Tuesday February 9, 1999
Streets of Indianapolis- Gayle Briese’s Porsche 911
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:37 PM Local Time
Wendy Briese looked out the window of her mother’s car as the vehicle sped out of the Pike High School parking lot, brashly ignoring the school zone’s speed limit as the vehicle headed towards Meridian Street, the central North-South route of the city. For just a second, she thought about reminding her mom about the reduced speed near the school, but instead only sighed. Gayle never reacted well to criticism, and Wendy didn’t feel like another argument.
It had been nearly four years since her parents had pulled her out of Blakelys. Since her mother and father had been hell bent on her attending the Academy in the first place, it had been shocking that they were so receptive. But it wasn’t long before Wendy had discovered that not only was she leaving Blakely’s, the entire family was leaving New York!
Wendy had been doubtful at first over the prospect of a new beginning, especially considering that Indianapolis felt so far away from her home, and seemed so... small. But they had bought a nice house in a very quiet, woodsy neighborhood in the northwest section of the city. Wendy had taken an instant liking to Indy... it wasn’t really a small town, but with everything more spread out, it just felt more liberating than the close, towering confines of Manhattan Island.
The only snag had been when St. Anthony’s Academy had informed the Briese’s that Wendy’s application had come too late for her to be enrolled immediately. Her dad had wanted to send her to a boarding school in Chicago, a thought that Wendy didn’t relish in the least. Begging her parents to stay home, her parent’s had eventually relented to allowing her to enroll in the local public school, if just for a semester.
Wendy found she loved Pike. It was hardly the most upscale of schools, and she had been terrified when a fight had broken out between two girls in the hallway on her first day, but there was something about the less intensive atmosphere that felt liberating. Sure, there were cliques, and politics, and factions the same as any high school, but Wendy had found it easier to stay out of it all than she had at other schools. She had managed to convince her pa
“So how was school today?” The voice of her mother cut into Wendy’s thoughts.
“It was good,” Wendy replied. “I got an A on my precalc test.”
“That’s good,” Gayle replied, although she certainly didn’t sound all that enthusiastic. Wendy sighed. Her parents were only concerned with the subjects that were pivotal for her destined career, and there weren’t any acting roles that required a solid grasp of mathematics. Still, it irked her... she had struggled with math for years, and to manage to get an A in pre-calculus was something she figured was a feather in cap, no matter what her mother thought.
“Oh, by the way...” Gayle released one hand from the steering wheel, and dug into her purse, which made Wendy a bit nervous, considering that traffic was rather heavy. She quickly pulled out a folded up sheet of paper of her purse and handed it to Wendy. “I picked this up while shopping downtown today.”
Wendy looked at the pamphlet, and frowned. It was a notice for auditions for an upcoming performance of The Doll House, Henrik Ibsen’s famous play, put on by the Indinapolis Municpal Theater group, the largest dramatic organization in the city. There was just one problem...
“I can’t.” Wendy remarked, shaking her head. “I’m playing Sarah in Guys and Dolls that weekend.”
She had expected the annoyed look her mother was going to give her, but she looked away nonetheless. Gayle *tsked* and shook her head. “Dear, that’s just a waste of your talents. You’re a professional actress, and they’re all amateurs. It’s small time.”
Wendy bit her tongue, looking out the window. In truth, when she had joined the Pike High School drama club, she had thought the same way, and was excited to bring her ‘expertise’ to the club, and make it better. She had been shocked when she had been met with extreme resistance from pretty much everyone else. The friction had made her want to give up acting even more than her final months at Blakely’s had.
But slowly, little by little, she began to realize that for the rest of the club, it wasn’t about training for a career. It wasn’t about perfection, although everyone certainly gave all the effort they could. Ultimately, it was about having fun, and doing it for the sheer sake of enjoymen. It was something Wendy had never thought about- she did it, simply because she was supposed to.
