EPISODE 192: Saoirse, Part VI

Wednesday July 25, 2012
Crumlin Road Gaol- Cell H2
Belfast, Northern Ireland
1:46 AM Local Time

History is full of ironies and tangled webs.

Just several hours before, Augustus Briese had been killed in the parking lot of the Lyric Theater.  Shot in the head at point blank range by Derrick Delaney, the leader of the Celtic Liberation Front.  Gus had been one of Delaney’s men for thirty-five years, and a chief financial backer.  But Gus always did have an impulsive streak, and it had always haunted him where Delaney’s favor had been concerned.  The sudden collapse of the CLF- along with their covert partners the Brotherhood of Martyrs- had been too much for Delaney to bear.  He had to have a scapegoat, and Gus was certainly an ideal candidate.  So Delaney, in his panic and frustration, had put a bullet in his brain.

And Augustus Briese had fallen to the pavement the exact same spot that Margaret Blaine had thirty-four years ago.  The woman who had been shot on Gus’ orders, by a Ukranian sniper named Vassily Ganiyeva, ostensibly because of her involvement with an anti-Irish politician, but in reality to further the career of his then-wife, Gayle.  Vassily had in turn been killed by Gus, during a robbery in which he stole the plans for Delaney’s magnum opus in his quest to separate Northern Ireland from British Rule- plans which centered around an initial attack on the Lyric Theater.  Gayle had been killed on Gus’ orders too, shoved in front of a semi-truck by Vassily’s nephew, Yuri- who in turn was Gus’ illegitimate son through Vassily’s sister, Ivana.

And Delaney had fallen nearby, in that exact same parking lot, killed by Gus’ own daughter, Wendy.  Who had been pursuing Gus in his attempt to escape, having just shot Yuri- her half-brother- minutes before.  And as a result, Wendy now sat in the exact same jail- in the exact same cell her father sat in over thirty years ago for his role in Margaret Blaine’s death. 

Unfortunately, all of the above was lost on Wendy.  Mostly due to lack of knowledge- she had no idea where Margaret Blaine had fallen in that parking lot, or that her father had occupied the exact same holding cell before, or the full extent of the CLF’s plot.  But Wendy was also too busy being scared out of her mind to make the connections, even if she had known them.

She had awoken this morning expecting to become an ambassador for Irish tourism, and be featured in an advertising campaign.  After she had been kidnapped, she had spent the evening knowing she was going to die.  And now, she was expecting to spend the rest of her life in jail for murder.

At least she had stopped chanting her mantra of “I want to go home”, she had done so fairly quickly after being dragged into that police car, and hauled off to Crumlin Road to await her booking.  It didn’t mean she wanted to go home any less though.  She wanted nothing more than to see her husband and daughter one more time, to hold them in her arms.  But it was never going to happen again, unless Terrence and Theresa came out to visit her, she was never going to see them again.

She was a murderer, after all.  And murderer’s deserved to be punished.

She was a hypocrite too, she realized.  She had spent YEARS annoying everyone about doing things the right way.  About playing fair, and living by the golden rule.  But when push came to shove, when things had counted the most, she had been just like everyone else.  She had picked up a gun, and started shooting.

You would have died otherwise.  Both Yuri and Delaney were trying to kill you.

The voice came from a small distant corner of her brain, insistent in its rationality.  But the rest of her mind shot it down.  No one else was going to believe that, so why should she?  She should have tried to find other options.  Focused more on escaping, not pursuing her father, and left the work to the authorities. 

There wasn’t time for any of that, you fucking idiot!

Wendy folded her arms around her, and shook her head, trying to drown out the one part of her mind she should perhaps be listening to.  But she had shut down, prepared to accept her inevitable fate, just as she should have been doing all evening…

The sound of footsteps and voices, caused her to look up, and she blinked in surprise.  Four police officers were escorting a man down the hall, a fifth having gone ahead to open a cell door.  The man had pale skin, and shortly cropped flame-red hair.  He was also gargantuan, standing over all the men guarding him by a good foot. 

Her brother Yuri. 

As Wendy watched in surprise, the men pushed Yuri into the cell adjacent to hers, and she watched him through the bars separating them.  For just having been shot, Yuri looked remarkably well.  His shirt had been changed, to a simple black t-shirt, and through the neckhole, Wendy could see the outer edge of a large bandage.  But it wasn’t the same Yuri she had fought in the apartment.  He merely shuffled towards the bench, and plopped down on it, the wood audibly creaking beneath him.  He looked lost and disoriented.   But most of all, Yuri Ganiyeva looked tired.  Completely drained of all fight and energy.

“You’re alive.”

The words had left Wendy’s throat before she could even consider them.  Yuri turned towards her, looking almost surprised at first.  He obviously hadn’t noticed her sitting in the cell next to him.  Now that he had, however, he simply gave a nod in return.   “I am.”  His voice was croaky, made even tougher to hear by his Ukranian accent.

“But… you were- I-“

Yuri nodded again, closing his eyes.  “You did.  I thought you got me in the chest… but it was only the shoulder.  The bullet went clean through, they told me.  Didn’t even do that much damage, although… dear God it hurts.   I might have bled to death eventually, but the police came right after you left.”

That was not what Wendy had wanted to hear.  It meant that had she stayed in the room, she would have been rescued, and she never would have-

It was another thing she had royally screwed up on today.  The list was growing.

“Father’s dead, they told me.”  Yuri’s words butted back into her thoughts, devoid of any emotion.

Wendy nodded, sighing.  “I saw it.  That old man… Derrick Delaney.  He… just shot him.”

To her surprise (and irritation), her brother simply started laughing.  Wendy looked over at him dumbfounded at Yuri’s callousness.

But Yuri simply sighed.  “The old fool.  I told him Delaney would kill him one day.  Mama did too.  You could tell by the way he treated him.  But Father always insisted that Derrick needed him, especially now that he had gotten those precious plans.  He was wrong.  Big shock there.”

“You don’t sound too broken up over this…” Wendy replied, a note of accusation in her voice.

Yuri simple chuckled again, and looked over at her.  “Are you?”

“Of course I…  I mean… he’s still my father… I didn’t want-”  Wendy ceased her stammering, and took a deep breath.  “Besides, you were his ‘chosen child.’  You were the one he loved.”

“The only one that man loved was himself.”  Yuri replied, shaking his head.  “And his little cause, of course. Although that was only so he could self-justify himself into believing he was more than the leech he truly was.”

“So why did you follow him?”

Yuri shrugged, wincing at his shoulder.  “Like you said, he was still our Father.   Besides, he was never the easiest person in the world to say no to.”

“Tell me about it.”  Wendy sighed. 

She wanted to say more, to demand why, even with his loyalty to Gus in question, Yuri had been so hell bent on coming after her, why he kept trying to lure her into a fight,  why he so personally wanted her dead by his own hand.  But before she could get the words out, the door to her own cell opened, and she looked over, and saw an officer standing in front of her, waiting impatiently. 

“Well, come on then.”

