QUESTIONS & ANSWERS (Chapter 27: THE HANGED MAN) [wgwf]
Oct 30, 2023 1:47:09 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Oct 30, 2023 1:47:09 GMT -5
FLASHBACKManhattan ||| November 26, 2021
(off camera)
THE SUN WAS UP, the bedroom bright enough thanks to the cheap blackout curtains that didn't quite do their job to make Sev wince when he opened his eyes. He immediately rolled over to bury his head in the pillow even as his right hand reached out instinctively for the warm body he assumed would be there. The bed was cool to the touch and that pulled him closer to being truly awake than the blinding light. The last fragments of the dream he'd been having faded away, replaced with the leaden reminder of the rejection they'd both experienced the day before. He felt ragged from the impossibly long drive home that had followed, finding aches in places that were unusual as he stretched. He pulled in a slow breath through his nose, holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly as he rolled over onto his back, looking up at the ceiling rather than the empty side of the bed and the wall beyond it.
Yesterday had been Thanksgiving – it wasn't a bad dream. That catastrophic first meeting with her father, business magnate Archer Stark had actually happened. That meant that today was Black Friday and a bleak Friday as well, it seemed.
There was a black leather chair in the far corner of the room and on it sat Elle with a half-empty crystal glass of some colourless beverage sitting on the dresser beside her. She was huddled in Sev's bathrobe, the thing so oversized on her that it could have been a plush blanket. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her chin rested on them. There was no telling how long she'd been awake but he assumed it had been a while given how exhausted she looked. Her hand came up and wiped at her face; she'd done that at least twenty times now, but her tears had no plans to stop flowing. She'd lived her life the past twenty-some years suspecting that she was worthless in her father's eyes. To have cement proof of how disposable she truly was, though, had started dredging up all the worst things she'd thought she'd buried long ago.
"Elle?" Sev's voice came out soft, not wanting to startle her if she hadn't yet realised he was awake. He saw her swipe at her face absently, could see the redness around her eyes and the tip of her nose and it made his heart ache for her even as that irrational anger flooded in. A part of him wanted to tell her that she was better off, but he knew this type of grief had to run its stages. He was used to the rejection, had steeled himself against it years ago when various attempts to step into the limelight had stalled out for one reason or another.
"It's a pity they don't teach that at – what university was it you went to?" His betrothed's stepmother's voice echoed through his memory, coupled with that scornful laugh of hers. "Oh, that's right. You didn't even finish high school, did you?"
True, he'd entered the wrestling business before he was even old enough to legally vote or even drink in America, but that was no cause for those two insufferable WASPs to criticise. That barb that was meant to belittle and wound did nothing more than annoy him. It was another drop in the fathoms that had sought to drown him for years, after all. He didn't care what they thought. His only concern was his crying fiancée and the silence that felt almost like an omen. With effort, he shook off that foreboding and raised his voice a little to be heard over her soft sniffle, "did you sleep at all?"
She'd heard him address her, had heard the shift in his tone when he asked that simple question. Still, she didn't turn to look at him, her eyes downcast instead. "I wish I hadn't." Her voice cracked as she finally turned in his direction. "I uh… Jesus Christ." Her hands came up and her palms rubbed at her eyes. She wanted to tell him about her nightmare which she was starting to suspect was more long-forgotten memory than fiction. If it was, indeed, true, how had she forgotten? How in the hell could she forget? "I'm so sorry I dragged you there; we never should have gone."
"Better to have gone, I think." His voice was calm enough, even though he couldn't hide that undercurrent of anger that turned the words bitter. "I much prefer hearing the disdain with my own ears rather than imagining it." His chuckle was rough, humourless. "I do not care what they think of me, Elle. If that is your worry, put it out of your head."
Elle's hand came up as she waved the notion of caring about Archer's opinion away. "I don't care about that." She wiped away more tears as she considered what she wanted to say. "I had a nightmare but…" she fell silent for a few more moments before continuing, her voice trembling slightly. "I think it was a memory."
Sev sat up, patting the bed next to him. "Come here. Tell me about it?"
Elle hesitated for a moment before she got herself out of the chair. The words felt stuck in her throat, but she still managed to get something out. "Did I ever tell you about the night my mother died?"
"You did not. Other than to tell me it happened when you were small." There were still so many things he didn't know about her, not that any of them mattered in the grand scheme. He had already pledged himself to her fully. Nothing she could reveal now would change that.