Little by little, she learned to loosen up, and just enjoy it, and soon, the Drama Club became the thing about Pike she loved the most. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays were rehearsal days, and those two hours had become the most fun time of the seventeen year old’s life- even if it was just wasting her time with a bunch of amateurs.
“I’m sorry,” Wendy said crinkling the paper up. “I already promised Ms. Timmock I’d do it. I’m not going back on your word.”
“Your father won’t be happy,” Gayle sighed, shaking her head. “He’s worried about you, dear. He’s thinks you’re stagnating.”
“Worried about what?” Wendy replied. “It’s not like I’m an extra in this, mom. I’m the female lead. I’m in five songs, including a solo. Everyone in the school and the community is going to see me.”
“But you’re not pushing yourself, hon.” Gayle replied. “High school productions don’t mean ANYTHING to a casting director. This is paid work we’re talking about here. That’s what it takes to be a great actress!”
“Yeah, I know,” Wendy grumbled, dropping the leaflet onto the floor. “And fufill my destiny.”
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, young lady,” Gayle snapped, glaring at her daughter.
“I’m sorry,” Wendy sighed. “But what if that’s not my destiny, mom? What if we’re all wrong about this?”
Gayle turned to glare at her daughter, and Wendy was shocked by the intensity there too. But even more than that... she sensed a tiny bit of fear behind her mother’s eyes. “Don’t ever let your father hear you talk like that,” Gayle whispered. “He’s invested so much in you.”
Wendy turned away to look out the window, and gasped. “Mom! Look out!”
A piece of debris was in the middle of the roadway, and Gayle turned her attention back to the road too late to slow down. Hemmed in by a car in the other lane, she had no choice but to brace, and both women shrieked as the Porche rocked back and forth. Wendy heard a loud explosion as one of the tires gave way. Fortunately, her mother mainained enough control.
“GOD DAMMIT!” Gayle roared. “This better not be...”
“Mom, get off the road! We lost a tire!” Wendy interrupted, her white knuckles clenched at her side. “There’s a car place there!” She pointed to a building maybe two hundred yards away.
Even that short distance was enough to fully disintegrate the blown tire, and the turn into the lot was accompanied by the loud shrieking of metal. Gayle quickly stopped, and shut off the car, looking over at her daughter with accusation. “See what you made me do by saying that ridiculous nonsense?”
Wendy’s eyes narrowed, and she glanced back at Gayle. “Really?”
Gayle had turned away, looking at the building with distaste. “This place looks like a dump. But I guess we don’t have much of a choice. Come on, dear.”
Wendy sighed, and got out of the car. She had been looking forward to this day of shopping with her mom, but it was quickly souring, first due to the argument, and then due to the blown tire. Wendy glanced up at the building, as she walked towards it, looking at the old, chipped sign hanging over the entrance.
Thompson Auto.
====================================
Tuesday February 9, 1999
Briese Household- Driveway
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:38 PM Local Time
Gus was hardly surprised to see the empty garage as he parked his Aston Martin inside. Gayle had been talking about going shopping with Wendy over in Castleton, and Wendy would have gotten out of school not even ten minutes ago.
Good, he’d have the house to himself for a couple hours.
Gus paused before leaving his car, looking around at the garage, and sighing. “Four years.”
Nearly four years since he had been forced into exile for the second time in his life. Truth be told, this time the exile had been self imposed, and it at least hadn’t involved Derrick Delaney threatening to bury his penis under the heart of Ireland’s capital, but it was still forced upon him nonetheless.
Gus’ fears regarding his position in the theater turned out to be well founded, as Anthony Guffy, his understudy, had used the Briese family’s ill-fated vacation to Chicago as a launching pad to try and position himself to take over Gus’ role as Mr. Mistofolees. Gus had battled, but the writing on the wall was becoming more and more clear. After twenty years, he was too old, and out from the role that had made him famous. It was bullshit. He could still do it better than anyone else, ESPECIALLY that little weasel, could.
