cellblock, and the next thing he knew, shots were being fired, people were dying, and he was being ushered into a van. He had spent the night in an abandoned barn, his liberators telling him nothing, just giving him food, clean clothes, blankets, and demanding that he sit and wait for ‘the fog to clear.’
Then this morning, after a phone conversation, they had stuck him into this sedan,, and begun the long drive towards Chicago. Gus had waited nervously the entire time, especially whenever they passed a patrol car, but the result was the same each time- no reaction whatsoever from the cops. It was incredibly good fortune as he made his way to the city. But now he could sense that he was nearing his destination, and he was getting apprehensive. Who had organized this escape, and even more importantly... why?
THe car turned onto an alley, proceeding about halfway down before taking a left into a small garage at the base of an older, worn-down building. Gus turned to open his door, but the driver quickly grabbed his arm, waiting until the door was fully lowered before releasing him. Brushing himself off, Gus climbed out of the car, looking around the empty carport.
“Hello, Gus. Long time.”
Gus wheeled, and saw a door leading into the building that had just opened. His jaw dropped as he saw the elderly man, leaning on a cane, looking at him with a smirk on his face.
“D...Derrick?”
Delaney grinned, chuckling slowly. “Didn’t expect to see me again? Come in, Gus. Come in. Lord knows its fucking freezing out there. I thought the awful weather was an Irish thing...”
Gus looked to his driver, then nodded. He slowly walked towards the door, Delaney stepping aside to allow him passage. Obviously he had been taken to some sort of safehouse, but he couldnt quite imagine what for.
Delaney was continuing to talk behind him. “And I apologize for the … unsatisfactory conditions you were subjected to for the past day or so, but I’m sure you understand precautions had to have been taken.”
Gus found himself being ushered into a room with a table, several chairs, and a small television sitting at the end. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Derrick. But why are you here? And why did you-”
“In time, in time,” Derrick replied. “Tonight, we celebrate your newfound freedom. Food, drink, and entertainment. All on me, of course.”
“Entertainment? What kind of entertainment?”
Delaney smiled. “The female kind.”
Gus licked his lips. It had certainly been a while since that...
But Delaney only laughed, giving him a clap on the shoulder. “I took the liberty of ordering Femme Fatale Wrestling’s Cold-Blooded Pay Per View tonight. Did you know your daughter’s competing in it? A title match too, from what I understand.”
“Really?” Gus said flatly. He couldn’t stand wrestling, and the fact that his daughter, such as she was, was back degrading the family name in this sorry excuse for a sport only grated on him more.
Derrick grinned, and Gus knew he was being mocked. “Met her in Belfast a few months ago after her grandmother died. Charming lass. Although I would say she’s been a bit... outspoken today surrounding the circumstances of your liberation.”
“I can imagine,” Gus replied stiffly.
Delaney could see his old friend was getting irritated, and that only seemed to add to his mirth. “Come,” he finally said. “There’s an excellent Celtic restaurant just down the street, and I took the liberty of ordering some carry-out. And of course, I got you a bottle of Glenfidditch. I trust you’d love to clean yourself up first before the show starts.”
“It’d be nice,” Gus replied, still short in his response. Delaney turned to one of his henchman, and bid him to show Gus the shower, as well as fetching him another fresh change of clothes. Gus followed silently, surprised by the warm reception, but grating as it seriously felt like, some way, somehow, the joke was on him.
Oh well, what did it matter? He was free. And, for the time being, in apparent friendly company. Now to just clean himself up before this damned wrestling show started. If he was lucky, there’d be an accident, and his daughter would end up with a broken neck.
It’d save him the trouble of having to do it himself.
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