She made her way over to the bed, sitting on the edge. The tears had stopped flowing, but it was clear more would come. "I uh…" she faltered, trying to find the right words, "...hadn't really thought about this in forever." She furrowed her brow, her eyes squinting a bit as her hand came up to rub at her temples. "We had to take the road she was on to get to his house." This was going to be hard, especially because she still couldn't tell if it was a memory or a particularly vivid nightmare.
"His? You mean…" he paused for a beat, the look on his face making it clear who he meant even though he refused to utter the man's name. When LJ simply sat there in silence, he blurted his next question, suddenly needing to know the backstory, "were they already estranged then?"
"No," she replied, shaking her head. It was somewhat difficult to recall that time as everything seemed fuzzy. "I think they were having problems. I remember some fighting and she left." The more she tried to think about that night, the more her head throbbed. "It was raining really hard. The sound of the wipers," her voice came from far away now, hollow, and she wasn't sure if she was reciting fact or fiction. "I was sleepy, the wipers and the lights making me doze – I could see them on the insides of my eyelids. She put music on to cover up the sound of her crying. God, it felt so real. She… the roads were so slick from the rain and… she lost control. Hit a tree." She had been told this story so many times over the years. The difference now was that she could recall the smell of gasoline and burnt rubber, overlaid with the coppery stench of blood.
It was a tale he'd heard before, the plot of so many terrible and tragic movies but it hit a little harder when he saw the anguish on his beloved's face. "That must have been hard. To lose her so suddenly… so violently."
━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━
ENDING YOUR TITLE REIGN IS NOTHING.
I WANT TO END YOU.
No mincing of words. No beating around the bush. I will be honest. I despise you. Humiliating you will be too easy. Not satisfying at all. I want to break you. I want the world to see you crawl, to see you BEG. I want to see you make good on that threat and get the fuck out of this business once and for all. You had your fun. The punch card is full. You've collected seven now. What a feat! You must be so proud.
Cash it in at the prize window for your novelty trinket on the way out.
This is not how I envisioned our rematch. To be fair, I never really WANTED one – I said what I needed to say the first time around. Nothing has changed, except that you have regained the crutch that is so damned important you feel it needs to enter any conversation before you do. Peter Vaughn, the journeyman who finally reached the summit. Yes, I know the story.
Everyone knows the story.
And I suppose that is my downfall here, isn't it? That I have cultivated this mystery. That I appeared seemingly out of nowhere only a mere year ago and took several companies by storm. It makes for a good tale, doesn't it? The man with all the heart, all the soul and passion who has existed in the shadows for far too long – just call me the Phantom. All I wanted was to make music, to share my artistic genius with the world.
MY SYMPHONY OF VIOLENCE HAS BEEN YEARS IN THE MAKING.
Not that I expect you to understand my motivations, not when you have made it abundantly clear that the only thing that matters to you is that scrap of leather and precious metal. I see you, Vaughn. I see the weakness. I see the fear in your eyes, the desire to hide behind your little bauble for fear that someone may look too closely and find the empty void within.
Ah, but there is no Smash this time, no master holding my chain. I was tasked with pinning you, with ensuring a victory. I was asked to practise restraint. To ensure that you could get up under your own power and fight another day for one of the half dozen companies that you collect your little paychecks from. And what did you do to repay that mercy?
YOU WANT TO QUIT?
HOW SAD.
ANTICLIMACTIC.
Of course, we both know this was an empty gesture. You still had the rematch with Montuori coming up, after all. No, this was just a child whining for attention.
PICK-ME VAUGHN.
Absolutely nothing of value was on the line and you couldn't even acknowledge that you were bested. Couldn't look me in the eye when the match was over and admit that for once in your pathetic career, someone DEVOURED every ounce of the bullshit spewed, used it for fuel and served it back in kind?
QUICK.
BEG HIM NOT TO GO.
GOODBYE, YOU FUCKING FRAUD.
YOU WORTHLESS BITCH.
Thirty years on this planet, and you are no better than a toddler who missed naptime, cranky and miserable. And now, I am your EQUAL in every way. Decorated. Celebrated. I also hold a championship – several, if we are splitting hairs. I am to be the franchise, the face of the opposing brand that will carry on MY DEAR FRIEND SMASH's legacy. A heavy mantle for shoulders strong enough, broad enough to carry. Can you say the same? Do you feel threatened by this upcoming brand split? I can't wait to hear you try to spin cowardice into gold, as if you're the modern-day Rumplestiltskin. And what a feat that would be. Not much of a stretch when you've always believed you had the Midas Touch.