He had considered hiring another sniper, but had turned the idea aside. Blaine was easy to make like a political killing, and STILL suspicion had somehow been able to come back to him. If he had Guffy killed, he might as well driven to Sing Sing and put on a goddamned orange jumpsuit himself. So he could do else but watch his life evaporate, and hope that maybe there’d be another place for an elite, albeit aging actor such as himself.
It was a good thing that he had acquiesced his role, because it wasnt long before Gus came to suspect that he was being watched. There was no tangible evidence to support this- save for the occasional notice from his attorney that more of the Queen’s whores were in New York trying to use INTERPOL to investigate him. But more and more, Gus became convinced that these detectives were nothing more than incompetent bumblers who were grasping at straws.
But these people watching him... either Gus was growing paranoid in his old age, or they were really REALLY good. He’d catch a glimpse of a camera out of his eye, or someone in a car staring at him, but everytime he looked, all was as it should be. It didn’t suit well for him.
Finally, this feeling became too much for Gus to handle, and he realized he had to get out of New York. He hated taking Wendy with him, and moving her so far away from Broadway and her destiny, but there was no choice. Again, it was nothing tangible, but Gus had the feeling that if he stayed in New York, he’d have winded up dead.
Indianapolis was a shithole of a city, but it was good as any other place. They had gotten a decent house, secluded on the edge of the city in Pike Township, backing up to a wooded area. But while their neighborhood was certainly upscale, most of the township wasn’t. Still, Gus and Gayle had more than enough money to never have to work again, and Gus had found his daughter a good school- St. Anthony’s, which had been founded by Irish Catholic immigrants back in the 1920s.
But St. Anthony’s had turned them away, and no amount of bribery or convincing would convince those sons of bitches otherwise. Without any options, Gus had resigned to allowing Wendy into the local public school, and to his horror, found his daughter actually loved it. The thought of her going to school with the filthy, disgusting idiot children of the workers at the nearby refinery was enough to make him cringe. Even worse, Wendy had fallen in with the drama club, something that wouldn’t have bothered him much, until he saw what dreadfully produced and acted performances this motley crew put out (save for Wendy, who was spectacular, of course).
Gus climbed out of the car, and slammed the door, groaning at his dismay. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He had everything planned out, but idiots and charlatans kept ruining everything.
Ah well, he had a couple of hours to pour some Glenfidditch, and forget the rest of the world existed.
Gus walked into the kitchen, tossing his keys on the table, and taking off his coat, and slinging it over the back of a chair. He headed towards the liquor cabinet, to get a glass and bottle.
And paused.
That feeling he had during his final weeks in New York had returned. That feeling that something was wrong, but no senses other than his gut could confirm it. He listened quietly for a noise, something upstairs?
All was quiet, and Gus turned back towards the liquor cabinet, but something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Gus glanced towards the window, then looked out it.
Two men were digging up his backyard.
It had been a warm, yet wet winter, and the ground was soft, so the men were making fast progress. Both men were dressed in black, ski masks over their head to conceal their identity. Gus watched them for a second, his heart and mind racing.
How had they known? How could they have known?
“Oh fuck no,” Gus growled, turning and running out of the kitchen, to the foyer, and up the stairs. The men had given no indication they knew he was home, so maybe he could catch them by surprise. He burst into his bedroom, then his bathroom, then the walk in closet, digging behind his clothes for what he knew was there.
His hands trembled as he grabbed the shotgun, and pulled it out into the open. He had never killed another man before- at least not with his actions, but he’d be damned if he was going to let these people steal from HIM!
Taking a deep breath, Gus burst out of the bathroom, then the bedroom, steeling his resolve. He ran to the top of the stairs, not even caring about stealth. He had to stop those men from stealing Project-
“Long time, Gus”
Gus wheeled at the accented voice, but had no time to register the speaker, or where they had come from before a large, heavy fragile object smashed into his head. Gus’ vision swam, and he blacked out, pitching forward.
Right over the edge of the staircase.
