**LWF Bombshell at the Spectrum—Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (October 14, 2001)**
“We all know what
happened last week on Bombshell,” a younger-looking Phoenix states as faces the camera in a
blackened room. “Purely by accident, I
was sent crashing into the manager of one of my opponents during the course of the
tag team championship match. Since then,
my well-meant phone calls and get-well flowers/cards have not been received by
the intended recipient, as her client seems to think the incident was entirely
my fault. To a point, I agree…however,
he is the one who reversed the Irish Whip to send me into the ropes. While I cannot put the blame on my opponent,
I know that I am at least partially at fault for what happened.
“With that said,
Brandy…I apologize for what happened last week.
It was an honest accident, and nothing else I can say will change that
fact. However…I also hope that you take
a look around you, where there are no flowers or get-well cards from your
client. Perhaps then, you’ll come to
realize that I only have your well-being in mind.”
**After NLW Uprising, Minneapolis (February 10, 2008)**
It was a minor miracle that he managed to wrestle a complete
match tonight, as far away as his mind was during the bout. While his body and his fighting instincts
were here in Minneapolis,
his mind was instead lost in the sands of time.
However, that was neither here nor there now, as he prepared to leave
the Arena for his return flight back to Baltimore.
He had no sooner left his locker room when he was
intercepted by NLW announcer Caelan Tyler.
“Hey, Will…just heard from Jack Sullivan. You’ve finally got The Ice Man in two
weeks. Any response?”
A slight pause preceded his answer. “Not yet, Mr. Tyler. I shall let you know when I have something to
say.”
“That’s it? I
mean…come on, he did
cost you the Anarchy X championship.”
“Mr. Tyler…I have just been victorious. Please allow me the luxury of a few hours to
let it sink in. In due time, I will
indeed have something to say about my next opponent.”
This left Caelan speechless for a few moments, allowing Phoenix to exit the arena
and get inside his rental vehicle. His non-stop
flight back to Baltimore
left at 1:00 a.m. local time, which meant he had enough time to get to his
hotel room, grab his meager possessions, and get to the airport in plenty of
time to go through security.
The flight home was uneventful, and for the first time in
the last week or so, he was able to think about a subject other than Brandy.
So…finally, the
chance for revenge has come. Four weeks
after he cost me the Anarchy X title, I get to face The Ice Man in a
straight-up, one-on-one match. None of
this “no holds barred” crap, no weapons…just him, me, and whatever skills we
have.
He states that he
should be the top contender because he never lost the belt. That will not mean a damned thing should I
beat him in two weeks—the argument could be made that I should become the new
#1 Contender. For that matter, he said
he wanted the best man to win the belt so he could take it from them…but I
think in reality he was scared to face an unknown opponent such as myself, with
a championship on the line. I’m fairly
certain, given his actions, that he will refuse to harbor ANY thoughts about
putting his contractual title shot at risk—he seems to be too much of a vile,
lily-livered scoundrel to do something that is the least bit honorable.
But that is neither
here nor there at the moment. Right now
it’s focusing on his style of wrestling, and figuring out the best method to
counter that. From there, the rest shall
follow.
His thoughts were interrupted by the pilot speaking over the
intercom, announcing their arrival at BWI-Thurgood Marshall Airport. Bringing his awareness back to the present,
he gathered his bags and soon exited the plane, noting that there was still
about an hour before sunrise.
Approaching his truck, he found it to be undisturbed and quickly entered
it, the chill of the 15-degree Fahrenheit weather seeping into his bones as he
began to drive away.
State route 195 soon intersected Interstate 95, the main
pipeline of the East Coast as he turned his truck to the north, passing through
downtown Baltimore a good two hours before the
inevitable traffic jams would occur around the Beltway and the two tunnels
(Harbor and Fort McHenry). Twenty minutes later, he was off the
interstate highway, heading for his “Fortress of Solitude” that he called the
End of Nowhere.
As the first rays of daylight began to peek over the eastern
horizon, Phoenix
found himself back where he felt he belonged for right now--among the barren
desolation that helped him focus in times of trouble. Without much preamble, he parked his truck in
the secluded area he always did, hiked the quarter of a mile to his cabin, and
laid down in a corner of the room, his head resting on the old, rolled-up coat
he used as a pillow. Paying no heed to
the cold weather here, he was asleep within seconds.
\___(^)___/
Two hours later, as he was asleep, a small figure could be
seen crossing the End of Nowhere and making a beeline for the cabin where he
slept. Despite the distance and the layers
of clothing, any onlooker could tell that this figure was a female, and seemed
to know her way around the property as she homed in on the small cabin he
always used when he was here. Tucked
under her left arm was a rolled-up blanket, and in the right coat pocket was a
white envelope.
Peeking in through one of the windows, she saw him lying on
the earthen floor, curled up in a ball for warmth as he fitfully slept off the
jet lag. For a fleeting instant, a pang
of sadness caused her to pause before she shook her head and carefully made her
way to the door, opening it only enough to allow her entry before gently
closing it behind her. Without wasting
time, she unfurled the blanket, covering his prone form in its’ warmth. She smiled as he unconsciously uncurled
himself before turning back to the door and exiting as quietly as she
entered. Pulling the envelope out of her
pocket, she made certain that she had written his name—his true name, not the
one he carried into the ring—on it before taping it to the front door of the
cabin. Ten minutes later, she was out of
the End of Nowhere, the first steps having been completed.
\___(^)___/
It’s
certainly gotten warmer> was his first coherent thought as his
mind swam out of the slumber-induced fog.
Then, opening his eyes, he saw the blanket covering him and quickly got
to his feet, his weary mind trying to process what was clearly in the same
room. Apparently, he wasn’t as isolated
as he originally thought, and this blanket was the proof. A few heartbeats later, he finally recognized
the blanket itself. That’s the one we had picked out for our
bedroom, after the wed--no. This HAS to
be a coincidence! With
chills going down his spine that were not influenced by the cold winter weather,
he opened his front door to look around and saw the envelope taped there. Written on it, in a feminine script he would
recognize anywhere, were two words:
“Will Prydor.” Now suspecting the
worst, he carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the lone sheet of paper
inside.
February 9,
‘08
Will:
I know it’s been over
a year since we last talked face-to-face, and I understand if you don’t feel
the need to do so again. However, there
is something that I need to tell you…something major. My number hasn’t changed; you can still
contact me that way.
Because of your
impending match with that guy who cost you a title, I’m not going to insist on
a conversation this early. I can wait
until after your next match on the 24th before we get together for
our talk. If you want to do it before
then, that’s on you.
I may call before
then, just to try to set up a time so I can get this off my chest. You know I wouldn’t try to see/talk to you
unless it was important. Just please
keep that in mind while you’re deciding.
--Brandy
Upon reading those words, he felt a coldness permeate his
very soul…and felt his tenuous grip on his psyche begin to slip even
further. In his mind, he knew this was
the worst thing that he could do, but like a moth to the flame, he felt the
attraction to something that could burn him alive. Deep inside, the feelings remained, but the
question was: would he allow it to
happen, and risk his sanity should the past repeat itself?
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