QUESTIONS & ANSWERS (Chapter 19: MINE) [iiw]
Jun 16, 2023 23:20:17 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Jun 16, 2023 23:20:17 GMT -5
Rock Hill, NY ||| June 2, 2023
(off camera)
(off camera)
The house was eerily silent for the first time in what felt like months, the only sound the whisper of the wind through the trees – they had the windows open, letting the cooler air in and the house smelled clean and fresh. Sev and LJ were lounging on the couch, both a bit too exhausted to move. Now that things had settled and they'd found a sort of routine, it was finally time to process everything that had happened over the last couple months.
Their daughter had been here for 20 days, home for a little over two weeks and it had been a surreal experience. LJ was leaning against Sev, a sleepy and tightly swaddled Lenore cradled in her arms. As far as newborns went, their little mouse slept fairly well. "I think she's out for the night." A soft smile crossed the redhead's face as she looked up at her husband. "I suppose I'm going to have to let her sleep in her crib eventually, huh?"
When LJ had looked at her daughter for the first time, she'd immediately known that she would do anything to make sure Lenore was safe. Her father's face had flashed before her eyes and she'd been low-key anxious that Archer was going to show up when they were still in the hospital. She'd had trouble sleeping ever since, not just because they were adjusting to the new schedule with the newborn but because she was jumping at every shadow. Because of that, LJ had had a hard time with the baby sleeping away from her – she knew that Sev felt the same, rarely letting either of them out of his sight.
His smile was gentle as he nodded, "I spent all that time building the damnable thing. I do hope she will use it eventually." He chuckled, feeling the emotions welling up as he looked at the sleeping angel in her mother's arms. "She is so perfect. We are the luckiest ones."
Everything felt so good – his career was taking off in amazing ways. He had beaten three worthy competitors to capture a championship in a company with a long-standing legacy and a good reputation. He'd been recruited into Mecca, to stand tall alongside JMont and Mac Bane. For once, he felt as though he was getting the right things back from the business that he'd given so much of himself to over the years.
Careful what you wish for…
That poisonous voice whispered in his ears, hooks digging in deep even as he tried to dismiss those irrational fears. "We are safe here," he murmured, the words meant more as a mantra for himself than to assuage her fears.
"I know." LJ could feel tears welling in her eyes as she leaned in and kissed Sev's cheek, followed by an exhale. "I just hate the thought of her being out of my sight."
"Preaching to the choir," he replied, pleased with himself for getting that saying right, "but we have the monitor," he reminded her, "and all the other cameras and alarms. No Goblin Kings or faeries or psychopaths will get in without us knowing." The place was outfitted like Fort Knox now, every window and door reinforced, every inch of their property under constant surveillance. If that bastard was going to lay siege on them again, it wouldn't be a surprise.
"Archer will find a way." The way she said it made his heart ache, the certainty that everything they had would be snatched away in an instant mirroring his greatest unspoken fear. Her voice came out small, hopeless, "he always finds a way." She had little doubt that her father was planning to strike, it was just a matter of when – they should be tiptoeing through that minefield and she felt like every success was more like a herd of elephants stampeding through it without a care in the world. It was going to go up in smoke. Their lives were going to be blown apart–
"He will leave us alone." He said, as though he knew exactly where her mind was at. "If he knows what's good for him, he will stay far away." The look on Sev's face was downright frightening, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. "I will not allow another intrusion. Not here. You know how the saying goes… like that song: I will not be fooled again."
Even though she knew that Sev would never let anything happen to them, she still couldn't shake the certainty that the boogeyman was coming. All of the good things that had happened recently, the quiet and the calm and the way IIW had embraced her husband, all of that joy was too much – she had never been allowed to be this happy in her entire life. Archer was coming. She just wished that she could impress on her husband how vigilant they needed to be. She wished that he wasn't holding a championship and working for a company that required him to leave the country every couple weeks.
Sev's thoughts were following the patterns, doing the math: they'd had six months of peace, one hundred and seventy one days. He knew she had been marking them off daily on a small calendar she kept in her drawer. He wasn't sure she knew he had seen it, wasn't really sure he understood its purpose. Was it a countdown?
