Post by Evan De Parker on Mar 23, 2013 20:59:57 GMT -4
You said no strings could secure you.
”Come on... Come on... For the love of--”
We blink into color, and the camera swings wide to show our hero, Evan, sitting behind the wheel of a ‘92 Chevy Camaro, turning the key in the ignition-- practically wrenching it, groaning in frustration as he listens to the the engine whir, and tease, only to fall and silence itself a few seconds later.
He tries again, and judging by the agonized expression on his face, he’s been at it for some time. His face is covered in dirt. The thick-framed glasses that had been pushed up onto his nose hours prior are cracked, slightly splashed with blood and dirt. The sun is rearing its head, after what seems like days, from behind the mountains.
”Start...”
He sighs and rests his head against the steering wheel, groaning under his breath. He turns his head and narrows his eyes as he looks ahead at the blood-stained briefcase that sits on the passenger seat. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm and rips the set of keys from the ignition, shoving them into his pocket. He takes the briefcase into his hand and pushes the door open, looking out at the world around him.
It’s a barren wasteland. For miles, he sees wrecked cars, overturned trucks... There is no visible road and no path aside from those ominous train tracks that he’d spent the better part of the day trying to avoid.
Our camera follows Evan as he makes his way to a pile, tossing the Camaro keys into it... And we see nearly two-dozen other keys lying in the dirt, evidence of failed attempts. He takes a seat on one of the few rocks that are erected from the dirt and buries his face in his palms, groaning to himself.
”Want a cigarette? You smoke, right?”
”WHAT--!”
Evan falls backwards, over the rock, but rolls back up to his feet, glancing around in a panic. He spins, but sees nobody.
Soon, Evan hears somebody snapping a finger behind his head. He pivots around, nearly bumping into John-- the living dead man that apparently lacks a surname. John smiles at Evan and slides a cigarette between his lips. He looks at Evan, expectantly, but groans a bit when Evan simply stares at him with a bewildered expression.
”I don’t have a light.”
Evan stares in awe.
”Gimme a lighter?”
Evan blinks rapidly and then shrugs.
”I-- I don’t have a lighter.”
”For Pete’s sake, yes you do. It’s in your pocket. No-- no, your left one.”
Evan pulls the silver lighter from his pocket, confused as to how it even got in there in the first place. John swipes it from his palm and strikes a flame to the end of his cigarette, inhaling once before he turns to Evan with wide grin, clearly a product of Evan’s reaction.
”Did he get you any? I was pretty confident you’d outrun him, but I didn’t wanna risk it.”
”I watched him kill you. I watched him put bullets right through you.”
John takes a long drag of the cigarette, and immediately begins coughing and hacking. He drops it to the ground and hunches over, both hands on his knees. Evan folds his arms and waits.
”Agh-- FUCK! That’s why I don’t smoke cigarettes.”
”What about your epic death? I think that’s the pressing issue.”
”Right, right. I think it was a bad angle. I don’t think you really saw what you think you were seeing. We were drinking, remember?”
Evan looks at him warily for a bit and then looks up into the sky, glancing in each direction.
”Where’s Mania?”
”Dead. Shot himself.”
”No he’s not.”
John looks at Evan for a few moments, but despite his efforts, is unable to stifle his laughter. He waves Evan off dismissively and kneels down by the pile of keys.
”You’re right. You’re too skeptical for your own good. Accept a false sense of security every once in a while, eh?”
”Can you tell me where he is?”
”I think you’d be better at finding him than I would.”
John picks up one of the keys and gives Evan a wink. John pushes himself up and whistles as he makes his way across the destroyed and marred land. Evan follows, casting glances toward the sky in every direction. Clouds. But no planes. No helicopters.
”You care about him more than you care about yourself, y’know. Kinda weird.”
”The hell is that supposed to mean?”
”You’re doing all this for Mania. All this running around, and hiding, and lying. I mean, it’s kind of admirable. You want his fuckin’ head, and I respect that, Evan. You always get your guy. Well. Almost.”
He stops to pivot and give Evan a chuckle, tapping the key against his sternum.
”You fucked up. You didn’t kill him. You never answered me before, by the way-- die you lie or did you fail?”
