Corner of Beech & 1st Street
Hackensack, New Jersey
1:31 PM Local Time
It had been a trying four months.
Gus had sat quietly the morning after thier argument as Gayle called her theater, her friends, her mother, eager to share the news of the incoming addition to the Briese family. But with every single press of a button on the touchtone’s pad, Gus resisted the impulse to run at her, rip the phone away from her hands, and march her down to the clinic, what she wanted be damned.
Gayle had always gone along with his demands before, albeit occasionally reluctantly. To defy him, so openly and angrily, only indicated how strongly she had felt about the matter, and Gus knew that anything he could try to prevent this child from being born would only backfire upon him. Hell, at this point, he figured any accident that would befall the baby would immediately fall on his head as well. Gayle had been pleasant enough to him since the fight, but he could tell that she hadn’t forgotten it, and somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, she was wondering what kind of man she had married. That irritated him. After all, this was her goddamned career he was thinking about. For her to be so stupid, so ungrateful... what the hell was she thinking?
But as irritated with Gayle as he was, he didn’t want to lose her. And there was still a chance that, after the brat was born, there could still be a career for her on Broadway. If there was a path, he would clear it, with a goddamned bulldozer if he had to. But until that happy time could arrive, he could aught but watch as his wife spent her mornings throwing up, becoming more swollen and unattractive by the day as the thing gestating her bulged her features to grotesque proportions. And focus on his own career, of course.
At least what little of THAT was left.
It had been just two weeks before Christmas when the news had come- a fight between the sponsor and the producer had resulted in a collapse of the productions funding, and High Spirits, his first Broadway role- a LEAD no less!- was ‘postponed in production until further notice.’ Gus knew what that bullshit meant, though. High Spirits was dead, both the play itself and his own.
Fate was laughing at him, he felt. First he’s kicked out of his beloved Ireland home by a man he thought was his friend. Then his wife, on the cusp of achieving a role that would have brought her career to new heights, has one single fucking sperm of his enter her egg, and decides that she’d rather not do anything about it. And now his own play, his own road was closed to.
What the fuck had he done to deserve this?
There was another role out there somewhere for him. There had to be. He hadn’t toiled in the drudgery of a dinner theater for three years, all the while knowing he could have BOUGHT the damn shithole had he wanted to, to be turned aside now. He and Gayle would be on Broadway again, and their names would be in lights.
But that time wasn’t today. And now he had another unpleasant bit of business to deal with.
For all that Gus loved New York, he hated New Jersey, the deteriorating urban wasteland that lay just across the Hudson river from his condominium. And while Hackensack was hardly the most disgusting city the state had to offer, it was only with great distaste that Gus would ever cross the George Washington Bridge to come here. But as unpleasant as New Jersey was, it only ranked second to the reason he was here, a folded up letter that the doorman of his condo had discreetly passed to him as he had entered the previous Friday.
What the fuck did Ivana want to meet with him for?
The last he had seen of the Ukranian, he was shoving a thousand pounds into her hands, and telling her to get out of Ireland before Delaney’s men hunted her down. It had been the day after his release from prison, just two weeks before he and Gayle had left Ireland themselves. He had figured that she had returned home, so to find that she had moved to New Jersey, of all places...
The cab stopped, at the address he had given, and Gus stepped out after telling the driver to keep the engine running. With luck, this wouldn’t take long at all, and he’d be back to the city within an hour.
The building wasn’t exactly a slum, but it sure felt decrepit by his standards. It was three floors, all brick, the bottom one a hardware store, the two atop seemingly residential dwellings. Gus found the door to the stairs, and climbed them, bypassing the second floor and heading straight to the top. The interior wasn’t quite as inviting as the exterior had been- paint was peeling from the walls, and bits of litter dotted the hallways, along with an unpleasant odor that Gus couldn’t quite identify. Using the directions that had been scrawled on Ivana’s note, he found the appropriate door, hesitated just a second, and knocked.
The woman who answered the door was just as beautiful as Gus had remembered her, although her face had been lined a little more over the past few months by stress and worry. She didn’t smile when she saw him, simply opened the door wider to allow him in.