"He needs to die."
She'd thought that statement so many times but had actually never said the words. After they were out, though, she didn't call them back. She sat with the truth, knowing that it would need to happen and sickened with the certainty that she wouldn't be able to pull the trigger if and when it came down to it. She was weak – he'd made sure of that.
For a long time, Sev sat beside her in silence. He was wrestling with that certainty, knowing that he could do it but not wanting her to have to witness that dangerous side of him. Twenty years had passed since the last time he had drawn blood outside of a wrestling ring, outside of a combat sport. He remembered it now, in fragments. The flash of a knife in moonlight. The scrape of broken glass on exposed skin. Blood on snow, glittering like diamonds and rubies.
She can never know. That secret goes to the grave. She'll never look at you the same again. And why would she? How could she love a monster?
LJ held her daughter, holding her breath and biting her lip to keep from sobbing or screaming until her anxiety was shrieking to say something, anything to undo the damage done. When he finally broke the silence, she was so dangerously close to tears, that the rough whisper of his was almost lost under the pounding of her pulse in her ears and her own laboured breaths.
"I know."
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[•REC]
There's a tinny sound like music coming from distant earphones followed by a raspy chuckle. There's a soothing sound, too, like waves on a beach. After a moment, that's exactly what we're seeing. Gentle waves, lapping against the shore, a beach that looks stark white under the full moon.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: I know I should be pleased as punch. All the things I predicted came true. There are three championships held within the Mecca – soon to be five when our team sweeps that tournament. I should be proud of my record in the company. One single loss to the venerable Mac Bane. This is nothing to scoff at. I should be overjoyed to be headed back to Japan, my favourite place to wrestle. Instead, it is shallow's low in my head. Welcome back, old friend. Haven't seen you in a while. Thought you were gone for good so maybe this is a relapse? It creeps in. Stealthy. Insidious. It drips poison in your ear. It erodes the joy.
The view is still focused on the water.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: Does anyone else feel the tides, feel the ebb and flow watching those waves roll in? Bury those metaphorical toes in the sand and feel the foundation give way, feel yourself sinking deeper with each return. It is funny that American cartoons made me think that quicksand was a danger. I distinctly remember seeing a hero up to his neck, gulping that last breath of air before that tricky, hungry ground pulled them under. Funny thing, isn't it, that I am in my forties now and I have never seen it. I have seen my fair share of holes, sucking mud that claims your shoes... never that shifting, sinking sand – the irrational fear, though, it lingers. And I understand now, why that image occurs so much in the media. It is an easy illustration, a primal fear. The loss of control. A hole, there's a definition – it is a tangible thing – finite with sides and measurable dimensions. Escape route you can see. Sand is slippery. Fills in too quickly, keen to bury. I am sure you have tried to dig a hole in the sand like this…
He moves into frame, that hulking figure unmistakable even with his back to the lens –those tattoos on his arms stand out under the moonlight, looking like snakes writhing over his skin. Slowly, he crouches and scoops up a handful of dry sand, letting it run through his fingers.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: Sand is such a slave to gravity that it just wants to obey the rules. So dastardly in that singular intent and then it's in your lungs, swallowing you whole so quickly you cannot even scream.
The words are ominous.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: I know what this feels like. To be buried alive.
He inches closer to where the waves are breaking, plunging his fingers into the sand. Slowly, he starts scooping it out, making an indentation that grows larger and larger. Every time waves break, they get a little closer.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: You scratch. You claw. You can feel the time running out, the breath of the devil himself warm on your neck. The walls, though, are soft. There is nothing to hold. And you can hear it now… the waves. They are not comforting. You know that the end is near and you will go out in such an ugly way – gasping for air. Eyes bugging, blood vessels bursting.
He steps back, surveying his handiwork. The hole is deep, appearing bottomless thanks to the shadows. This time when the waves roll in, they wash over the side and part of the hole gives way, caving in. He begins to chuckle, soft at first before it grows in volume, sinister.