Wendy took one last glance at her brother, then stood up, taking a deep breath and trying to steady her nerves.  It was time to face the music.

To her surprise, the guard didn’t re-cuff her, but rather took her firmly by the arm, guiding her down the row of cells.  She discovered that she had been lucky at getting one to herself- most of the other cells had as many as ten people in them.  One had three women Wendy supposed were prostitutes, sitting on the benches looking surly.  The next had a couple of drunks, yelling loudly that they were the President of Ireland and needed to get back to Derry (which was supposedly the capital in their addled minds).  The next cell had ten surly looking men, all who glared at her as she walked by.  She had a feeling who they were- part of the remnants of the CLF, who had been captured in raids tonight.

She was escorted from the cell block, into a small brightly lit hallway.  The guard turned her towards the first door on the right she came to, bid her to wait, and pushed the door open, gesturing her to go inside.  Wendy obeyed automatically.

“Have a seat, they’ll be along shortly.” The guard told her, then shut the door behind her.

Wendy looked around, and sighed.  It was an interrogation room, not too unlike the ones she had seen in the movies.  A long simple gray table sat in front of her, with four chairs situated around it.  More for the lack of doing anything else than because she had been told to, Wendy procured one of the seats, and sat down heavily.

She wasn’t kept waiting long.  The door soon opened again, and a blonde haired woman about her age entered, along with a larger, auburn haired man that Wendy suspected was in his mid to late twenties.  The woman was wearing a uniform, but the man was wearing nothing more than a faded blue polo shirt, and a pair of jeans.  Both of them looked like they’d had just as long a night as she had.  The woman set a digital recording device on the table, activated it, and then turned towards Wendy.

“Hello, Mrs. Thompson.” The woman said, her voice crisp with an English accent.  “My name is Sergeant Yvonne Makay, of the Metropolitan Police Department, counter-terrorism unit, and this is Detective Declan Mahoney of the Belfast Police Department.”

Wendy took a deep breath.  “I’m an American citizen.  Please call the embassy, I would like to speak with them before I answer any questions.”

Makay simply smiled at her.  “We’ve already called your embassy, and a consulate should be here within the hour.  You are more than welcome to wait for them, of course.  But we would still like to talk to you before you fly home to America.”

Wendy blinked in surprise.  “Fly home… I…”  she was stammering again, and she took a deep breath.  “I don’t understand.  I just killed someone-“

“-In self defense.”  Makay replied.  “We have gone over the Lyric’s security tapes, and we have the eyewitness accounts of two other officers, and it’s very clear what happened.  Had you not shot Delaney, he would have killed you.”

“But I *killed*-“

“Ma’am, you fired five bullets from fifteen feet away, and you hit him once, in the eye.  You are extremely *lucky* that you did.”  She glanced at Mahoney.  “From all accounts, Derrick Delaney’s marksmanship is considerably better than yours.”

“Then why was I arrested?”  Wendy asked, unwilling to argue the point.  If they were going to say she wasn’t a murderer, then she wasn’t in the mood to deny them.

Mahoney cleared his throat.  “Tonight ma’am,  the Belfast Police Department launched one of the largest counter-terrorism raids in the history of the United Kingdom.  We have arrested more than a hundred people across the city, of both the Celtic Liberation Front and the Brotherhood of Martyrs.  In addition to your father and Delaney, three more suspects were killed trying to resist.  Even as well-coordinated as the operation was, everything was chaotic.  The officers had no idea *who* you were, only that you had been involved in this somehow.”

Wendy nodded.  It made sense, at least as much sense as anything made at the moment.  “It’s a good thing you did,” she finally said.  “Tomorrow, they were going to blow up-“

“We know.”   Makay said.  “Tonight had been planned for weeks, Mrs. Thompson, for that very reason.   We waited to see how many fish we could get in our net before we snapped it shut.  We will have extra security tomorrow, just in case, but the Lyric Theater is safe.  Now, did you still want to wait for your consulate, or would you mind answering a few questions?”

Wendy simply shrugged.  “Go ahead.  If there’s anything I’m not comfortable with, we’ll stop then and wait for the consulate.”

“Fair enough,” Makay replied.  “What were you doing in Belfast, Mrs. Thompson?”

“My manager… Daniel Pollaski, that’s his name, received a phone call from someone claiming to be from the Northern Ireland Tourist Board, and they wanted me to participate in a series of advertisements to boost tourism- specifically towards Americans.  I was eager to do it, but when I got here, they told me that they had no plans to do an American-specific ad campaign, or that they had even heard of this man, Mr. Ma…hon….ey.”  Her head snapped up, and she looked over at the Belfast Policeman, wide-eyed.

Mahoney simply nodded.  “That was me,” He replied.

Makay didn’t seem all that shocked by this revelation.  “Detective Mahoney here has been working undercover for the past three years, and had gained access to Delaney’s inner-circle, your father included.  He was simply doing as your father bid.”

“Your father was obsessed with revenge on you, Mrs. Thompson,” Mahoney continued.  “Delaney had been adamant that he not go after you, as doing so was too much of a risk.  So he sent your brother to do it instead.  But when nothing had happened on that front, and Delaney forced him to come back to Belfast, he grew more desperate in his measures.  I went along with it, because I thought that it would only seed more distrust between your father and Delaney…”

Mahoney looked pained all of a sudden, and he sighed deeply.  “But I erred.  The original plan was for me to be the one to kidnap you, and I was planning on taking you to a safe place.  But they changed it at the last minute, and sent someone else.  By the time I could safely notify Ms. Makay here, it was too late.”

“You broke procedure,” Makay admonished, suddenly stern.  “That will be addressed at a tribunal later, Detective.  As will your involvement in the killing of three prison guards in America.”

Mahoney nodded solemnly, and Wendy almost could see the weight of his conscience crushing him.  What horrible things had this man been forced to do to get close to her father and his master?  She realized she wasn’t the only one who’d be dealing with her own demons for a long time.  But Makay simply turned to her, and whispered.  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Thompson.  Had I been more prudent, none of this would have happened to you.”

Wendy looked away.  She wasn’t sure what to feel about that.  Part of her was angry- the man had obviously put doing his job and keeping his cover above her own safety.  But at the same time- wouldn’t that have been the right thing to do?  Wouldn’t her death be worth it if it saved two hundred others?

She didn’t want to think about it, and yet, she couldn’t tear her thoughts away.

“Mrs. Thompson,” Makay said sternly, trying to snap her back to attention.  “What happened when you were taken?”

“I… I went to the cemetery to pay respects to my mother and grandmother,” Wendy replied.  She didn’t know how, but talking to Makay, telling her story, at least made her feel better.  “I got up to leave, and I saw a Republican pin on my mother’s headstone… and then someone attacked me from behind and, they used some sort of liquid on a cloth to knock me out.”

“Probably chloroform,” Makay replied.  “What happened then?”