“Thank you for coming, Gus,” Ivana said, her Ukranian accent still heavy.
Gus merely grunted and nodded, as he looked around the small apartment. It was only a one bedroom, run-down yet clean, although he suspected that may have been more to the diligence of the occupant than the starting condition of the rooms. Nonetheless, he wasn’t here to admire Ivana’s housekeeping. He turned to her, suspicion in his eyes.
“I got your note. We agreed we wouldn’t see each other again.”
Ivana nodded. “Things have changed.”
“What?” Gus was confused, “What has?”
For an answer, Ivana put her hands to her lips, shushing him. She beckoned to him to follow, then turned and walked towards the bedroom. Gus, curious, followed her, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw where she was taking him.
The crib nestled against the wall at the far end of the room.
“Oh, you have got to be SHITTING me,” Gus muttered under his breath. He suddenly had a very bad feeling where this was going.
“He’s sleeping.” Ivana whispered, smiling at him. “Gus, this is Yuri.”
Gus closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. “You’re going to say he’s mine, aren’t you?”
“He is, Gus.”
“And how do I know that? You could be sleeping with half of New Jersey for all I goddamn know.”
Ivana didn’t look happy at his denial, nor was she surprised. “Think of the timeline, Gus. Yuri’s a month old. Ten months ago was March, we were both still in Belfast, and you were about to marry...”
“And I was the only one? Is that it?” Gus hissed. “Do you really expect me to believe that, you fucking slut? I have a goddamned kid of my own on the way!”
“I can’t raise him by myself, Gus! I have no job, no money. I live in a dump! Please, for the sake of...”
“Prove it. Prove that he’s mine, because he looks NOTHING like me!”
“Fine, I will!” Ivana shot back, color creeping into her face. “I’ll shout my claim from the rooftops of Manhattan if I have to, and I’ll make sure every single person you wine and dine with in those five-star restaurants knows about your little bastard, and I’ll show him to your WIFE if-”
“DON’T YOU DARE EXTORT ME, YOU LITTLE WHORE!”
For just a second, Gus’ vision clouded red, and the next thing he knew his hands were wrapped around Ivana’s neck. He threw her down on the bed, and squeezed with everything he had as the brunette below kicked feebly, pried at his hands, pathetic wheezing sounds emanating from her gaping mouth. The baby had woken up in the fray, and was screaming at the top of its lungs, adding to the chaos.
Ivana’s struggles began to weaken, tears leaking out of her eyes. Gus looked down, and shook his head, reason coming into him. If Belfast had taught him anything, it’s that things could always be connected back to you, even if you thought you had covered everything. He wasn’t going to have his life ruined because he strangled some whore to death in New Jersey.
Gus released his grip, and Ivana rolled over, gasping and wheezing and sobbing all at once. Adrenaline was fueling him... he had never felt more powerful in his life as he had at that moment- to hold someone else’s fate in your grip. And he knew he had made the right choice in letting the bitch live. But the anger and the rage and the adrenaline weren’t subsiding. With a growl, he smashed his fist into a mirror hanging on the wall, the glass shattering mixing in with the sounds of both Yuri and Ivana’s crying.
“You bastard,” Ivana was sobbing over and over again as she sat up, still panting heavily.
“Shut that brat up,” Gus ordered, pointing to the crib. Ivana stared at him, then turned to the crib. She picked the boy up, and shushed him, giving him a pacifier in an attempt to calm the wailing. It was a mercifully short process, and soon, the infant was at peace again. Ivana laid him back down, and interposed himself between the child and the irate Irishman.
“I should have left you in Belfast to see what Delaney would have done to you! You want my money, Ivana? Is that it?” Gus demanded. “After all I gave you, you still want more, you greedy slut?” He looked around, and sighed, unable to fully believe just what rotten luck he was having. “You have it. I’m not going to let you ruin my reputation, and my marriage, so if it’s a pound of gold you want, fucking take it!”0
Ivana remained silent, staring at him with hatred. And Gus continued. “But there is a price, Ivana. You always know that.”