E̷N̷I̷G̷M̷A̷: You are unworthy. All of you. The dance of the damned has already begun. It doesn't matter who the next victim is. They will be buried. They will DROWN. The bodies will pile up in the wake of the MONSTER MACHINE. Do you see now? DO. YOU. SEE?
He turns quickly, lunging for the camera. It tilts but not before showing the blood drooling from that snarling maw, cascading over his chin and staining his chest. The sound of panicked screams and running can be heard before the video cuts to black. The sound of his sinister laughter echoes for a moment longer before that, too, is silenced.
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Rock Hill, NY ||| June 3, 2023
(off camera)
(off camera)
"Where is it?" Sam Mitchell stood there, the only one who had ever been brave enough to go toe-to-toe with him from day one. "Don't lie to me. I know what you told them," she meant Atticus and LJ, of course. He could infer that well enough from her tone. "So where is it?"
Sev sighed, pulling open the screen door, "I am going to show Sam the renovations I have done to the gym," he called out, a smile on his face as he saw his wife and Sam's husband Jude cooing over their respective daughters. "Be back in a few."
She waved him off and he let the door close, turning to head down the steps.
"Come on, then."
Sam nodded without a response as she followed Sev around the side of the treehouse and through the exterior door, down into his home gym. Her arms were wrapped around her body. She'd been down to the gym numerous times but this was the first time she felt a knot of trepidation in the middle of her chest.
The basement light was flipped on as Sam stepped off the last step, illuminating the space. One wall held mirrors while the other four were painted in a darker shade of charcoal gray than the plush carpet – it should have felt welcoming, especially with the shiny new machinery. Instead it was almost claustrophobic and she shivered. "It feels wrong down here." "No windows," he replied, crossing the space between the machines. "No natural light. It is my Fortress of Solitude." He chuckled, revealing a little more of himself in calling it that. He knew he could trust her implicitly, with anything he said or showed her. "Did I tell you that it was a bunker – a panic room, I think they are called here? Was not on the blueprints or the tour when we bought the home. I found the entrance quite accidentally."
Sam nodded as she listened to what Sev told her. An exhale escaped her lips as she turned and faced the man she considered her brother. "Where's the thing?" She had a difficult time saying the object by name.
He nodded, turning away and heading over to a slender door. Pulling it open, he knelt in the doorway and pulled out a sun faded and dust-caked Rubbermaid tote. There was a peeling label on the side that said CHRISTMAS THINGS and for a moment she wondered if the box had come with the house or Sev had spent time weathering it to look decades old. He popped off the lid and lifted out a massive tangle of twinkle lights, setting it aside. Something wrapped in tissue paper followed and he rested it on his lap, glancing back at her before unravelling it slowly.
Both heavy iron candlesticks were revealed and he ran his hands over them before holding the damaged one out to her.
"It has been scrubbed more than once. And then restored as best I could. There are no traces of anything on it." He sighed, "I know this is foolish, to keep such a thing around. But I do not believe it is cursed — I think the power it holds only exists in her nightmares now."
Sam took a few steps closer and her hand came out as if she was going to touch it, but stopped herself. "Even if that power is just in her nightmares, it's still here." She didn't believe that the negative energy existed only in LJ's nightmares; Sam could feel the sickening waves radiating off the cold metal. "It's been here for months – that negative cloud hanging over you both. You need to get them out of the house."
"And risk having them taken? At least here, I will know if they have been tampered with. There will be a record." He didn't tell her that he'd initially been keeping them in the shop building but had moved them when a window had been broken. He'd found a dead bird on the floor and all signs pointed to that being the culprit but he didn't trust it all the same. "She thinks that I destroyed them," the way he said it made it clear he wasn't happy about the lie, "the first time I have been dishonest with her."
Reaching out, Sam put a hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze, wanting to give her best friend some reassurance that everything would be okay. Thinking for a moment as she eyed the candlesticks, a thought came to her. "Let's go pick up dinner and on the way we can make them disappear."
Feeling that solid weight in his hand now, it seemed darker, as if the lights had somehow grown dimmer. Maybe she was right. It was time to purge the last of the toxic past from their lives for good.
Throw them off a bridge. Two bridges. Scatter them.
