St.
Charles General Hospital
(New Orleans, Louisiana)
March 28, 2008, 6:49 p.m.
A low buzzing noise in the back of his mind was the first
thing that greeted him as he floated towards consciousness once more. Slowly his senses began to congeal, to
attempt to tell his poor, befuddled mind what was around him.
Everything was dark; he could see nothing around him. His hearing consisted of mainly that low
buzzing, now manifested as an aural stimulus instead of a neural one. He was laying on something soft, although he
could not turn his head for some reason.
His ribs were battered and sore, as if something had been run into them.
Flash of white in the
moonlit night
A devil bearing down,
eyes aflame
Impact made, heard,
felt
Spinning in the air,
ungraceful landing...
These are scattered thoughts, his mind trying to come to
terms with what happened. It didn’t dawn
on him until he barely heard a voice he knew; one he was supposed to meet for
dinner while in town.
“E...l’sa...?” His
voice was low, cracking from a couple of days of non-use, though he realized it
not.
He did not hear the gasp as she stood, but could feel her
take his hand in both of hers as she came to sit next to him. “Will...you’re awake! Thank the Lord you’ve finally come to!”
Valiantly, he tried to open his eyes and finally did, the
low ambient light of the room making him wince as his eyes readjusted to the
brightness. Having worked in a small one
for a few years, he recognized the harsh features of a hospital room. “Where am...how...?
Elyssa smiled and stroked his hand. “You’re in the Intensive Care Unit of St.
Charles General Hospital. You’ve been
here over two days now. You were
apparently the victim of a hit-and-run, and the guy who hit you hasn’t been
found yet.”
He tried to sit up, but winced again as pain shot through
his chest. Carefully, she helped him
reach the spot he wanted, and watched as he slowly grabbed hold of a cup of
water and took a few sips. The water
helped to revitalize him, as he slowly tried to take a mental inventory and see
what was wrong.
A few moments later, he asked, “How did you find out?”
“The New Orleans Police Department found my number in one of
the card pockets of your wallet, and gave me a ring. I came here as soon as I could.”
He tried to nod but found that he couldn’t do it. Instead, he exhaled slowly, trying to force
himself to not cause any more pain to his already weakened body. By this point he had gotten a good idea of
how bad a shape he was in.
It felt as if he had at least two or three cracked ribs,
which explained the pain in his torso.
He saw significant bruising on his legs, but thankfully little pain from
those. It was the neck brace that
worried him, though. Through the fog his
mind was in, he instinctively knew that he had suffered a concussion, possibly
a severe one.
She saw him looking at his battered body, and felt a pang of
sadness in her chest. She glanced down
all too briefly at the wedding band on her left hand, and knew that she
couldn’t be there to help him recover.
He was going to have to do it all on his own, and that thought depressed
her even more. Forcing a smile on her
face, she looked him dead in the face and said, “You do realize that they
aren’t going to let you wrestle anytime soon, right?”
The look on his face spoke volumes. “Then I’ll sign a waiver. I am not going to back down now. I’ll leave AMA if I must, but I will be at
Uprising. Whoever Harvey Danger picks as
my opponent will not be getting a free ride if I can help it.” The movement had helped to clear the cobwebs
out a little, as did the sip of water he had taken earlier.
“Will, they will not allow you to leave against medical
advice! You’re too banged up for that!”
“Bullshit.” The
expletive stunned her; in all of the time she had known him, he had never
uttered an obscenity in front of her.
“Any patient that is coherent enough to make a choice has the right to
walk out of a hospital when they choose.”
“But, Will...think of your own health. Is this really worth it? Is it worth your career, and maybe your life,
just to try to win one match?”
Ah, yes...that was indeed the question. He had wrestled his entire career with this
one goal in mind, to be “the man.” He
was on the brink of it now...but was it worth selling his future to succeed in
the present?
Was it worth dealing with another who took his namesake, the
Black Phoenix, and the psychotic brawling style she loved to employ? Was it worth fighting a fellow Baltimorean in
Kevin Heat and possibly being outrun by pure speed? Was it worth another confrontation with the
Ice Man, who would be looking to avenge the loss he suffered four weeks ago and
continue his momentum after beating the former champion?