“Your price is already there. You help me raise our child, and I leave you alone.”
“It’s not enough,” Gus replied, beginning to pace back and forth. “I can’t have you nearby, just in case you have any more ideas on how to ruin my life. I will give you your gold- enough to make sure that brat doesn’t want for anything, but you won’t be here. You won’t be within a thousand miles of me. I’ll set up an account, make it accessable to you, and you get the fuck away from me. Is that understood?”
“Fine,” Ivana hissed. “I’ll return to my hometown of Prypiat, and raise Yuri there. And you can stay here, lie to your wife, play with your REAL child, and pretend I’m just another bill you have to pay. If that’s what you want Gus, then fine, and fuck you!”
Gus seethed at the hate-filled response, and the reminder that there was a second brat coming, one he couldn’t expel to the ends of the earth.. Obviously, he hadn’t put as much fear into her as he thought he had. He grimaced, then put on the cruellest smile he could possibly muster. “One more thing. The original terms of our deal still stand.”
Ivana looked at him confused, then went wide eyed as she realized what he meant. “Go to hell, you bastard! If you so much as TOUCH me again, I’ll... I’ll...”
“Ivana, think for just a second here. I just want this to go away, and I’m choosing the method that is going to be easiest for the both of us. But I see no reason why there can’t be... something in it for me as well. Now, are you going to agree... or should I start considering... other alternatives?”
Ivana shut her mouth, and looked from Gus over to Yuri, still silent in the crib. Then with a sob, and a wiping away of the tears that were streaming from her eyes, she slowly reached up, and began to take off her shirt.
Gus smiled. It was good to know that there were still some things in this world he could control.
Thursday January 26, 2012
The Nest- Living Room
Indianapolis, Indiana
3:17 PM Local Time
Well, it’s been a while since we’ve been in the living room of the Thompson family household, hasn’t it? 52 days to be exact. Not much has changed in those fifty-two days, really. The new television (remember, Pollaski took a shotgun to the old one), still hangs on the wall. That crappy looking picture of an autumn landscape still hangs above the sofa upon which Wendy sits alone, dressed in a pale yellow cardigan and a black pair of pants. Terrence’s recliner, the bay window, the end tables, they’re all still there. The Christmas decorations aren’t anymore. Which means no tacky Santa coasters. Please try and curb your disappointment. As she realizes the camera’s on, Wendy’s emerald eyes shine with excitement, and she takes a deep breath.
“So... here we are! My first match in the year 2012. It feels odd that it’s coming this late, considering that FFW’s held two amazing shows already. Heck, it feels odd that I haven’t competed in FFW for well over a month and a half now, thanks to the Holiday season. But I had a great holiday. We went to visit my aunt in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and I got to see my cousins. And I did get to wrestle at New Year’s Retribution.”
Wendy grimaces, as she remembers the events of that night, namely Terrence’s little post-match outburst in the locker room, but she merely sighs, and smiles good-naturedly.
“Normally I get fairly upset about losing... but the more and more I watch that match we had against Stark & Stone, the more I realize that there’s nothing to be upset about. Anders and Cara are two of the most wonderful, talented wrestlers you’re going to face anywhere, and it was an honor that Terry and I were able to make the return of the WhrilyBirdz against them. I hope everyone who follows wrestling keeps an eye on those two. Stark & Stone are going to go places.”
“But like everyone else with the New Year, I’ve made some resolutions for myself. There’s something about the New Year that makes you look at yourself introspectively, and decide where in your life you could be doing better. And I’m not resolving to win any titles or anything... that’s silly. Resolutions should be about self-improvement, not personal gain. And I do hope that I have a very rewarding 2012 in that department, but I think for me to have the 2012 I WANT to have... that I’m capable of having, I needed to make a couple minor changes.”
Wendy pauses and takes a deep breath.
“The first... well, I’ve been trying to do this since October, and that’s take each match one at a time. To not focus on the implications, to not worry about what is going to happen to my standing in the company, or my reception with the fans. To just get out there and wrestle. And I think I’ve done that fairly well. I won the Byte This battle royal. I held off Jo at Violent Night. And I’m here, in the finals of the No Surrender Championship.”