Let's be honest for a moment. Do you believe you are the hero of this story, Vaughn? How deep does this rabbit hole truly go?
Is that truly what you find when you look in the mirror? Are you one of the so-called good guys now, a true role model? You are far more ALFRED than BRUCE WAYNE, though. We both know this.
Let's chat a little about Batman.
You know what always cracked me up about the so-called Dark Knight's world? The man dedicates his life to revenge because some thug gunned down his parents and somehow he's branded a hero? Ah, yes. Semantics. Revenge is acceptable, but only if you have a conditional asterisk there. If it's for a 'noble cause', for the sake of the 'greater good', then go nuts. Throw someone off a building for robbing banks. Don't bother with rehabilitation. Just chuck him into a vat of acid and then wonder why he comes back and wants you to die. Joker. Harvey Dent. Both victims of circumstance, a tale of nurture rather than nature. Pushed beyond their limits, rising up against their oppressors. They're not evil or malicious.
TALE AS OLD AS TIME.
Once upon a time, I was foolish and naive. Just happy to be here, happy to have a place to work. I never saw it as exploitation. I was included. Funny how perspective shifts when your eyes are truly opened. When you are finally embraced and celebrated for the skills you spent two decades honing.
YOU WILL SEE.
THEY WILL ALL SEE.
THE DELUSION HAS BEEN BROKEN.
SHATTERED.
SMASHED.
When I branched out on my own in 2020, I wanted to be the greatest. I wanted to be one of the names whispered in reverence, one of those who is in high demand. Funny how this has happened, even without the relentless pursuit – perhaps this is why Vaughn refuses to look me in the eye.
THE MACHINATIONS ARE APPARENT.
THE MANIPULATIONS.
THIS NARRATIVE IS FALSE.
BURN THE BOOK.
You made sure of that.
Time to lop off your head.
THIS IS YOUR DEATH RATTLE.
NOT MINE.
I've no plans to still be doing this well into my fifties like Chris Page. My family deserves better than to watch me smash myself against the rocks over and over again until there's nothing left.
I suppose this makes me a walking contradiction in your eyes. Such a mystery – an ENIGMA right to the end. Why would I chase the glory so hard? Why would I subject myself (and those I love) to this madness? What the hell has been the point of the last two years, then? To collect trinkets? To shadow the likes of the Peter Vaughns of the world?
NO FOOTPRINTS ON THE MOON.
MY LEGACY IS IN BLOOD SPILLED.
IN BODIES BROKEN.
IN EGOS SHATTERED.
This endless push and pull has given me purpose. You bring out the best (worst) in me – makes me feel ALIVE. And much as you fail to acknowledge what I've done, my presence here for the last two years has made this business a better place. A place where frauds like YOU are exposed and punished for their many transgressions. Your continued existence is an abomination, Vaughn. A blight on this business. Do you understand that?
AN ERROR SOON CORRECTED.
I will get you to admit that I am better than you, even if I have to re-animate your DEAD body to force those words out. Frankenstein made a monster. So did people like you.
DO YOU SEE NOW?
DO. YOU. FUCKING. SEE?
No. Never. You are afraid to face the truth. Blind. Deaf. Dumb. Rooted in your delusions of grandeur. Anyone can beat JMont. Believe me. I did it almost a year ago, before hitting my stride. Time flies when you're having FUN.
SO MUCH BLOOD.
THE VIOLENCE WAS SUBLIME.
MY LEGACY WAS FIRMLY ROOTED WITHOUT A SINGLE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP, LET ALONE SIX SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS.
FUNNY HOW THAT GOES, ISN'T IT?
There is weakness beyond that gilded layer of success. Open your eyes. Truly look. You lean on crutches. You bolster yourself with fallacies. Throw them away. Try and stand on your own, Vaughn. For once in your life, actually TRY.
I AM THE MATCH.
I AM THE FUEL.
ONCE STRUCK, ALL WILL BURN.
Vaughn is afraid of breaking, of being real. He fears the truth. He exists in a fantasy world where he is unstoppable. Untouchable. A king on his throne of lies, looking down on the rest of the industry. The air is thin up there, isn't it? Tell yourself that you know me now, that you have this in the bag. Deny my continued evolution while you keep repeating the same futile actions over and over again.
DENY MY DOMINION.
THE WAY I SMASHED THE OPPOSITION.
Denial's great to hold close, letting it whisper sweet nothings in your ears
but you cannot drown
out the ghost band that way. They're already playing. Do you hear them?