“I woke up in this room, bound and gagged.  And… someone was there, and I kept trying to call to them, but they wouldn’t listen.  And I couldn’t see them, and… I think I fell asleep a couple times, because then it was suddenly dark out.  And then my dad came in, and he told me about their plans for the Lyric.  And then…”  her voice wavered.  “I thought he was going to kill me, and I was so scared.  But… he told me I could either be blown up in the lyric, or turned over to the Brotherhood of Martyrs as a hostage.  And he was so… *cold* about it.  I mean… I’m his daughter, right?”

There was a long pause, before Mahoney leaned forward.  “I knew your father, Mrs. Thompson.  He was not a good person by any stretch of the imagination.”

Makay blinked.  “And that was when your father noticed the police, right?”

Wendy nodded.  “I could see their lights flashing off the walls.  And he completely panicked, and ran out the door.  And then Yuri… my brother.  He cut me free, and told me all he wanted to do was fight me, and he came after me, and told me it was going to be to the death.  And I fought back the best I knew, but… I mean, I’m supposed to be better than this, right?”  When neither Makay nor Mahoney responded, she continued.  “Well, I thought I was going to die, so I… cheated.”

Makay blinked.  “You cheated.  In a fight to the death.”

“Well… I… I kicked him in the nuts.  And you’re not supposed to do that.  And then… I shot him.  And he was bleeding, and I thought he was dying, and I ran out the door.  And I was trying to find the police, but everyone was yelling, and the echos were… so I ran downstairs, and I was in this alley, and I saw my dad running away, and… I went after him.”

“And that’s when everything in the Lyric’s parking lot happened.” Makay finished.  Wendy nodded, swallowing hard, the image of her father and Delaney lying dead popping into her brain again. 

A buzzing was heard, startling Wendy and a woman’s voice came over the intercom.  “Ms. Makay, the American consulate is here.” 

Makay got up from her seat, and walked over to the door, pushing a small button.  “Send him to interrogation room four, please.” She replied.    She turned back to Wendy.  “Mrs. Briese, we have your report, and I thank you for your cooperation.  What would be the best way to contact you in America should we have any further questions?”

“I’ll give you my mobile number” Wendy said.  “It’s area code three-one-seven, then four-“ And she burst into tears.

Makay reached into her pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, and sliding it towards Wendy.  “I know you’ve had a rough night, Mrs. Thompson, and I greatly appreciate your assistance.”

“I know… I’m sorry.”  Wendy sobbed.  “I mean… I thought I was going to die, and then I thought I was going to rot in prison for the rest of my life, and you guys were so… understanding and… I just want this to be over.”

“I know, ma’am’,” Makay said gently.  “I’m not an expert, but… I would strongly advise you to find some counseling once you get home.  Tonight’s going to stay with you a long time.”

There was a knocking at the door, and Mahoney got up to let the consulate in.  Wendy was too busy wiping her eyes to pay much attention as the diplomat came in.  “Have you been questioning her?  I thought she asked for my presence before..”

“She later acquiesced it on her own free will” Makay said, and Wendy nodded in agreement, although she was still trying to stop the tears from flowing.  “Check the tape, if you need proof.  Either way, we’ve finished with our questioning.  She’s free to go.”

The diplomat didn’t look happy.  “I want a copy of that tape delivered to my office today,” he said, pointing towards the recorder.  “Mrs. Thompson, is what they have told me true?” 

Wendy nodded.  “It is.  I… had nothing to hide, and it… was easier to just let it all out.”

“I see,” the diplomat said, biting his lip.  “Well, then, Mrs. Thompson, if you’ll come with me.  I know you’re eager to be rid of all of us, but you’ll have to do some paperwork, and answer a few questions we have, just so we know how to represent you should anything else come up.” 

Wendy nodded.  She should have expected to face some beaurocracy.  She just hoped it didn’t take too long.  “That’s fine.”  Was all she could manage to say.

“We’ll try and get you on a plane home this morning,” the consulate said.  “I’ll have my office arrange a flight for you to… Indiana, you’re from?”

“Yes,” she said automatically, and then her head snapped up.  “NO!  I mean… yes… I live in Indiana, but I have to go to Seattle.” 

The consulate blinked.  “Seattle?  Washington?”

“I have a show there I have to get ready for,” Wendy replied.  “I was supposed to go there directly from here.”

“Yes, ma’am, but under the circumstances-“

Wendy shook her head.  “I have a job to do, and I still have to do it.  And that’s in Seattle.  Besides, getting ready for it… that’s going to help me take my mind off of all this.”

“Ma’am, I strongly advise that you-“

“Seattle,” Wendy repeated fiercely.  “I’ll book the ticket myself if I have to, but I’m going to Seattle.”

The consulate pursed his lips together, and shrugged.  “If you say so.” He finally said.  “If you’re willing, ma’am, what hotel were you staying at?  We can grab your things so you won’t have to go back.  You can go to the airport straight from my office.”

“I’m in the Hilton, Room 731.” Wendy replied, and the diplomat nodded, leaving the room to make the arrangements.  Wendy turned back to the two police officers.  “Thank you,”  she told them, standing up, and shaking their hands.

“Its us who should thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for your time” Makay said.  “And apologize,” she finished, shooting a glare at Mahoney.

“It felt good to talk to someone.  And you guys… you understood me.  And…” she sighed.  “I didn’t think I’d be leaving this building anytime soon, and I am.”

Makay nodded.  “Well, good luck, Mrs. Thompson.  And… best of luck to you in Seattle.”

“Thank you,” Wendy smiled shakily, turning to leave. 

More tears were leaking out as she left the room, and for a second, she paused to lean back against the door, composing herself, while this overwhelming feeling of dread somehow resurfaced.

She was innocent in the eyes of the law, they had told her.  But… the law was just one aspect.  There was no way she could possibly be innocent in the eyes of God, and perhaps more importantly, in the eyes of herself. 

And so it was a heavy heart that Wendy began to walk towards the front desk, where the consulate was waiting for her.  Her body might be walking towards freedom, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually she could still feel the chains dangling from her.

They were far more binding than anything physical could eer be.


===========================
Saturday July 28, 2012
Myrtle Edwards Park- Waterfront
Seattle, Washington
1:14 PM Local Time

“So I suppose by now everyone’s heard what happened.”

And with those words, we fade in on what is absolutely a beautiful sight.  Myrtle Edwards Park, located just north of downtown Seattle, stretches for a couple of miles up the shoreline towards the mouth of Lake Union and Queen Anne’s Hill.  It’s another beautiful, yet cool day in Seattle, the temperature only rising up to about seventy degrees.  And with the brisk wind whipping along the shoreline of Elliot Bay, it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise to see Wendy Briese dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark green windbreaker, even if it is late July. 

Wendy’s not exactly at her most jovial here, fairly understandable given recent events.  But she’s still managed to muster a smile, although it is somewhat strained, the glare of the sun from the water forcing her to squint slightly.  She’s also fairly well regretting leaving a scrunchie or some other form of restraint at home- the wind’s doing a number on her flame-colored mane, whipping it every which way.  