Or was it worth it to have to deal with anyone else on the
roster--Josh Allen, Draco, the crazed Drake Hazard, Kylo, El Linchador,
reigning Legacy champ Aphrodisia Jordan, or even one of the two rookies--and
yet have to be ready to face any single one of them at the drop of a hat? Could he, given those choices, justify making
a possible sacrifice for one shot at glory?
In a moment, he had his answer. “Elyssa, I have nothing left for me outside
the ring. The only other person I
trusted to have my back in life turned on me and left me for another, and you
are married. All that is left for me now
is solitude and wrestling. My choice
remains the same; I will be wrestling at Uprising come hell or high water.”
Tears threatened to run down her face as he spoke. Once he finished, she spoke quietly. “Will...I know the pain you’re going
through. I dealt with something similar
when I joined Homicide. I know I can’t
convince you to just let this one go.
Just...be safe, that’s all I ask of you.”
Those two words--"be safe”--have never existed in the
confines of the squared circle. She knew
this as well as he, but still it needed to be said. A grim smile crossed his face as he responded. “I can but try. That I can promise, nothing more.”
She nodded, and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead. Without saying another word, she turned and
left the room. It was one of her things,
not saying “good-bye” to someone. It was
a superstition she carried over from her line of work, as if to say that one
small word would mean that it would be for good. He understood, and respected that about her.
Now came the fun part of trying to get out of the hospital
without a lot of fuss.
New Orleans Motel 6
March 28, 2008, 9:45 p.m.
He was surprised at how low-key the staff took
everything. He had told the
administrative coordinator (essentially the hospital boss during the evening)
that he wanted to leave against medical advice and convalesce in solitude. After the standard warnings about “this is
for your own good, we cannot be held responsible,” and other assorted
pseudo-legalese, he was free to go.
In a way, now he understood what his original opponent,
“Venom” Xavier Lux, was going through.
The difference is that while Lux couldn’t really wrestle, he could. Granted, he might have to be more cautious in
the ring, but he could still go if it came down to it.
And he knew that’s what it would come down to. One of eleven people stood between him and
history. If he were fully fit, this
would be the point where he would chuckle and say that he liked those
odds. In his current state, he knew that
he would be entering the match as the underdog, much like he would have if it
were Lux he were facing.
He wouldn’t have it any other way. Let the commissioner make his pick—or even
more so, let him make more than one. It
didn’t bother him in any sense. He had
made his choice when he elected to walk out of the hospital against the advice
of trained medical personnel. He would
stick to it throughout and let the consequences fall where they may.
The time for backing down was over. Injured or not, he was determined to roll
into Uprising on the hottest streak he had been on in years and take down
whomever was put in his path. Mentally,
he chuckled as he gazed out over the Gulf of Mexico,
the pale moonlight highlighting the gentle waves lapping onto the shore.
Bring on the
pyromaniac from Baltimore. He will experience what it’s like to be
burned as he suffers in the Blaze of Glory.
Bring on the Anarchy X
champion. I’ve beaten him once before, I
will do it again and make him tap out a second time.
Bring on the crazy
woman who has nothing to lose except the fear that comes with the uttering of
her name. By the time I’m done, they’ll
be asking, “The Black WHO?”
Bring on the
newly-crowned Legacy champion. Just
because she has one title doesn’t mean I’m going to let her win a second
against me, cheek-licking or not.
Bring on the man who
would be president. His campaign to be
the NLW Champion will meet a swift end as he stumbles around the ring, looking
for reprieve but finding none.
Heck, bring on Jack’s Luchadore
buddy. Just because he has a different
style won’t mean a thing when he can’t stand on a weakened pair of legs.
In the end, it won’t
matter. Bring on anyone you want, Harvey
Danger. I might be beaten up, I might be
a physical wreck, but I will be damned if I’m going to let this opportunity
pass me by. I’ve waited too long and
come too far to back down now; my time in the shadows of the past is over.
I am “The Phoenix,” William Prydor.
My time has come and by my hand, I shall see it done.
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