He motions with his head for Evan to follow after him, turning once again before he waits for his answer. For a while, Evan stays where he is, with no intention of following John. He grips the briefcase, and he feels for the revolver in his peacoat. He could just shoot him and be done. He could walk away, and he could find a way out of here. He didn’t need to answer to this man.
John stops at a 1980’s-model Ford F350. He climbs up into the driver’s seat and shoves the key to the ignition. The engine whines, it groans... It roars to life. Evan squints as the headlights cast a furious bright, white-and-blue into his eyes. He raises a hand up to shield himself, and John hops down from the seat, making his way to Evan with his hands on his hips and a broad grin on his face.
”Well?”
Evan sighs, glancing toward the truck which is nearly shaking from the intensity of the eight-cylinder engine that sounded like heaven to Evan right now. An escape.
”I lied. I never killed him... I wasn’t able to.”
”How many times did you try?”
”Well...”
Evan pauses to consider it. He doesn’t have time to answer.
”Get in the truck, Evan. You’re bleeding.”
Evan glances down at the briefcase. Sure enough, a dark, crimson liquid is dripping from the bottom of the briefcase, into the grass. It’s going much more rapidly than Evan had remembered-- and maybe quicker than blood is supposed to. It grows darker as Evan watches it, and he nervously fumbles the briefcase, switching it to his other hand.
Even the handle is soaked in blood. He moans in disgust and makes his way toward the cab.
”Hurry. They’re coming.”
John returns to the driver’s seat and Evan throws the briefcase onto the floor, climbing in after him.
”What do you mean?”
John doesn’t respond, but throws the truck into Drive and pulls away from the torn and tattered wasteland that used to be a field, or woodlands. It’s hard to tell, and neither man sticks around long enough to perform any further investigation. John leans with all of his weight on the gas.
*****
As our scene changes, we are set in the present time-- in the modern-day, made evident by Evan Envi’s attire. He lacks a peacoat and thick, rectangular glasses. There is no bleeding briefcase by his side, and no helicopter gliding through the sky in an attempt to assault him.
Instead, he sits on the balcony of a Toronto hotel, just yards above the street, flicking crumbs from the tiled table-top, casting a look down at the road below every few seconds.
”Tell me you’re not waiting for Rosa.”
Evan smirks and casts a look over his shoulder, into the hotel from the balcony. Sienna Harrison strolls into view, dressed in a white, fur jacket that nearly makes Evan vomit.
”Christ, how many horses did you have to kill to make that?”
Sienna steps out onto the balcony and glances down into the street, groaning as a silver Honda Accord pulls into the hotel’s parking lot. She instantly recognizes it as belonging to Rosa Ramirez and she immediately turns to Evan, giving him an irritated glare.
”What’re you trying to do?”
”I’m trying to talk to her.”
”I thought you already talked to her, when we went to her fucking house the other day like a bunch of creepers.”
”It wasn’t that creepy. Hey, let her in-- would you?”
”Evan, I’m like... The GM now. You should be opening doors for me.”
”GOD, that’s the most precious thing I’ve ever heard. Let her in.”
Years of sibling rivary could’ve come to a head... But Sienna chooses the high road and turns her nose up in the air, pivoting and marching away from Evan. He perks an eyebrow as his iPhone begins to ring, and within seconds, Evan has retrieved it from his pocket, sparing but a second to glance at the screen and look at the incoming caller: JENNY.
A few seconds of debate lead him to decide to slide the green arrow forward, accepting the call.
”Hello?”
”She’s there.”
”I see that. Thanks, Jenny. I’ll call you later.’
”Wait, wait, wait--!”
”What?”
Jenny sighs, and it takes a moment for her to say anything. If it weren’t for the gentle breathing on the other end, Evan would’ve been convinced that the call had been dropped.
”Call me paranoid if you want... But this isn’t gonna lead to you replacing me, is it? All the running around, and all this shit for Rosa... Like-- I know that she’s important right now, and I know how much this match with Mark means to you, but I just don’t want you to-- to forget about me. She hasn’t been there for you for the past six months. She doesn’t know you.”
Evan listens to her tirade with a smile on his face.
”You’re paranoid.”
She sighs, but Evan isn’t able to tell if it’s out of sadness, or from relief. He turns and glances into the hotel room again as he hears his door open, only to be thrust closed again.
”I’ve gotta go.”
