Scott Shadows was glad his mother didn't come to his matches.
"Come on, Mother F***er, get up! Get up, you son of a b****! Come on,
s***head, get up!"
Shadow Master sent a concrete fist into the bloodied face of the man on the mat.
He stomped the man's head down into the puddle of blood that had come for his
forehead.
"You think you're tough, huh? You think you're f***ing tough?! Answer me, f***er!"
He stomped again. Then he added another punch, but this time with the microphone. He sent another and another into the man's head. Finally, a large security team stormed the ring and tried to restrain the Shadow Master. He caught a few of them with hard rights to their heads before he was overwhelmed and tackled down.
As he was being dragged out of the arena, Shadow Master continued to spout swear words and threats into the microphone, until a guard tore it from his grip. He fought, kicking and screaming, but, somehow, he was pulled out of the audience's sight and into the back. A team of EMT's rushed the ring next, and tended to the barely conscious man in the middle, who, by now, looked to be drowning in a pool of red.
"Local parents are becoming increasingly concerned with a nearby wrestling organization known as Intensity Rules Wrestling. Their fears were heightened by a large degree after last night's show here at the Thesz Memorial Theater. On that show, a wrestler called the Shadow Master beat up another wrestler called Blue. Now, while
that is not an uncommon occurrence in professional wrestling, this particular beating resulted in multiple injuries for Blue, as well as many traumatized families."
"Me and my son were watching TV one day, and we saw the ad for the wrestling show, and the ad said that the show would be a family show, I mean, it specifically said, in white letters, 'Family Night', so we thought we'd go and see it, and it certainly wasn't a
family show. My boy had nightmares that night, and I called my lawyer, and he said that if I could get proof that the thing said 'Family Night,' then I'd have a case."
"However, the IRW denies that it's commercial said anything of the sort. They also say that they're willing to settle Thompson's case out of court..."
Titus Stewart switched the television off and turned to look at Scott Shadows. Both were grinning.
"Scott," Titus said, "what would we do without the media?"
"We'd probably bug the saints," Scott said between swigs of beer.
"I think we do that, too," Titus replied. "But nobody listens to them." They both laughed as Titus sat down behind his desk. "Nice work Saturday, Scott."
"What's the plan for next week?" Scott finished his beer and shook the bottle, holding the long neck at the top and moving the wider bottom
"Same old, same old," Titus yawned sarcastically. "It's the week after that things get good."
"Yeah?"
"Oh, yeah. But let me give you the backstory first."
"Shoot," Scott said. He meant it as an invitation, and Titus obliged.
"Chris Parseles."
Short Pause.
"What about him?"
"In a minute. You know Marty Thriller?"
"One of the biggest names on the indy circuit. Above me, even."
"Well, I'm about to do the impossible. I'm on the verge of having Marty sign a contract for IRW."
"You're kidding. That guy won't sign unless he knows big things'll come out of it."
"Exactly. And he knows that Intensity Rules will be the next fed on TV. The fans love our sick action, the T & A, the swearing, the anarchy. They want to be like us. And every wrestling magazine out there knows we're going to be the next to sign with a network, or better."
"Better?"
"Our violence doesn't gel well with cable. But it will. I'll make it happen. Until then, we're almost on premium TV as I speak."
"How did you manage to find a premium station?"
"I'll keep my business decisions to myself, Scott. Now, back to Marty. He knows we're the next big thing. He knows he can make 'mucho grande,'" he rubbed his fingers together, making the sign for money, "by taking his hardcore style to our ring. Ironic that I just spoke some Spanish, because that's the only problem."
"What is?"
"Our Hispanic friend, Christopher Parceles. You see, Scott, Marty isn't one to let bygones be bygones. He's the type of person who holds a grudge. For a while. And this grudge just happens to be with young Christopher."
"No kidding," Scott repeated himself. He pointed to Titus' mini-bar. "May I?"
"What's mine is yours."
Scott went to the bar and got another drink. He used a can opener to remove the lid as he continued. "So, what did Chris do to Marty that would keep him from signing a contract with us? Marty always seems like a calm little guy. I'd think he was some sort of wetback. Oh, wait...he is."