===================================
Tuesday March 27, 2012
University Health Network Hospita- Elevatorl
Toronto, Ontario
3:22 PM Local Time
“Hold still, Theresa,” Wendy Briese commanded her daughter, sighing heavily as she watched the floors tick up on the elevator monitor. At her side, Theresa stopped fidgeting, and slipped her fingers into her mother’s hands. Wendy clasped her daughter’s hand in hers, and looked down, smiling.
“You think Mr. Pollaski will be awake, mom?” The five year old asked.
Wendy shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re probably giving him a lot of painkillers, and that’s going to make him drowsy. But I know if he is awake, he’ll be very glad to see you.” She flashed a smile.
Theresa grinned back, a gap in her mouth where she had just lost her first tooth. “I drew a picture for him too,” she said. “Dad’s bringing it up after he parked the car. I hope he likes it.”
“I’m sure he will.” Wendy replied, although she sighed deeply inside. She hadn’t gotten much sleep over the night, not since she had been faced with the news that Pollaski had been thrown off the stage at SVW Aggression- and that the culprit had been her brother.
She couldn’t believe it, even after seeing the replay on YouTube. This was a part of her life that she had thought long behind her. She had known that Yuri had been released from prison after serving his sentence, but if he was going to come after her, it would have been five years ago. So why now?
Of course, the answer was obvious. Two months ago, her father escapes from prison, and now her half-brother returns? It was too much to be a coincidence. A hurricane was forming around her, and she was caught in the eye, with aught to do but prepare the best she could before the storm moved in.
She glanced down at Theresa, who had taken to fidgeting again, and swallowed hard. Ten years ago, when her brother had first come after her, it was just Terry and her. Now she had far more to lose than that.
But any harm to her family was going to come over her dead body. Literally.
The doors slid open, and she forced herself to smile as she took her daughter’s hand in hers again. Theresa already knew something had gone horribly wrong at Aggression, but Wendy didn’t want her to know the extent of her fears. This wasn’t anything a five-year old should be forced to worry about.
Pollaski was awake as they entered the room, although certainly looking worse for the wear. His face was puffy and swollen, the cut on his forehead ugly with stitches. His left arm was in a sling, still recovering after being seperated the night before, although his right arm was free enough to raise in a wave, as he smiled painfully at his guests.
“Hey,” Pollaski said, his voice slightly slurred from the painkillers he was on. “How was the flight?”
“It was good,” Wendy replied, quickly grabbing her daughter’s shoulder as Theresa had begun a break for the bed. “Hold on, Theresa. I don’t think Pollaski’s in a hugging condition.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Theresa replied, crestfallen.
“Tell you what, we’ll take a rain check on that, squirt,” Pollaski replied, winking at the little girl, although it was tough to tell given that his eyes were swollen half shut anyways. “But I got some mending to do first.”
“So how do you feel?” Wendy asked, moving to the side of the bed, and sitting down in a chair.
“Like your brother beat the living hell out of me.” Pollaski moaned, settling back on his pillow. “Didn’t help that Luther Thunder had already driven my skull into the ground a couple of times already...”
“I know. It was the worst timing in the world,,” Wendy sighed. “Yuri always did have a gift for that.”
“Tell me about it.” Pollaski groaned. “I was gonna take Nikkii to this nice little Mexican place I saw after the show, and then...” he shrugged helplessly with his one good arm.
“I heard she came and visited you,” Wendy replied.
“Yeah. A few people did, actually. Nikkii... Leo, Eileen, and Nick. Nikkii was a little too wound up, but... I can’t blame her.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I can’t believe she beat Moxie.”
“Really?” Wendy snorted. “You were guaranteeing a victory for her earlier in the night.”
“I know... and I knew she’d be better than him. But for the love of God... Moxie can weasel his way out of ANYTHING. He even managed to get one over on you... although that was mostly Starla’s fault. I thought something was going to happen to screw her over. Especially when I was loaded up in an ambulance, instead of...” he sighed. “And that’s the annoying part about it. Instead of being there for her, I’m lying in a bed, and stupid Don Tirri’s out there...” he sighed. “I wanted to be the one in that ring, holding up her hand.”