"Yes," he finally broke the silence, "let's do this."
Setting the candlesticks aside, he tossed the rumpled tissue paper and the lights back into the box and tucked it back where it came from. Walking over to the weight bench, he picked up a towel that had been left there to dry and wrapped the heavy iron inside, letting out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding the moment they were out of sight.
He just hoped this decision didn't come back to bite him in the ass later.
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Kenny. Kenny. Kenny. You miserable little worm, you disgust me. I went out of my way to shine a light on you, to speak at length about your accomplishments and your plight and you repaid me in crickets and tumbleweeds. You repaid me in sloppy wrestling and excuses. You are not worthy to share the ring with me, yet somehow you have been GIFTED another chance at MY Legacy Championship? And they say NEPOTISM has no place in this business. I would question how many back room deals had to happen for your name to be pencilled in across from mine, but one warm body is as good as the next. An object lesson will play out next Mayhem and I hope that your insurance is paid up.
I hope you realise that this company sees you as a joke: a poor man's Punchinello, the sad little buffoon who doesn't know he will never be more than the butt of every joke. I am going to break you, Kenny. I am going to enjoy every last second of it and when I am done painting the ring with your blood, I will force you to get up. We will do it again. And again. Until there is nothing left for even your dear father to identify.
You are trash. Unworthy of the time already wasted on you. I will exact my payment for that. A pound of flesh. Several pints of blood.
ALL OF YOUR DIGNITY.
Go back and replay those moments at Worlds Collide over again. Watch how easily I avoided your attempt at a killing blow – you are insignificant. None will remember you as anything more than a footnote, your name listed there as the warm body that was pinned not ONCE but TWICE by THE MONSTER MACHINE. Take that in. Process it. Live with it and start the mutilation now. Swallow the bitter pill and let the poison do its work so the pain will be less later.
Learn to fear me willfully, before I have to beat it into you. It will be easier that way. I promise.
This is MY LEGACY.
MY MASTERPIECE.
You are nothing now but grease for the gears of the MONSTER MACHINE. Can you hear them, Kenny? The band is tuned up. They're playing your song, that glorious funeral dirge to escort you one last time to the ring. Lucky you. Destiny awaits!
Welcome to the dance of the damned. You have been marked, Kenny. Destined to fail. Chosen to be my first victim. Do you know what it is like to be stalked, and ripped apart by a predator? You are Daniel in the lion's den, to borrow a Biblical metaphor, except you have no magical blanket of faith to bring you out alive. You have no guardian angel. No skill. No hope.
You will beg for mercy and it will fall on deaf ears. You squandered my patience. You wasted my time. Now?
Only DESTRUCTION awaits.
━E
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Queens, NY ||| June 6, 2023
(off camera)
(off camera)
As much as he hated working away from home, Sev was starting to settle into a routine for those long transatlantic flights. Another Mayhem was in the books and he'd put in an appearance to support The Mecca and possibly scout his next challenger, only to be met with MORE disappointment. He'd vented and then promptly switched his phone off to take a nap – clearly that had been a mistake. He caught sight of a familiar face loitering near the baggage claim and headed in that direction even though he hadn't checked any luggage. Sam Mitchell was leaning against a post, eyes fastened on her phone as though it held all the secrets of the universe. He could tell, even without seeing her face from this distance, that something was wrong. She looked as though a stiff breeze would blow her over. He thought about pulling out his phone, going through the motions to power it on but that would take as much time as actually walking over to her. If she was anxiously waiting for him to reply, he may as well just cut to the chase–
"Hey," he said quietly enough but she almost jumped out of her skin as though he'd deliberately shouted BOO, her eyes wide as saucers and red-rimmed when they locked on him.
"Hi," Sam said, the tension she felt heard in her tone. Quickly, she gave him a hug before pulling back to look him in the eye. "We gotta go, Sev." She was over at the baggage carousel in a moment, scanning the bags for that battered pink suitcase of his. She glanced over her shoulder, fervently whispering, "something's happened."