”You’ll call me right after, right?”
”Right after, sure.”
He ends the call and turns toward the sliding glass window, smiling up at Rosa Ramirez, who stands before him with the same intensity and annoyance that Evan had seen when he approached her doorstep just days before... And the same look he’d received during every meeting up to this point. It doesn’t provoke much more than a smirk, and a dry chuckle.
”Hey, Rosa.”
”Hi.”
Evan pushes the chair on the opposite side of the table out with the sole of his foot. With an agonizing screech, it groans across the balcony and Rosa is hesitant to take a seat. Even as she drops into a seated position, her hand grips her purse and she looks ready to leave in a second’s notice if she has to.
”Look. I think there’s been a lot of bad blood between the two of us over these past few weeks and I can’t begin to explain to you... That none of this was done to hurt you. None of this was personal. You weren’t really supposed to get hurt. Y’know?”
She sighs a little, but doesn’t answer him.
”The way Mark treated you was sick. It was foul. He knew you were in harm’s way, and he let you stay there, because it kept me away from the one thing that he likes the most... And that’s his bank account. And I know we had to scare you a little bit, Rosa, to prove a point, but you were never supposed to be the victim in all of this.
“It was always Mark.”
”I know.”
She says it quickly, and quietly. Her glare hasn’t faded or softened, and Evan can only shrug in response.
”I just wanted to make sure the past stayed in the past. Let bygones be bygones, and go our separate ways... Y’know?
“I just wanted to clear the air.’
Rosa Ramirez looks across the tiled tabletop at Evan with skepticism.
”That’s all?”
”That’s it--”
”--the only reason I’m here?”
”...Yes.”
Dumbfounded. She looks at Evan with her mouth slightly agape and furrowed brows, but she takes the news as an invitation. With a nod, Rosa springs up to her feet and hugs her purse to her side.
”Okay; apology accepted. Goodbye.”
Rosa walks toward the sliding glass door, but Evan raises a single finger in the air as she passes him and sighs loudly.
”I said you were never supposed to get hurt, Rosa.”
She freezes, her fingers on the handle, and her jaw clenched.
”But I didn’t say it was out of the question.”
Evan is caught slightly off-guard as Rosa lets out a grunt of frustration, slapping a hand against the glass. She turns to Evan, red-faced, and looks down at him. From years of experience, Evan knows exactly what her stance means. He knows what every vein protruding through her skin means. He braces himself for a strike, or a claw, or something... But it never comes.
”What do you want?”
He looks at Rosa with a half-smile, but within seconds, it breaks into a grin.
*****
”What did I ever do that was so bad?”
We blink into color, and we return to the solid white room that we’ve been introduced to before. There is no furniture, and no doorway we can see-- just white. Evan sits in the center of it, fittingly dressed in all black to create contrast. Black jeans adorn his legs which he crosses in front of the black-and-gray striped V-neck that hugs his torso.
”I know I’ve said some bad things, and I’ve... Hahahahaha... I’ve pissed some people off. But who hasn’t?
“I broke some shit. I lied to some people. Maybe I hit a few guys when they weren’t expecting it, and they got upset about it. Maybe I wronged some dudes in a wrestling match some time ago, and they weren’t ever able to do anything about it.
“I smoke. I drink. I swear.
“I spit. I lie. I cheat. I steal.
“I care about myself more than I care about my own mother. I hold grudges. I don’t make my bed every day. I gamble when I’m in Vegas. I have a girlfriend, but I flirt with other women on a daily basis.
“I’ve slapped a woman. I’ve used the Lord’s name in vain. I’ve keyed a car. I’ve punched a man that didn’t deserve it. I make fun of fat people.
“I am just like everybody else.
“But for some reason, I am so morally incorrect that my accomplishments in the ring are nothing more than a list that falls upon deaf ears. It’s something I’m sick of reciting, and you’re sick of hearing it, so...”
Evan points a finger into the camera to emphasize his point, pausing for consideration.
”So tomorrow night, if one thing has become clear-- it’s that winning isn’t going to be enough, because even when I win, it’s written off as some sort of fluke or an Act of God gone horribly, horribly wrong.
“I’ll have to incapacitate Mark Mania and in order to truly get my point across, I’ll have to hold his carcass up for the entire world to see-- like he’s a sacrifice.