Wendy laughs quietly, and shakes her head.
“And I’ll tell you what. It’s been HARD to take it one step at a time with this No Surrender thing looming over my head. Ever since the announcement came out, and they showed us that gleaming, huge, heavy No Surrender Championship, I’ve wanted it. I waited three tense months since the introduction of the title for my name to be called for a qualifying match. And now I’ve waited another month and a half since qualifying to actually get in the ring. I’m sure Starla can sympathize with me... she’s been in this match for nearly three months now, waiting just as long as I have.”
“I want this belt. I mean... I really really REALLY want this belt. And I think it’s pretty obvious why. But I have to admit that I’m proud of myself. For all I’ve been anxious to finally get to this point. For all that I’ve thought of the No Surrender Championship, I never allowed it to cause me to lose focus. At least not since Sin & Sacrifice. And now that it’s here. Now that the match I’ve been trying to keep from thinking about since September is just two days away... I can’t tell you what I feel, because I don’t even know. It’s anxiety, relief, hope, dread, clarity, and uncertainty all rolled up into one tiny little pulsating ball that’s currently nestled in the pit of my stomach.”
Wendy forces herself to take another deep breath, and she looks up at the ceiling. Her voice drops several decibals, and she smiles shakily at the camera.
“But in some strange way, I find comfort in it. My goal on Saturday night is simple... make either Starla McCloud or Lumina Ferrari submit to me. That’s all I need to focus on, that’s all I need to do. It won’t be easy... God knows I’m in for the fight of my life here. But I know what has to be done, and I know that I have everything I need to do it. I just have to get into that ring and make it happen.”
“There’s a second resolution I’ve made as well. I need to be more honest about myself and others.”
Wendy snorts, and shakes her head.
“You know, it sometimes seems as if there’s a contest running around FFW, to see which among us can be the most vicious and cattiest you-know-what in the company. Twitter especially seems to be just full of people who are trying to prove that they’re the biggest bey-ouchie on the playground, and that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not out here to be rude, but at the same time, maybe it’s time I stopped mincing so many words.”
“Because in all honesty, I’m tired of saying cute little sugarcoated things simply for the sake of being diplomatic while other’s decide to drag my name, my family, my accomplishments, everything they can think of through the mud. So since everyone feels so inclined to give their opinions on ME, maybe I should start being a little pro-active in honestly telling certain members of this company EXACTLY what I think of them. I consider myself a nice person, but you know what? I’m done being nice simply for the sake of being nice. I’m done forsaking honesty for diplomacy.”
“And maybe that should extend to me too... even more so. Because before I go around telling everyone what I think of them, maybe you should hear from me exactly what I think of myself.”
Wendy takes a deep breath, and looks again at the ceiling.
“Ever since Sin & Sacrifice, and my loss to Crystal Hilton, I’ve been defiant. All along I’ve listened to the phrases ‘paper-champion’, ‘interim holder’, ‘failure’, ‘choke artist’, being tossed around concerning me. And my only reply was, ‘well, at least I held the belt.’ As if that settles everything. As if two weeks with the Evolution Championship was enough for me, and I haven’t been bothered by it.”
“Well, you know what? It wasn’t, and I have been bothered, and I strongly doubt anyone’s actually surprised by that. I barely had enough time to get my name engraved on that belt before I was forced to watch Crystal HIlton parade around with it instead. I hadn’t even gotten my promotional photos with the belt back from the studio before it all went away! And you think it’s easy to hear your name and ‘Michelle Taylor’ REPEATEDLY spoken in the same sentence, knowing there’s hardly a darn thing you can say in response?”
Wendy shakes her head, obviously frustrated, although she again forces herself to take a deep breath.
“Yeah, it’s bothered me. No matter how many ways you can try to spin it, two weeks with a title belt isn’t enough. It’s like being at a buffet and putting a single egg roll on your plate before they shut the entire thing down. Yay, you got an egg roll, when you could have... SHOULD have gotten so much more. Well you know what? I ate that egg roll, and for the paltry sum of food it amounted to... it tasted GOOD. And I want MORE.”