Wendy grimaced. “I’m sorry,” She squeezed Pollaski’s arm. “She knows how proud you are of her. And she couldn’t stop worrying about you last night on Twitter.”
“I know.” Pollaski groaned as he tried to readjust his position on the bed. He chuckled to himself. “I guess I should talk to Terrence about how to deal with your girlfriend being a better wrestler than you are.”
“EXCUSE ME?!”
Terrence had arrived, standing incredulous in the doorway. Wendy had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.
“Three and one against her. THREE AND ONE!” Terrence protested, although he was smiling as well. “I have five world titles, she’s gotten one. Better wrestler.” Terrence snorted, then scooped up his daughter, handing her a piece of paper. “Oh, by the way, Terr-Bear drew this for you.”
The five-year old unfolded the paper, and Wendy saw the drawing, showing a fat man, and a small blonde haired woman standing in the middle of a ring, the woman holding up both a crown and a title belt, with two men lying around them, both apparently crying. Also crying was a brown haired woman on the outside, while a red haired woman and a brown haired man, and a little girl stood cheering.
“That’s you, and that’s Nikkii,” Theresa explained. “That’s Luther and Moxie, they’re crying because you beat them up and took Moxie’s title. That’s Payton, she’s crying because Nikkii’s really a princess and she’s not. And that’s me, mommy, and daddy cheering!”
“Awesome work, kiddo.” Pollaski said, grinning. “It’s nice to know a five year old knows what’s going on in SVW more than my colleague does.”
It was very pointedly a slam on Wendy and her now-expired boycott of SVW television, and Wendy couldn’t help but turn red from the comment. Terrence chuckled, and set his daughter back down. “Well, I watched the replay with Wendy, and we worked on it together on the plane,” he explained.
“It was a good show,” Wendy admitted. “Well, except for...” she gestured to Pollaski.
Pollaski nodded grimly, leaning back, and sighing. “Wendy?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think your dad’s in Ireland after all.”
Wendy closed her eyes, and nodded. “I know. I was just thinking about that. Somehow he’s reunited himself with my brother. You might have been the target, but I think the message of that is intended for me.”
“Awesome. Just one tiny flaw in the plan,” Terrence countered. “You’re in an all women’s company. He can’t join, and the moment we tell Mr. Kincaid about this, he’ll have the bastard banned from every FFW show and then some. He can’t get to you... not in the ring at least.”
“But he can outside of it,” Wendy said. “And he can still go after my friends. Chris, Nick, Leo, Eileen. I don’t want any of them hurt either.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I just wish I knew what was going on. I never thought any of this was going to happen.”
Terrence reached over, and squeezed her shoulder, and Wendy smiled at him. “We’ll figure it out, hon.”
“There may be a way to do that now,” Pollaski replied, looking directly at Wendy. “Figure it out, I mean”
“What?”
Pollaski grimaced. “Do you remember that map? The one you found in the basement?”
Wendy nodded. “I do, and no, I’m not doing that. It’s best to leave the past buried.”
“Hon,” Terrence replied, grimacing. “Your dad just escaped jail, and your half-brother just nearly killed your manager. The past is getting dug up. You might as well join in the fun.”
Wendy nodded, looking away. It was a tough point to argue, and she was out of reasons to say no. And maybe, just maybe, whatever was buried in her old backyard would provide a clue as to what was going on... provided her dad didn’t get to it first.
“Okay, I’ll call the people living there, and we’ll see if they’ll let us dig it up after Chaos Theory,” Wendy said, sighing in resignation.
“I wouldn’t even wait that long,” Pollaski said, then grinned. “Digging’s hard work after all. Think of this as a training session.”
“Right,” Wendy sighed.
“Don’t look so worried, hon.” Terrence smiled, giving his wife a reassuring squeeze. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Wendy shot her husband a glare, and swallowed hard. It may have been done in jest, but those were the absolute last words she wanted to hear.
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