“Between what’s been shown on the news and Pollaski’s announcement a couple days ago, word’s definitely gotten out at this point.  And although it was sooner than I had hoped, I can’t help but appreciate the outpouring of support from both my fans and my colleagues.  Anyone, who’s hit me up on Twitter, or Facebook, or dropped an email to my FFW account with well wishes- thank you.  I really appreciate it.”

“For those of you wondering, I have been charged with no crimes, and I am not facing any jail time.  My position in Femme Fatale Wrestling is secure, and I’m going to be competing tonight, and every night that I’m scheduled from here forward.”

“There are those, my husband and some close friends included, who think that I should not be here.  That I should ask for this match to be postponed, so that I can go home, and mentally ground myself before I step back in the ring again.  I’ve… not had the strongest track record when dealing with extremely stressful situations.  I suppose an argument could be made I proved that again.  I made a mistake earlier this week in coming directly to Seattle- I should have gone home for a day, and saw my family.  And what happened on Twitter the other day… was certainly regrettable.   And I apologize to anyone who saw that.”

Wendy takes a deep breath, and looks back out at the Sound.

“But here’s the thing, guys.  I’m not just being stubborn here because I have too much pride.  I’m not just trying to shrug it off like nothing happened.  Believe me, I know what’s going on.  I’m going out tonight, and I’m going to wrestle in what might just be the biggest match of my career, because I know that if I don’t, I’ll forever regret it.”

“Of course I want to win and become a double champion.  Of course I want to be the one who finally ends the domination of Tara Thunder.  But most importantly, going out tonight isn’t about me separating myself from the pack- quite the opposite.  It’s because I’m ultimately no different than anyone else here.”

“I’m hardly the only one in Femme Fatale Wrestling who’s had a horrible, rotten week.   Christian Kincaid was shot earlier this week.  I’m sure everyone else has heard about that too.  And yet no one hears anyone telling Emma McIntyre she shouldn’t be out there, even if she’s clearly upset about what happened to her friend.  Scarlett Kincaid’s Christian’s sister-in-law, she’ll be out there tonight.  The girls of Club CK, Lumina, Kelly, and Tabatha aren’t withdrawing tonight, either.  And I’m sure others have had their own problems this week, even if they haven’t been made public.  So who the hell is anyone to say that I shouldn’t be going out there tonight?”

Wendy takes a deep breath, steadying herself, and she looks straight into the camera, her words coming a little more forceful.

“So I’m sorry, Terry.  I appreciate yours, and everyone else’s concern about me, but that’s not going to happen.  I’m going out there tonight, and I’m going to make Tara Thunder submit.  Because *that* is my job, and *this* is Unstoppable 3, the biggest show of the year.”

“This is supposed to be the show that *defines* what wrestling is all about.  At least that’s what it’s supposed to be.  It was a bit disappointing last year, wasn’t it?  Kaitlynn Stryfe playing the puppet-master, using Katherine like her own little marionette to push herself to the championship?  Or Samantha Star’s involvement, when she tried to direct that main event like she was the second-coming of Stephen Spielberg? Or how about Rori Snyder, or Magnussen or Mackenzie or WHOEVER she’s married to this year needing her crony Maddison Knight to nearly run her down with an SUV?  Is *that* what we all want to say wrestling’s about?”

“How about the last few months?  I thought what happened to me at Chaos Theory was bad, but compared to what we’ve seen since… dear God.  At Conviction, we saw eight women gang up on and try to *KILL* someone.  Not just cheat to beat her in a wrestling match.  Not just beat on her for a couple minutes to send a message.  They flat out tried to *MURDER* a woman on LIVE TELEVISION, and then joked about it like it was FUNNY in the aftermath!   And then, just a couple weeks later, they set up our champion for failure, and when she STILL defied their stacked odds, they they tried to beat her brains in because they couldn’t handle the fact that she had time and again proven herself the best woman in the company!  Is THAT how we want to remember this company by?  Is that what the biggest show of the year should be about?”

“Or should tonight be about the time when a few of the ‘other’ roster members in this company stood up and kindly told Samantha Star and her goons to shove it?”

Wendy takes a deep breath.   

“Tonight we can do just that.  Emma and Scarlett go up against HALF the active Power Trip.  Either one of them could very well got walking out of that match with the FFW Championship, and while it certainly wouldn’t have been as great as if they had won it from the RIGHTFUL champion, it still would be nice to see that THREE of Samantha Star’s finest couldn’t protect their ill-gotten gains.  Bounce and Pounce can shut up Starla and Casey once and for all.  Eileen can prove to Caroline that she enforces us about as well as Rose Jenkins did.”

“Unstoppable 3 *should* be what wrestling is all about, and by god, we’re going to make sure that tonight *is* what wrestling is all about.”

“And that’s why I have to be here.  Because I have my own role to play in all of this too.  Tara’s not the most well-known or most highly regarded member of the Power Trip.  But she’s certainly been the most dominant.  And you could make a heck of an argument that beating Tara, beating their, *ahem* unstoppable monster, might just be the most damaging thing that could possible happen to the Power Trip tonight.  There’s going to be shenanigans in the main event tonight, anyone can see that.  Three Power Trip members, two of them the most renowned cheaters in this company?  Yeah.  Something’s going to happen, and I can only pray that Emma or Scarlett can prevent it, or it backfires somehow.  And even if it does, everyone’s going to have an excuse walking out why they didn’t win.   But me and Tara?  There won’t be any excuses, other than simply saying ‘I wasn’t good enough.’”

“That’s the one thing I respect about you, Tara.  You’re the only member of the Power Trip who’s truly a champion.  You’re the only one who’s legitimately won her belt.  You’re a great wrestler, you’re a fantastic wrestler.  I could pull out a thesaurus and go through every single positive adjective I can think of, and they’d all be applicable, as far as wrestling goes.”

“I will not, however, respect the decisions you’ve made.  I will not respect that you stood there and high-fived your friends while a woman was sacrificed on the altar to commemorate the founding of your new clique.  I will not respect the way you treat people, particularly your opponents.  I will not respect how every single promo of yours comes off as a drunken, mind-addled rant of insanity, where you have nothing nice to say about anyone other than yourself and your friends.  And I won’t respect how you think it’s all about you.  Ironic, considering that as long as you’re running buddies with Kaitlynn Stryfe and Isabella Pazzini, it will *never* be about you.  But those words you said… ‘You will never understand what *I’ve* had to sacrifice.  You don’t know what *I* have to go through.”

Wendy turns and spits on the ground.  

“That’s what I think of your ‘sacrifice’, Tara Thunder.  Because that’s what you think of mine, and everyone else’s.   Look through my history.  Watch some of the matches I’ve been in throughout the years, heck… READ THIS WEEKS NEWS and tell me that I don’t know what it means to sacrifice something.   Look me in the eye in that ring and tell me I haven’t sacrificed enough to be here, and I will spit right back into your FACE.  And you know the funny thing? I’m not alone.  EVERYONE has given up something for this business.  Money, careers, family, friends, THEIR LIVES.  Don’t you DARE tell me you’ve given up more than anyone!”