“In order for me to be able to wear the APW Overdrive Championship around my waist and have it mean a damn to you people, I have to make sure that Mark Mania is broken, torn, and gutted-- a mere SHELL of the man he used to be. If that motherfucker is still able to climb to his feet and receive the obligatory standing ovation from you people when he loses, then I haven’t done my job.
“If he can give you the thumbs up as paramedics are wheeling him up the ramp on a stretcher, then I’ve failed.”
He pulls his knees up, higher to his chest and smiles aimlessly off into the distance. He finally breaks the grip around his legs and leans back on his palms, sliding into a completely horizontal position. The camera slowly pans upward and over, giving us a look into Evan’s eyes from above.
”Damnit, Mark... We never had to take things this far. Y’know?”
The camera stops, right above the face of the self-proclaimed MegaMegaStar. He’s looking up into the lens, but past us-- through us.
”You could’ve accepted my challenge like a man to begin with, and maybe you’d have something to fall back on. I wouldn’t have had to goad you into some sort of drawn-out legal battle... You probably wouldn’t be two-million dollars in the hole... You would never have had to find out that you’ve surrounded yourself with dozens-- or maybe hundreds of people that you could never really trust.
“The thing about Rasslemania is that... I know very well that I could walk out of Toronto without the Overdrive Championship. Despite everything that we’ve gone through, and even after a valiant effort, I could walk out of there with blood on my hands, bruises on my face, and absolutely nothing to show for it.
“Everything that I’ve worked toward and fought for since Christmas Chaos could be for naught. You’ll look at me, and you’ll tell me that once again, after six years, I still wasn’t ready for the next step.
“In theory, you’d be right.
“I’d look at you, I’d smirk, and I’d calmly tell you to go fuck yourself. We’d part company.
“Maybe we find ourselves in another tag team match, you get to pat yourself on the back, you remind me that I’m not skilled enough to hang with the big boys-- I pick up some sort of epic win in the confines of a tag team match, and you remind me that it didn’t mean shit.
“Then we go through this again. I claw my way back to the top. I claim that I’ll taste victory. You claim otherwise, and we see where things end next time. It’s monotonous. It’s boring.
“But it’s allows you to keep the one thing that I haven’t been able to rip away from you yet, which is that Overdrive Championship. And you can fabricate the length of your reign as much as you want, and you can tell yourself and anybody who will listen that I’m not ready... But it doesn’t change fate, Mark.
“If the planets align, and destiny states that I’m to walk out of Toronto, Ontario with the Overdrive Championship tomorrow then that’s exactly what’ll happen and I’ll be sorry to see you afterward.
“I’ve seen a man broken before, but I’ve never actually witnessed the man who lost it all.”
He laughs a little and gestures around him to the vast, white emptiness... The void.
”I know that you’re gonna do everything in your power to stop me, Mark Mania. I’d do the same thing.
“If somebody was trying to take the very last thing I had-- I’d fight like Hell.”
He smiles up at us and stares through us behind half-lidded eyes.
”If there’s anybody that could put these tiny, shattered pieces back together again, it’s you, Mark. I don’t doubt that. I never lost faith in you, even when everybody else around you did. I never thought that you weren’t one of the best.
“I always knew that I wanted my first Rasslemania moment to be with Mark Mania. I knew I wanted to beat you. I knew I wanted to end you.
“But I didn’t know that I would get to completely destroy you in the process, Mark.
“Even if you-- even if you win tomorrow night, I’ve still taken things that you can never replace, and that’s just now how it was supposed to be... But it is.
“It’s time we face it.”
Dark.
*****
Evan sits in horror, staring at the wreckage... Staring into the dancing, roaring, blinding flames. He stares past the twisted metal, and past the pale, crimson-covered corpse that he knew belonged to a man that he'd tried to kill before: John.
Evan clutches the briefcase to his chest, ignoring the pulsing and pounding coming from the inside. He hugs it to himself, pulling himself into the fetal position as the sounds of the chopper's blades draw nearer...
"THERE'S NO RESISTANCE, EVAN! IT'S OVER! COME OUT... COME OUT!"
The blood seeps through his fingers, and down his hands. He breathes heavily and squeezes his eyes shut as the voices and the blades draw nearer.
The pulsing continues.
Dark.