Obviously Wendy’s been hanging around Pollaski a bit TOO long...
“But ultimately, it absolutely drives me NUTS that it’s been nine months since my debut. I’ve competed in eighteen matches under the FFW banner, and I’ve won thirteen of them. I’ve only been pinned three times, and two of those were in the same match.. I won a tournament, a battle royal, and the Evolution Championship. I’ve been in the main event four times. I’ve faced some of the best this company has to offer. I’m the Breakout Star of 2011, according to the votes of the FFW Faithful themselves.”
“And yet... all that, and people somehow manage to condense my entire career here into two simple moments. Colleen walked out and I lost the belt two weeks later. Never mind that I still had to beat another woman to win that title... a woman that just so happens to be the CURRENT Evolution Champion. Never mind that countless other Femme Fatales have lost their belts on their first defenses as well, they just had the luxury of sitting on them a bit longer. I got Colleen’s hand-me-down title and choked it away fourteen days later. 2011 in a nutshell for Wendy Briese!”
Wendy laughs bitterly and shakes her head.
“Yeah, it got to me. Surprise, surprise, the White Knight’s armor isn’t as thick as it probably should be, and Pollyanna isn’t all rainbows and unicorns after all.. But you know what? At least I’m in a position to DO something about it. Everyone wants to boil my career here down to a couple simple moments? Fine. Then I’ll simply have to make a new one. Saturday night, I have that chance. A chance to make a moment for myself that NO ONE can dispute or gloss over. I have a chance to be the first to put my name on the placard of a belt.”
“And you know what? There isn’t a person in this company who deserves to do that more than I do.”
Wendy laughs softly, and shrugs.
“I know, I know. Everyone thinks they deserve something in this world. We live in the age of self-entitlement, after all. And championships are hardly about who deserves them. It’s about who can shine at the biggest moment, the best possible time, when it counts the most. If things were based on the most deserving, the landscape of this company... heck, of this WORLD, would be a much different one. I know that.”
“But I’ve worked my butt off week in and week out to get here. I may not win every time out, but there isn’t a match I’ve been where I haven’t left everything I possibly could out in that ring. And that includes my wins over Charity Deas, as well as my losses to Kitty and Crystal. I don’t back down from anyone, and I don’t take anyone lightly. If nothing else, at least I’m consistent. At least I walk away from that ring knowing that I’ve done all I could each and every time. Can my opponents say the same?”
Wendy pauses for a second, suddenly hesitant, and a very perceptive lip reader can see her say “honesty before diplomacy”, before she takes a deep breath and continues.
“Like I said, eighteen matches in nine months. In that time, have Lumina and Starla been in that many matches COMBINED? And yet, here we are, in the exact same situation. At least this time it’s not a person who’s had a grand total of one match. But still. You think I’m going to let those two keep this from me? You think that after working so hard to get here, I’m going to be turned aside, just like that?”
Wendy shakes her head, a grim smile forming on her features.
“Of course I’m not. Because here’s a little secret about me, and you can take this as bragging if you want, but for me, this is simply the truth. I might not be considered the best, most impressive single wrestler in this company, but I see absolutely no reason why I can’t be. There isn’t a title in FFW that I couldn’t compete for without a realistic chance of winning. There isn’t a Femme Fatale on the roster I can’t beat in a match, regardless of the match type. Being ‘good enough’ may be a question for some wrestlers, but for me, it isn’t. I know I’m good enough. I just have to do it.”
Wendy leans forward, her emerald eyes dancing with intensity as she stares into the camera.
“And that starts... no, it continues on Saturday. I’ve wanted this title, because I’ve wanted to prove that I’m the best submissionist in FFW... if not the whole world. My last two FFW matches have ended in the Banshee, with my opponent tapping the mat, and there’s absolutely no reason that I can’t do it a third time in a row. I expect myself too. Because I believe in myself, and my abilities, and I believe that I AM the best submissionist in FFW.”
“It’s just time that I made everyone else believe it too.”
Wendy leans back, exhaling slowly, and the scene fades.