“It’s not all about you, Tara Thunder.  No matter what anyone says.  You can stand in front of a camera and talk for an hour straight all you want, scream and rage, and rant and whatever.  Go through my promo, line by line, and talk for ten minutes about each sentence, until everyone starts getting bored and tunes out.  And yet, when it all comes down to it your points are all the same as every other member of the Power Trip.  You’re awesome, and I’m a delusional fraud.  Yeah, I get it.  So does everyone else.  And no one still believes it.”

“Want me to say it?  ‘You’re the bitch now’.  There, I said the b-word! If that’s what you want to be, Tara.  Then go ahead.  You’re great at it.  It’s probably your best quality.  Maybe they’ll put it on your tombstone.  ‘Here lies Tara.  The greatest bitch to ever set foot in Femme Fatale Wrestling.  You can lie under there, and turn to dust, and everyone will pass by and marvel at how big a bitch you are.  You can make it your life’s greatest accomplishment.”

“But it’s all because you’re a Thunder, after all, right?  Well, Tara, I’m a Briese.  And I can tell you first-hand your family name means NOTHING.  Look at what my father did with his life.  If the family name was that important, I’d be labeled a terrorist everywhere I go.   But I’m not, because people GET IT.  Being named Briese doesn’t make me anymore a scumbag than you being named Tara makes you great.  You had to do that on your own, and through your own actions.

Wendy shrugs.  

“Actions that WILL come back to bite you in the end.  You speak of freedom, how you’re not allowed to choose your friends.  See, Tara, you are allowed to choose your friends.  But with freedom comes consequences, and we all have to face them.  I have to face the consequences for my own actions, and you have to face the consequences for yours.  You associate with the Power Trip, you get labeled an enemy by me, and anyone else who is sick and tired of the games Samantha Star plays.”

“And tonight, it’s time for the consequences of yours, your friends actions to start adding up.  It’s time for the ‘good-guys’ to start winning.  And yeah, Tara, I’m a good guy.  So’s Scarlett, and Emma, and Eileen and Hayley, and Ignis.  Are any of us saints?  No.  But when people show up, and so EAGERLY embrace the roles of the villians, well, anyone who opposes them, whatever their motives, sometimes whatever their means, they become the heroes.  Because people need them to be.”

Wendy takes a deep breath, and looks up at the sky.

“And I’m one of those people.  I need to be a hero tonight, because this week, more than anything else, I want so badly to believe in them.  I believe in myself, I believe I can be the hero.  And I’m going to fight my way through hell and high water to claim that Evolution Championship, to keep my own No Surrender Championship, and most importantly, to PROVE to the world that the good guys prevail once in a while.  It’s time to make Unstoppable 3 the night we can all believe in.”

“And Tara, come the end of the night, you’re going to be a believer as well.”

Wendy turns away, and walks back towards the park’s exit, and the scene fades.

EPISODE 191: Saoirse, Part V

Tuesday July 24, 2012
Annadale Flats- Unit 312
Belfast, Northern Ireland
10:28 PM Local Time

With a soft moan that was muffled by the gag that had been thrust into her mouth, Wendy Briese opened her eyes, trying to blink away the tears that had been brought on by both her recent nap, and the overall feeling of hopelessness she had felt for the last several hours.  With her hands tied behind her, it was all she could do.

She didn’t know how long she had been here.  One minute she was in the cemetery, paying respects to her mother and grandmother, and the next, she was under attack, knocked out by that chloroform.  She had awoken in this room, bound and gagged, yet, it had been daylight out.  Someone had been in the room with her at the time, although they had been careful not to cross into her field of vision.  Still, from what little they had spoken, she could immediately tell it was not her father.  That surprised her, and frightened her even more.  Who in their right mind would ally themselves with the monster that was Augustus Briese, and carry out his bidding?

Whoever he was, the man had largely ignored her, telling her only a couple of times to shut up when she tried to speak through her gag, her words only coming out as muffled moans.  It was unnerving, knowing someone else was in the room with her, someone who was very obviously not her friend, but to unable to see what they were doing, to know what they were thinking, what they even looked like- it had been terrifying.  But the man had stayed away from her, finding other ways to occupy his time while he stood vigil.

Now though, if there was anyone in the room with her, they had become silent as the grave.  She couldn’t believe they’d leave her alone, at least for a very long time.  But they had definite cause to feel somewhat confident.  She was hardly an escape artist when it came to ropes, and even if she was- these had been tied well tight.  She couldn’t even move her fingers due to the bindings, and both her arms felt dead from being pinned behind her for so long.  She wondered if this uncomfortable, terrifying wait was planned to break her down, to drive her mad before she even faced the true enemy.

If so, it was working.

She closed her eyes, and bowed her head as much as her bindings would allow, praying to God as hard as she could for deliverance from this horrible situation.  And if not that, at least a quick, merciful end.  She thought of Terrence and Theresa, sitting at home.  Had they even a clue what was going on?  She had agreed to Skype them at ten tonight, and if it was fully dark, that hour must be either near or had passed.  Would Terrence take it as something amiss?  Or would he just assume that she had been caught up in the excitement of being in Belfast?  She didn’t know.  In fact, she didn’t even know which one she preferred to happen.  There was nothing Terry could to do save her, and she didn’t want him frightened… nor Theresa too.  If things continued the way they were, there would be enough sorrow in their lives in the coming future.

A sudden image popped into her head, her daughter, dressed all in black, tearfully crying for her Mommy in front of a casket, and the tears sprang to her eyes again.  But what if they never even found her body? What if her daughter only mourned an empty sarcophogous, something of memory, because what they did to her-

No!  She tried forcing the thoughts from her mind.  She was going to survive this.  She survived Mandrake’s dungeon.  She survived the Fatal Attraction.  She had built her life, career, and reputation on surviving this, and she’d be damned if she was going to let whoever did this kill her without a fight!

Big words she realized, coming from someone who could barely move her head two inches.

Behind her, she heard the door open and shut, and she tried to force all negative thoughts from her mind.  She would not let them think they’d broken her.  She would fight them with whatever she had- right to the end.

To her surprise, she heard two sets of footsteps behind her, although only one sounded like it was coming closer.  The man passed her on the right, and she tried to turn her head to get a look.  It was unnecessary- the man knelt down, in front of her, and Wendy found herself face to face with her father for the first time in two years- since his last failed parole hearing.

“Hello, Gwendolyn,” the Irishman said.

Despite his incarceration, the years had been fairly kind to Augustus Briese.  His flame red hair- the same shade of Wendy’s- had begun to turn gray, and his hairline was certainly receding, his face slightly more wrinkled.  But he was healthy enough for a man of sixty-three.  Even his teeth were perfect pearly white- she knew that easily, because he was grinning widely at her.

Wendy could only stare back, cold fury on her face, her nose slightly wrinkling from the scent of whiskey.  Obviously, her father had been drinking.  She tried to say something back, but the gag only muffled it, and her words ended with another muffled scream of frustration.  Gus got the message though, and he chuckled coldly.  