Close your eyes. Open your arms to the MAELSTROM. Embrace it. Accept the truth: we're all either dead or dying. Dead or trying.
"I'M DROWNING," was the first irrational thought when Elle suddenly woke up, her chest seized with panic. She didn't feel like she could breathe and her hand pressed hard against her chest as she struggled to get a couple breaths in. Everything felt fuzzy. Even though the whole thing lasted a few seconds, it felt like an eternity to the young woman. Upon finally being able to calm her breathing, her hand came up and smoothed back her sweat-filled hair, a few strands sticking to her cheek. The nightmare she'd awoken from wasn't a surprise to her when she really thought about it. It had been coming for a while, and every time it lasted a little longer. She seemed to remember just a little bit more of what had really happened that Thanksgiving so many years before. How had she forgotten? How could she have forgotten?
"Momma," the word came out in a cracked whisper as more tears began to freefall onto their bedsheets. "I'm so sorry, Momma." Unable to stop herself, agonising sobs began to overtake her body as painful spasms started to settle in. This had happened in the past, especially when she'd dealt with a traumatic event. Even though her mother had died when she was a small child, actually remembering the death made it feel as if she was going through it all over again. If she had been in a better state of mind, she would have taken into account that her husband slept next to her and left the room. She couldn't, even trying to move a limb hurt so much and she couldn't see past the memories that played on a loop in her head.
He heard those wracking sobs first, drifting in that odd place between asleep and awake – his dreams had been just as visceral as hers, although they all centred around the various ways he was going to tear Peter Vaughn apart. As his fragmented fantasies faded, Sev realised those sobs weren't the pathetic fans and sycophants who hung on Vaughn's every word, but were instead coming from beside him and his eyes snapped open. Adrenaline exploded through his bloodstream and he immediately sat up, despite the twinge in his back at the sudden movement. He could see his wife, huddled near the wall, arms wrapped around herself. The bed shifted as he scrambled, springs twanging in protest as he descended on her, wrapping his arms around her trembling body. This wasn't the first time she'd had a panic attack but it had been a long time since she'd had one this severe in his presence.
"Shhh," he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple, "I'm here. You're safe."
"How could I forget!?" She gasped as she moved her arms to wrap around his. "I was there, Sev. I was in the goddamn car." Her breathing was heavy, but at least it was getting easier.
Still groggy, the pieces didn't connect at first. "What car?"
"My mom's…" The sobs continued, but were starting to soften. "The car, Sev. I was in the car."
He didn't even think to question, her vehemence carried more weight than the tears and the way she still trembled in his arms. Immediately, he thought of what Archer had done to her when he'd held her captive back in June – it already felt like a lifetime ago rather than mere months. The bastard had tried to deprogram her, to force her to forsake him and their newborn daughter. The thought that her father might have done something like that before, when she was a mere child no less, was sickening to consider. He felt a familiar rush of anger; that heat on his skin signalling the stirring of the monster in his head as his blood began to boil.
"What else do you recall?" He kept his voice soft, calm and gentle even though a muscle jumped in his jaw when he gritted his teeth against the rage that bubbled up from the depths. "More than rain and streetlights, I presume?"
Elle nodded, trying to get more words out but they were stuck in her throat. Instead, she just clung tighter to Sev. Before she could tell him, she had to process it herself. As if he understood her needs, he simply held her tight while that emotional maelstrom washed over her. Inside the circle of those strong arms, she felt protected. She felt safe and loved, cherished in a way she never had before this absolutely perfect man had come into her life.
He knew later, when the storm had passed and she was able to rest again, that he would slip away. There would be no more rest for him tonight. Not now. Not when the MONSTER was awake, slithering through his mind. He knew he would go down to the shop, pull up those loose boards and take a piss where those scattered ashes had been buried.
The bastard deserved that.
Maybe he'd do the same with Vaughn's precious championship after bringing an end to that all-important seventh reign. The damned thing couldn't be any more worthless, after all.
"Thank you," his wife's whisper pulled him back from the precipice, the abyss receding just a little, "for being here. For loving me. For never making me feel broken–"
He chuckled bitterly, the words spilling out unchecked. "If you are broken, what am I?" It was rhetorical; he didn't expect an answer. He didn't expect her heartfelt words to completely eviscerate him in the best (and worst) ways simultaneously.
"The strongest person I know."
IT'S YOUR DIRGE.
MY GREATEST MASTERPIECE, COMPOSED JUST FOR YOU.