"Apparently, he wasn't always 'a calm little guy.' A few years ago, according to Marty, he and Chris went drinking. Chris got stoned, and Marty tried to get him to hand over the keys. But Chris was to dumb to think, and he did the driving. They had a little accident. Marty dislocated a shoulder and sprained his ankle. Chris was unscathed."
"So, he's mad that Chris got him busted up? He healed, right?"
"Of course. But not for a while. And, it just so happened that ECW had contacted Marty the day before. They had a spot. Marty would have taken it. But he was too injured. And Paul E., who had no time to waste with talent he hadn't signed, got someone else."
"I see. Marty lost his spot in one of the so-called "Big Name" feds because of Chris?"
"Right. And now, he won't sign with us unless Chris is gone."
"Fire him."
"Can't. He has a contract with me. But I need Marty."
"Wait, wait. What does all this have to do with the show in two weeks?"
"That's where you come in. I was smart enough, a few years ago, to put a little escape clause for myself in Chris' contract. If he becomes so injured that he can't compete for more than a month, he's out. I put that in there because I wanted some discipline for a guy I thought would injure easily. Now it works even more in my favor." Titus opened his desk drawer, took out a pencil, set it on the table, and went to fix himself a drink.
"What I want you to do," he continued, " is help me put that clause into action. We start with next week. You go out and beat whoever I decide should be put in front of you. After the match, you call out Chris. Say something insulting. His mother died about a year ago, use that."
"Gotcha," Scott said. He took a large swig as Titus sat back down and picked up the pencil.
"Chris'll run out, and you guys brawl until security takes you apart. Now, we move to two weeks away. You fight Chris in this match with no rules. Let Chris get some good spots. We have to give him some credit, he's a good flyer. But, in the end, you win. After that, you take a char, wrap it around his leg, and...," he snapped the pencil in two.
"Ouch," Scott replied, unemotionally. "How'm I gonna explain that to him?"
"Pretend it was an accident. He's so gullible, he'll believe you. I'll vouch. Slip-ups happen in this business all the time. After his leg's gone, he'll be in the hospital for a pretty long time. Long enough for the clause to go into effect. With him gone, the
door's open for Marty Thriller, and my company'll be the next in the 'big 2.' Think you're up to the task?"
"You're asking the bird to fly. Injuring people is what I do best."
"I knew I could count on you, Scotty."
Six days later...IRW Extreme Asylum show.
Scott Shadows arrived at the arena a few hours before showtime. It was as few hours earlier than he normally showed up, but, today, he had some business to take care of. He took his bag out of the trunk and headed to the back entrance, noticing all the fans standing around the fence in front. They were already lining up to get in. Titus was right; IRW was the next big thing. And it would be Scott's job to keep it that way. Scott smirked, mostly to himself. He felt no remorse for what he had to do. In fact, he looked forward to it. His mind reran he and Titus' discussion. He especially liked the part where Titus had substituted the pencil for poor Chris' leg. It wouldn't be much harder than that; at lest, not for Scott.
As he approached the back entrance, Scott was surprised to see the bar of the door move away from his hand as he reached out. The blue metal pulled away, revealing a dark-skinned woman wearing sweatpants, a one-size-too-big T-shirt, and a denim jacket standing in the entrance. Her eyes widened quickly and she jerked back a little at the surprise of seeing someone in front of her.
"Oh, Scott," she laughed. "You scared me. You aren't usually at the building this early."
"Yeah, I know," Scott said, pushing past her and into the hallway. He turned to face her again, and she did likewise. "Got some stuff to do. What are you up to, Val?"
Valerie Said glanced outside, then pointed to the parking lot. "I was just going to go out, get some fresh air, and greet the people. They're here pretty early, too...might as well make it worth their while."
"What, you mean, like, sign autographs?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Titus hates it when we give free autographs."
"Oh, Titus is too uptight about money. A few John Hancocks won't make us lose money. If anything, it'll probably make the fans come back again!"
"Whatever you say," Scott replied. "Just be back before bell time."
Val laughed. "Yeah, okay, Dad." She waved to Scott as she walked out the door. Scott stared at her until the door closed. Specifically, he stared at a couple little features he saw from behind. He thought to himself, Man, what I wouldn't give...