“Yuri, I do believe she has something to say to me.  Kindly take her gag out, the better I can hear her.”

She felt two huge hands at the back of her head, and winced, but the cloth was simply loosened, and pulled out of her mouth, She took a couple of deep breaths, relishing the taste of fresh air again.  

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”  Gus implored mockingly, his words slightly slurred.  He either was drunk, she could tell, or well on the way to being so.

“I had a feeling you were behind this,” Wendy replied, lamely.  What she really wanted to do was call him every single name she could think of, but she could sense her enormous half-brother still standing behind her, and she had the worst sense that it wouldn’t end well.  

Gus chuckled coldly, mockingly.  “Oh, my dear Gwendolyn.  You always were so damn gullible.  I raised you to have such a discerning palate, and yet, you seem to eagerly swallow every single morsel of bullshit that’s put in front of you.  Do you really think the Northern Ireland Tourist Board would want anything to do with you?  Some whore who runs around America rolling around with other women for the delight of scum everywhere?”

Wendy ignored the insult.  “So you called Pollaski to lure me here.”

“Well, not me, exactly,” Gus replied, shrugging.  “I was afraid that fat tub of lard you still trust your career to might actually recognize my voice.  I had a good friend who was more than eager to make the call.  Let’s just say, he owed me one.”  Gus broke into a grin.  “I wanted to see you one last time, on the eve of the war.”

“War?” Wendy asked incredulously.  “What are you even talking about?”

“Yuri, please take your sister to the window.  I have something to show her.”

Still attached to the chair, Wendy found herself being lifted off the floor, and carried across the room, over to the window.  Yuri set her down hard, practically dropping her.  Wendy looked out.  Even at night time, she could see that she was on the second or third floor of a building just a short distance from the River Lagan, with only a small field between her and the road that ran along its eastern bank.  Not too far away was a bridge over the river, to the road on the other side.  Wendy blinked, not entirely sure what she should be seeing.

“You see that bunch of lights over on the other bank?” Gus asked.  Wendy nodded.  “That’s the Lyric.”

“Mom’s theater” Wendy whispered, spotting the building.  A sudden creeping feeling of dread was sinking in as she slowly began to realize what her father was planning.

“There’s going to be a show there tomorrow night.  Orchestral concert, from what I believe.  Should be a great show.  But the real show, Wendy.  Well, I don’t think too many of the attendees will be expecting it.  It should be a blast.”

Wendy felt her blood run cold.  “You’re going to bomb it?”

“Oh, *I’m* not.  But this flat will provide an amazing view of it, don’t you think?”  Gus replied, nonchalantly.  “Watch the fires of liberation burning into the night sky.”

Wendy couldn’t help but note the slight edge of sarcasm in her father’s voice.  “People are going to die…”

“Probably a couple hundred,” Gus agreed, turning away.  Wendy felt her chair being lifted up again, and she was spun around, to face the room she had spent the last few hours staring at the wall of.  It was a modestly furnished studio apartment, with a small kitchen and table, a sofa, an old television set with rabbit ears, and a bed in the corner.  It definitely was Spartan, but it was hardly the dreary hellhole Wendy had envisioned.  

Yuri remained behind her, and Gus walked back in front of her, leaning against the table.  He sighed heavily, as if he couldn’t help what the situation had become.  “The goal is to prove that the British no longer can protect us.  That the only way we’ll possibly be safe is if we are free.  For that, people have to die, unfortunately.”

Wendy couldn’t help but laugh at the contradiction.  “You’re going to make the argument that the British can’t protect you from yourselves.  That’s-“

“Ourselves,” Gus chuckled without humor.  “Irish won’t be doing this, Wendy.  Why would we overtly kill our own countrymen when we could have a bunch of towelheads do it for us?  The Brotherhood of Martyrs, they call themselves, all so fucking willing to die for their cause.  So… they’ll die for theirs, and have many, many others die for ours.  Quite a partnership, one that only a few will ever actually know about.  You should feel honored.”

Wendy wasn’t sure why her Father was telling her all of his plans, but she felt sickened, both at the prospect of so many people losing their lives, and at the knowledge that if Gus Briese was so eager to tell her all this, then he was going to make sure it was impossible for her to tell anyone else.  She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath.  She had to keep talking.

“So why The Lyric?  Mom worked there, for crying out loud.”

“I know that,” Gus snapped, then he shook his head.  “The Lyric your mother was ‘The Angel’ of is gone.  They tore it up, built a new one just a couple years ago.  It may be on the same site, and it may have the same damn name, but that is *not* Gayle’s theater.  I was hesitant myself at first, until I saw the abomination it’d become.”

Wendy couldn’t help but laugh.  This was the most insane thing she’d ever heard of.  “Do you really think that this is going to work?  Someone, sooner or later is going to figure all of this out, and when they do-“

“What?  I’ll be arrested again?”  Gus chuckled.  “No, Wendy.  I don’t expect to survive this war.  And without victory, I have no desire to.”

Wendy recognized the quote.  “Stonewall Jackson…”  she whispered.

“A brilliant man, despite the fact that he was a Protestant.  A brilliant tactician.  HE knew how to fight for freedom!  If Northern Ireland had a man like him… but no, we get suckling little cravens like Martin McGuinness.  He once commanded the IRA, and now he’s a damned politician.  Last month, he fucking stood in that goddamned theater and shook hands with the fucking QUEEN!  One more reason that building can be turned into rubble, for all I care.”

Gus paused, and reached to his side.  Pulling out a flask, unscrewing the cap, and taking a swig.  “Better.  All this talk makes me thirsty.  I suppose you’re wondering why I told you all this.”

Wendy gulped.  “No…”

“Sometimes… it just feels good to get stuff off your chest.  And it’s not like you’re going to be telling anyone else, is it?”  Gus reached to his side again, and this time drew out a pistol, glinting black in the lone light shining overhead.  He slowly opened the chamber, making sure it was loaded, and slid it shut.  Wendy’s eyes went wide, and she tried to shrink away, impossible given her restraints.  “You see, Wendy… I don’t expect to survive this war… but I do expect to survive you.”  He very slowly, steadily, pushed the gun forward, the muzzle finally settling against Wendy’s temple.

The flame-haired woman began to whimper, unable to help herself.  “Daddy… please…”  

“Oh, it’s daddy now, is it?”  Gus asked, his eyebrow arching.  “I’ve heard all those horrible names you called me over the years, and now, at the end, its ‘daddy’ again.  How very touching.” 

Wendy squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking out, as she waited for the end.  One last time, she thought of her beautiful daughter back at home, her loving husband…

Gus burst out into laughter, and Wendy felt the gun being pulled away.  She dared to open her eyes, and she saw Gus walking away from her, and he set the gun back down on the table.  Behind her, Yuri was chuckling too, although there was certainly an amount of hesitation in that.  Wendy realized she had been holding her breath, and she exploded into sobbing gasps.  

“Did you actually think I was going to do it?”  Gus laughed.   “Oh, don’t get so comfortable.  You are going to die.  That’s the punishment for traitors, after all.  But your brains blown out in some apartment in Belfast?  I think we can do better than that.”