He followed, chuckling, the gravity of the situation sailing over his head. "You won't find anything there," he jostled the backpack he wore. "Nothing but a change of clothes, some toiletries and the belt – I packed light this time. Knew I was not going to be called upon to compete so I left the gear–"
He broke off when she turned abruptly and moved back over to him. Something in her eyes told him this was more than a fight with her husband which was where his mind had originally gone. The way she looked at him, half panic and half pity, he felt the bottom drop out like one of those terrible carnival rides. "No." The word slipped out before he could check it, accompanied by that violent head shake. He was sick of having bad news dropped at his feet when he was jetlagged like this. Twice now in the last two months, he'd seen that same look in the eyes of two people he trusted.
"We'll talk in the car." A tear escaped Sam's eye as she swallowed hard. Grabbing his hand, she led him out of the airport in the direction of where she'd parked. "Jude's with the girls at my old house." She was hesitant to say his wife's name because she knew she'd break down into tears.
That omission told him more than he wanted and he was numb by the time they made it to the car. He let the backpack slide down his shoulder, catching it easily enough in his hand without thinking as he slid into the passenger seat, maintaining that strained silence as long as he could, until both doors were shut. That bag rested in his lap, the championship inside feeling like a thousand pounds of leaden regret. "Tell me," the words were barely audible, a strained growl past clenched teeth.
Biting down on her lower lip, Sam wrapped her hands around the steering wheel, squeezing it. "I had this whole day set up for us. Pampering and shopping. We got our hair and nails done…" he could see that she'd ruined that manicure now. The nails were ragged, bitten to the quick.
Sev said nothing, couldn't bring himself to form words past the anger that was making his head throb.
"We had an Uber drop us off. I don't think we were followed, Sev. I mean, I wasn't watching the whole time but we were out for hours and I've been there before. You have to be buzzed in. There's..."
He made a sound that was halfway between a grunt and a strangled sob, shaking his head. "I do not care about that. What happened? Tell me exactly."
"It was the only time she was out of my sight. On the other side of a divider. We were getting a massage and I drifted off. When I woke up, Elle was gone." The tears came now, spilling silently down her cheeks. Sam leaned forward, resting her forehead on the wheel.
He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that this wasn't her fault but the words wouldn't come. That snake had laid in wait for months, waiting until he was out of the country and their defenses were down. He let the heavy backpack slide from his lap, thumping loudly to the floor thanks to the belt within. He didn't even think about it as he fumbled his phone from his pocket with a shaking hand. It took an eternity to power on, for everything to load and by that time his chest ached from the breath he was holding. Seventeen missed calls. Dozens of unread messages, all from the woman sitting next to him.
One stood out from the bunch. One message from an unknown number that his phone had marked as potential spam. Heart in his throat, he tapped it with his thumb, expanding it.
It was a photo, one that would be pretty innocuous to anyone else but it was a man's hand, perfectly manicured without a trace of any lines or calluses – a hand that had never seen a day of hard work in its life. Nestled in the palm were a diamond ring and a matching wedding band. It looked like it was professionally taken, a beautiful contrast of light and shadows but he didn't care about the effort it had clearly taken. He recognised those rings, had last seen them on his wife's hand when he'd kissed her goodbye at the airport drop off. "больной ублюдок."
"What?" Sam looked up, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of the sweater she had on.
"He has her. The sick son-of-a-bitch..." he let the phone fall from his hand, watched it slide into the console between them and land on the emergency brake face-up with the screen still lit. He heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath when she saw that taunting photo. No proof of life. No demands. Just those rings that his wife never removed because they meant the world to her. He wanted to rant and rage. He wanted to pound on the dashboard in front of him until it was unrecognisable and every bone in his hands were smashed to smithereens. Instead he closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Pushed it all deep down inside.
"We'll get her back," Sam said, and her hand on his arm felt like ice. "Whatever it takes. Jude and I have your back."
He echoed the thing his wife had said to him only days ago – it felt like a lifetime ago now. His tone was cold, uttered with a ferocity she had never heard before. "He needs to die." The other part went unspoken, the promise he made to himself.
I will kill him. The motherfucker will pay for touching what is MINE.