Close your eyes. Open your arms to the MAELSTROM. Embrace it. Accept the truth: we're all either dead or dying. Dead or trying.
THE ABYSS WELCOMES YOU.
GOODBYE, VAUGHN.
━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━
THE PRESENT
THE PRESENT
Rock Hill, NY ||| October 19, 2023
(off camera)
(off camera)
"I'M DROWNING," was the first irrational thought when Elle suddenly woke up, her chest seized with panic. She didn't feel like she could breathe and her hand pressed hard against her chest as she struggled to get a couple breaths in. Everything felt fuzzy. Even though the whole thing lasted a few seconds, it felt like an eternity to the young woman. Upon finally being able to calm her breathing, her hand came up and smoothed back her sweat-filled hair, a few strands sticking to her cheek. The nightmare she'd awoken from wasn't a surprise to her when she really thought about it. It had been coming for a while, and every time it lasted a little longer. She seemed to remember just a little bit more of what had really happened that Thanksgiving so many years before. How had she forgotten? How could she have forgotten?
"Momma," the word came out in a cracked whisper as more tears began to freefall onto their bedsheets. "I'm so sorry, Momma." Unable to stop herself, agonising sobs began to overtake her body as painful spasms started to settle in. This had happened in the past, especially when she'd dealt with a traumatic event. Even though her mother had died when she was a small child, actually remembering the death made it feel as if she was going through it all over again. If she had been in a better state of mind, she would have taken into account that her husband slept next to her and left the room. She couldn't, even trying to move a limb hurt so much and she couldn't see past the memories that played on a loop in her head.
He heard those wracking sobs first, drifting in that odd place between asleep and awake – his dreams had been just as visceral as hers, although they all centred around the various ways he was going to tear Peter Vaughn apart. As his fragmented fantasies faded, Sev realised those sobs weren't the pathetic fans and sycophants who hung on Vaughn's every word, but were instead coming from beside him and his eyes snapped open. Adrenaline exploded through his bloodstream and he immediately sat up, despite the twinge in his back at the sudden movement. He could see his wife, huddled near the wall, arms wrapped around herself. The bed shifted as he scrambled, springs twanging in protest as he descended on her, wrapping his arms around her trembling body. This wasn't the first time she'd had a panic attack but it had been a long time since she'd had one this severe in his presence.
"Shhh," he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple, "I'm here. You're safe."
"How could I forget!?" She gasped as she moved her arms to wrap around his. "I was there, Sev. I was in the goddamn car." Her breathing was heavy, but at least it was getting easier.
Still groggy, the pieces didn't connect at first. "What car?"
"My mom's…" The sobs continued, but were starting to soften. "The car, Sev. I was in the car."
He didn't even think to question, her vehemence carried more weight than the tears and the way she still trembled in his arms. Immediately, he thought of what Archer had done to her when he'd held her captive back in June – it already felt like a lifetime ago rather than mere months. The bastard had tried to deprogram her, to force her to forsake him and their newborn daughter. The thought that her father might have done something like that before, when she was a mere child no less, was sickening to consider. He felt a familiar rush of anger; that heat on his skin signalling the stirring of the monster in his head as his blood began to boil.
"What else do you recall?" He kept his voice soft, calm and gentle even though a muscle jumped in his jaw when he gritted his teeth against the rage that bubbled up from the depths. "More than rain and streetlights, I presume?"
Elle nodded, trying to get more words out but they were stuck in her throat. Instead, she just clung tighter to Sev. Before she could tell him, she had to process it herself. As if he understood her needs, he simply held her tight while that emotional maelstrom washed over her. Inside the circle of those strong arms, she felt protected. She felt safe and loved, cherished in a way she never had before this absolutely perfect man had come into her life.
He knew later, when the storm had passed and she was able to rest again, that he would slip away. There would be no more rest for him tonight. Not now. Not when the MONSTER was awake, slithering through his mind. He knew he would go down to the shop, pull up those loose boards and take a piss where those scattered ashes had been buried.
The bastard deserved that.
Maybe he'd do the same with Vaughn's precious championship after bringing an end to that all-important seventh reign. The damned thing couldn't be any more worthless, after all.
"Thank you," his wife's whisper pulled him back from the precipice, the abyss receding just a little, "for being here. For loving me. For never making me feel broken–"
He chuckled bitterly, the words spilling out unchecked. "If you are broken, what am I?" It was rhetorical; he didn't expect an answer. He didn't expect her heartfelt words to completely eviscerate him in the best (and worst) ways simultaneously.
"The strongest person I know."