====================================
Thursday January 26, 2012
The Nest- Master Bathroom
Indianapolis, Indiana
10:55 PM Local Time
Wendy Briese leaned as far over the sink as she could, and spit out her mouthwash, turning on the faucet, and watching the green liquid swirl down the drain. Quickly wiping up any splashes of water off the bathroom counter, she took one last look at herself in the bathroom mirror, adjusting her nightgown, and shutting off the light as she left.
“Are you ready to go?” She asked as she reentered the bedroom, glancing at Terrence. The auto racer was sitting on the bed watching television, already dressed in his customary plain white t-shirt and Indiana Hoosier basketball shorts. He glanced up at his wife.
“Yup. All packed, Theresa’s packed too. All we gotta do tomorrow is load up the car, drive to the airport, and fly to Los Angeles.”
“Great!” Wendy exclaimed, leaning over and kissing her husband, then moving around the foot of the bed to her side. “Pollaski’s picking up Cassie, and they’ll meet us at the airport. What time do we need to be up?”
“Plane’s at 9... so we’ll need to be there at 7... I’d say be up at 5:30.” Terrence said, quickly counting the hours backwards on his fingers. “Yeah... that should give us some time in case anything goes wrong.”
“Fine by me!” Wendy said, quickly setting her bedside alarm clock for 5:30, then setting her phone’s alarm five minutes later as a safety precaution. “I can’t believe it’s already time to leave.”
“Yup. You’re ready for this?”
Wendy nodded, giving her husband a shaky smile. “I have to be, don’t I? But yeah, I think I’ll be okay. I shot my promotional video this afternoon, Pollaski should have it up tomorrow. I honestly think I’ll be coming home with the...”
“Your twenty-four hour news source, WISH-TV! THIS is WISH 8 News at 11”
Wendy was cutoff by the television, and she glanced over to see that the late-night news on the local CBS affiliate was beginning. Stifling a yawn, she glanced at her husband. “Good night, Terry.”
“In our top story tonight, two guards and one prisoner are dead after an attempted prison escape at the Indiana State Prison in Michigan City. Six men attempted to escape using weapons that had somehow been smuggled into the facility.”
Wendy was in the process of lying down, but bolted up, her head snapping to the TV. That was where...
“One of the prisoners was shot and killed by prison security, while two more were apprehended in the escape. But three men have been confirmed to have successfully gotten away from the facility. Prison officials have confirmed the identites of the escaped as Marcellus Carlock, Raynaldo Esparza, and Augustus Briese.”
A tiny little shriek echoed through the room, as Wendy put her hands to her mouth, staring at the television screen in horror, where the pictures of the escaped men were being displayed, including that of her father.
“All three men are considered EXTREMELY dangerous, and citizens are advised to avoid contact if at all possible, but to call 911 at the absolute earliest and safest opportunity. For more on this story, let’s go to Michigan City, where our reporter...”
“Holy shit...” Terrence whispered, staring at the television screen. “How the fuck did they...”
He looked over at his wife. Her hands were still over her mouth, and tears were leaking from her eyes. She was breathing rapidly, and Terrence soon realized that she was trembling, as if cold. Otherwise she wasn’t moving, save for a questioning squeak from her mouth, that sounded like a poorly formed ‘how?’.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Terrence said, repeating himself a few more times as he grabbed his wife in an hug. “They’ll catch him. They’ll have to...”
Wendy still didn’t move, didn’t react at all to her husband’s embrace. She remained silent, staring at the television. Terrence waited until the news had moved on, then quickly grabbed the remote, shutting the television off. He turned Wendy to face him, and held her close. “It’s going to be alright hon. It’s going to be alright.”
Wendy never responded, said anything, or moved. She didn’t need to, and Terrence simply held her too him as the tears leaking through her eyes began to soak through his T-shirt. He looked up at the ceiling, sighing heavily.
After nine years of incarceration, Augustus Briese was a free man. And while Terrence wanted to tell Wendy that everything was going to be alright, as much as he wanted to believe it himself, something told him his family was about to be in for a very, very difficult time.
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