Wendy felt her face flushing with anger, and she glared at her father, furious by his callous indifference to her life.  She was HIS DAUGHTER for crying out loud.  Gus merely smiled, and walked back over to Wendy, this time without the gun.  He knelt down, staring his daughter directly in the eye.  “Don’t worry, Wendy.  I’m going to make your death one you can be proud of.  One that you’ve always wanted.  I’m going to let you become a martyr.  You’ve always wanted to be that, haven’t you?  The so-called White Knight, crucified for her beliefs of goodness and holiness on the altar of practicality.”

“In fact, since you *are* my daughter, I’m going to give you a choice.  We can put you in the theater tomorrow.  No one will know you’re there until they sift through the rubble of course, but there’s a good chance you’ll be killed instantly and painlessly.  Or, we can give you as a hostage to the Brotherhood of Martyrs.  I’m sure they would make GREAT use of you, and you would get to survive a bit longer.”

Behind her, she heard her brother speak for the first time.  “But Father…”

“Shut up, Yuri.  This isn’t about you.  It never was about you.”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said, dammit!”  Gus snapped.  “You will get your wish, I promise you that.  But you will *not* kill her.  My darling little girl deserves a righteous death, and we’re going to make sure she gets it.”  He took another swig of his flask, and turned back to Wendy.  “So which is it?  The Bomb?  Or the Brotherhood?”

“Go to hell,” Wendy simply replied, glaring back at her father.

Gus sighed, and then backhanded her across the face.  Wendy stayed silent despite the pain and fear, not wanting to give her father any satisfaction.  She felt a slow trickle of blood coming from her lip, as she turned her head back towards him, her eyes glaring in hatred and anger.  Gus calmly tsked.  “That wasn’t an option, now was it?  Now one more time, before I make the decision for you.  How would you like to-“  He trailed off, looking up as something behind Wendy caught his eye.  His mouth fell open in gaping horror, and Wendy tried to turn to see what it was- unsuccessfully. 

Gus stood up, walking behind her, and Wendy’s mind raced.  Then she saw it- light was coming through the window, projecting on the back wall of the apartment.  Light that was alternating red and blue.  

Police lights.

“God dammit!”  Gus exclaimed, and Wendy heard his footsteps pulling away from the window.  

“How did they find us?”  Yuri was asking, his voice also filled with concern.

“I don’t fucking know.  Maybe it’s not… son of a bitch!”  Gus stormed back into her field of vision, his eyes wide, his already pale skin ghostly white.  He looked around the room, from Wendy, to Yuri, then back to the windows.  “Stay here!”  he finally said, pointing to Yuri.  He cracked open the door, looking frantically around the hallway outside.  With a final glance back at Yuri and Wendy, he bolted out the door, slamming it behind him.

“Coward,” Wendy heard Yuri say, but her mind was elsewhere.  Had the police really come for her?  Was she saved?  

And then she heard the sound of a switchblade opening behind her, and the feeling of hope evaporated.  Of course, there would be no way they’d let her leave this room alive.  Yuri would slit her throat right here and go back to an Irish prison rather than letting her go free again.   She closed her eyes again, too emotionally drained by now to think of anything but accepting the end.

And then she heard the sounds of rope being cut, and felt her bonds being loosened.  She yelped in pain as the blood came rushing back into her arms and legs, and fell forward, her tumble assisted as Yuri yanked the chair out from under her.  Wendy lay on the floor for several seconds, gasping for air, and wincing as her appendages continued to regain their feelings.

“Get up,” Yuri ordered her, and Wendy slowly managed to obey, turning to face her brother.  

Her jaw dropped.

For the first time she’d ever seen him, he wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit, but rather a simple button up shirt and a pair of jeans.  He was as pale as she and her father was, but his face wasn’t disfigured at all.  His green eyes stared back at her, his hair flame-red.  He looked every bit the mixed-Irish-Ukranain heritage he was.

“But… I thought you were deformed by…”

“Plastic surgery,” Yuri replied simply.

“But the hazmat suit…”

“It made people notice me.  You most of all.”  Chernobyl replied, a small, savage smile forming on his face.  

Wendy nodded absently.  “Well… th-thank you for freeing me,” she stammered out, rubbing her wrist.

Yuri burst into cold laughter.  “Freeing you?  No, this is my reward.”  And then he threw a punch straight at her face.

Wendy’s eyes went wide, and she ducked- too slow- the punch still grazed her, hard enough to send her sprawling.  Her fighting instincts taking over, Wendy rolled to the side as Yuri came in, scrambling to her feet.  “Yuri, please…”

“Only one of us leaves here tonight, sister,” Yuri growled, throwing a haymaker, although this time Wendy slid out of the way easily.  He advanced on her, aggression evident in every single step.  Wendy dodged another punch, and flashed a leg kick.  Yuri winced as it caught his upper thigh, but continued on with more wild punches, which Wendy dodged, then peppered in more leg kicks.

It wasn’t enough, she could tell.  She could dance and poke all she wanted, but she’d run out of energy too quickly, and as she slowed down, she’d be a sitting duck.  Yuri lunged again, and Wendy caught him this time with a hook to the jaw, then an uppercut, sending him reeling back.  She leapt up with a dropkick, sending him staggering back even further, although she herself grunted in pain as she slammed into the wood floor.  

She quickly got back to her feet, but Yuri was already moving back in, a sneer on his face.  “Not bad, sister.  But how much can your little attacks do?  I’m not some weak little girl like your opponents.”  He lunged, both arms wide, looking to wrap Wendy up in a hug.  Wendy spun away, but gagged as a massive hand wrapped around her throat.  The lunge had been a feint, and she had underestimated her brother’s speed.   Yuri grinned evilly, and then threw Wendy back into the wall, the smaller woman gasping in pain.  Yuri pulled her out, and slammed her back again, and then again.  Wendy’s knees buckled, but the strength of Yuri, his  hand still around her neck, kept her from falling.  Instead, Yuri lifted her up, still pinning her against the wall so her feet dangled two feet off the floor.

“Pitiful,” Yuri snarled, ignoring her wheezes and grunts of protest as he hung her in the air.  “I expected better.”

Wendy felt his hand start to close, crushing her throat, and her eyes squeezed shut as she kicked wildly, trying to find any escape. Where were the police?   Why hadn’t they gotten to the room yet? It couldn’t end… not like this…

Her foot found the money, right between Yuri’s legs.

Her brother grunted like a bull, but still didn’t let go.  Wendy kicked out again, catching him square this time.  Yuri collapsed to his knees, releasing Wendy, who fell to the floor.  Everything about her was hurting now, but she knew she couldn’t stop.  This was a fight to the death.  

Or escape… if she could just get to that door…

Wendy slowly got to her feet, and began staggering towards the door.  Before she got three steps, however, Yuri grabbed her ankle.  Wendy staggered forward, grabbing the table to keep her balance.  She tried to kick her brother off, but  his grip was too strong, and with another tug, Wendy’s grip on the table was lost, and she fell to the floor again.  

Still Wendy tried to crawl away, get herself some more room, but Yuri’s grip was too tight.  She tried to kick him off again, to no avail.  Then something caught the corner of her eye.  Something black.

Gus’ gun.  It must have been knocked to the floor when she fell from the table.   With no other option, completely running on desperation, Wendy lunged for it, her hand wrapping around the weapon, just as Yuri pulled her back towards him.  She rolled onto her back, looking up.  Yuri, murder in his face, was getting to his feet, standing over her, reaching down to grab her…

*BANG!*

Blood splattered the ceiling from the exit wound, as Yuri’s eyes went wide, his hand clutching his upper chest.  His mouth formed into an O of shock as he stared at his sister in disbelief.  Then he fell over, blood streaming out from beneath his hand.  Wendy stared wide eyed in horror as he crashed to the ground, breathing rapidly, staring back at her.  She shakily stood to her feet, the gun still pointed at him, trembling in her hand.   

“Oh my God… Yuri I’m…”

“End it,” he hissed, pointing with his other hand to the space right between his eyes.  “I’m already dead.  Make it painless.”

Wendy gulped, and took a step back, then another.  Her hand was trembling so violently, she wouldn’t have even been able to aim properly if she had wanted to.  

“END IT!” Yuri screamed.

Wendy turned on her heel and sprinted to the door, throwing it open and bolting out into the hallway.

 “POLICE!  GET DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW!”

Breathing heavily, Wendy whirled around at the voice, but gulped as she saw that no one was there.  From the sounds of breaking glass & wood, along with screams and the occasional sound of gunfire, Wendy realized the entire complex was being raided.  And by the way the echoes sounded, there was no telling how far away the police really were.  Looking around wildly, she set off towards where the voices could be coming from.  If she could just rendezvous with the police, she’d be safe, and this nightmare would be over.  

Seeing a door opening to a staircase, Wendy flung it open, again looking around warily.  If police were raiding the whole complex, there’d be no telling how many of her father’s gang were here, and if she ran into one of them before she found the police…

She couldn’t think about that.  She had to keep going, lest she become overcome by fear and freeze up.  She continued down the stairs, passing the second floor landing, heading straight for ground level.  The sound of gunfire echoed again, and Wendy raised her own pistol, but she quickly lowered it.  She couldn’t afford to be jumpy either.  If she ran into the police, she’d have to be ready to throw her weapon down, lest they perceive her as a threat.

She reached the bottom of the stairs, finding a side door to the complex.  She swung it open, stepping out into the cool Belfast night.  At least it had stopped raining, she realized as she looked around, slowly walking out into the alley.  The police weren’t monitoring this entrance, she realized.  That was odd- why hadn’t they covered all the exits in order to prevent escape?  Or did they simply not have enough manpower to do so, given the scope of the operation?

Wendy walked out of the alley way, finding herself on a side street.  To her right, she could see the blue and red flashing of police lights, and she headed that way.  It wouldn’t be long now, and the police would see her, and she’d be free…

Something caught her eye, and she looked up, across the street.  A lone figure was running across the bridge over the River Lagan, and even from this distance, Wendy could see the graying red hair as the man ran under a streetlight.  

Her father was escaping.  And if he did- there’d be no telling what he’d do next.  She knew now that he wouldn’t stop until she was dead.

Wendy broke into a sprint after him, running across the small field, and then the street that ran along the east bank, not even stopping to look for traffic.  Luckily, there wasn’t any, and Wendy followed the figure across the bridge, her heart pounding as she realized where she was heading.

The Lyric Theater.

“Hey!  Stop!”  she heard someone, probably an officer, yelling far behind her, but she kept running.  The figure ahead had stopped running, and was standing in the theater’s parking lot, nervously waiting.  Wendy opened her mouth to scream at him to stop, but before she could, a car pulled into the otherwise empty lot, stopping just in front of Gus. 

Wendy slowed down, groaning under her breath.  Was this a getaway car?  Was her father going to escape after all?

But instead of her dad getting in, another man got out.  Older even than her dad, his hair completely white.  And even from the hundred or so yards away, Wendy could tell he was furious.  

“What the FUCK is happening!” he screamed, shoving Gus.  

“I don’t fucking know!” Gus replied, on the verge of hysteria himself.  “They showed up and started raiding the whole goddamned complex!”

“They’re raiding us all over the fucking city!”  the other man bellowed.   “I barely got out before they came for me!  How the fuck did this happen, Gus?  HOW?!”

 “I… I don’t know.”

By now, Wendy had gotten close enough to where she could see the other man’s face.  She had only seen it once before in her life, and it took several seconds for her memory to click, but then it hit her.  The last time she had seen him, he had been standing next to her mother’s grave back in November.  Derrick Delaney.

Now she knew how the man had known her father.  Neither of them had noticed her yet.  She still had the gun in her hand… if she could get closer, take them by surprise, she could hold them both until the police arrived…

“So now what?”  Gus was asking.

“It’s over.” Delaney sighed.  “Everything is lost.  There’s just one thing left to do.”

Wendy prepared to raise her gun, to yell at them to get down on the ground, but she stopped as Delaney pulled out a gun of his own, and point it at Gus, who immediately took a step back, suddenly quivering with fear.

“D-D-Derrick… what-“

*BANG!*

Blood spattered onto Delaney’s car, and Gus stood still, blinking once, twice, his mouth in the perfect O of shock that Yuris’ had been.  Then he collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from the hole in his forehead.  

“I should have done that thirty-five years ago.  I liked you, Gus.  But you always were a fuck-up.  I never should have let you come back to Ireland.  I never should have busted you out of prison.  I never should have let you leave Ireland in the first place.  I should have killed you the moment I found out you were behind Blaine.”

Wendy let out a cry of horror, falling to her knees as the realization sunk in.  Augustus Briese was dead.  She knew she should feel happiness, or some semblance of relief, but the suddenness, the gruesome reality of it all, was too much for her.   Delaney heard her, and spun around.  Wendy gasped as he raised his gun towards her, ready to dispose of the witness.

*BANG!*

*BANG!*

*BANG!*

*BANG!*

*BANG!* 

She had forgotten about the gun in her own hand.  But now it was pointing at Delaney, smoke wafting from the barrel.  And Derrick Delaney was on the ground, blood pouring from his right eye, puddling on the ground and mixing with her father’s.  She took a step forward, looking down at the two bodies.  Then the gun fell from her hands, and she fell on all fours, retching, sobbing, fighting the urge to scream.

“POLICE!  DROP YOUR WEAPON, AND GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!”

This time, Wendy knew the words were directed at her, and, her body still shivering with sobs, she lay flat on the ground, listening for the footsteps as the officer approached.  “I want to go home…” she whimpered, repeating herself again, then again.  “I want to go home… I want to go home… I want to-“

She continued to repeat it, even as the officers jerked her hands behind her back, and applied the handcuffs, and dragged her towards the waiting police car.