After his perverted fantasies ceased, Scott about-faced and headed toward the locker rooms. After finding them, Scott had just enough time to open up his bag and put his things in a locker before none other than Chris Parceles appeared in the doorway, carrying a bag of his own.
"Hey, Scott!" he said, just as surprised as Val had been. "You're here already?"
"Nah, just a cardboard cutout," Scott replied, as unemotional as possible.
"Heh...funny," Chris didn't realize that Scott was humoring him. "Anyway, we got a thing tonight, don't we? Like, an angle, you know?"
"Yeah, I know what a 'thing' is." Scott felt annoyed by Chris' appearance, despite the fact that he'd come early just to meet with him.
"Right...how's it supposed to go again? Boss Titus didn't give me all the details, really."
Scott paused to grumble to himself, then began to gather the things he'd need for the night. "I've got a match. Right after that match, I'll get on the mic and call you out. You don't come right away, so I start to insult you. I'll say you're an illegal immigrant, and how I'm glad you mother is dead, so she won't have to see her son get beaten up, stuff like that."
"Oh...gee," Chris made his way over to a locker about halfway down the line from Scott's. "Do we have to use my Mom in this? I mean...it's kind of disrespectful, you know?"
"Well, it gets me big heat, and it gives you a good reason to come out and attack me. You got to make some sacrifices in this business, Chris."
"Yeah, I guess so...okay." Chris didn't sound too enthusiastic.
"So, after that, you run in and we start fighting, but security takes us apart. Then, Malone comes out and makes a match between us for next week. They start to drag me away, and I start saying more insults and sh*t, and I make it a hardcore match. You agree, and I get pulled to the back like last week. That's what Titus wants."
"All right, that sounds like a good angle. And we have the match at next week's show, which is, like, not too far from here, really?"
"Right...think you can handle that?"
"No problemo, mi amigo. Any ideas for the match next week?"
"Actually, I was going to let you come up with some spots. I do get to win, though, just so you know."
"Really? Wow, so this is, like, going to be a long...you know, battle between us?"
"Oh yeah. Big and long. Titus says he thinks you're going places."
"He does?" Chris took that lie as if it were a headline story.
"Oh, definitely. Anyways, I'm going to go over and get suited up."
"All right, man. I'll catch you later."
Or vice versa, Scott thought.
The fans came to their feet as they saw Emerald climb to the top rope. She'd just been knocked from the ring apron into the guardrail by the six foot, seven inch "Buffalo" Brandon Knox, who'd decided to take a break from his choking of Jared Sphinx to brutalize Sphinx's valet. As with anyone who'd had pro wrestling training, Emerald wouldn't let it rest. She ascended the turnbuckle when Knox wasn't looking. Knox picked Sphinx up from the ground and gave him a hard shove that sent him into the corner opposite Emerald. Knox sent a few quick boots into Sphinx's gut, then prepared to whip him into the other corner.
Desperately, Sphinx reversed the Irish Whip, sending Knox towards the corner, and right into a big flipping neckbreaker from Emerald. For her deed, Emerald was given a large round of applause as she slid from the ring. Knox held his head and staggered to his feet. Sphinx kicked his opponent in the stomach and hit a swift single-armed DDT, then rolled him over and got the three count, and a huge crown pop. Sphinx and Emerald celebrated in the ring for a few seconds before exiting to the back.
Just as they got past the curtain, Valerie and Jared separated. Valerie spotted Scott standing by a TV monitor that was set up on a table for the benefit of the guys in the back. A few facility workers watched it, too. The announcer was on and ready to introduce the next match. Scott turned to see Val as she approached.
"Hey," she said, "what'd you think?"
"Think of what?"
"Of the match!"
"Oh, that...yeah, it was pretty good. I'll admit, I've never seen a chick do a move like that before."
"I know. I swiped it from Buff Bagwell. He won't mind; I'm not the first. Still, I think it was a pretty good spot. I can't believe I actually caught him while he was running! And he sold it so well. You know, if he'd wanted to, he could've just kept going and totally screwed my move up, but he went with it.
"You're awfully modest," Scott noted.
"Your point being?"
"No point. Just mentioning. I don't hear too many of the others talk like that."
"Well, you just don't listen. Besides, I can't be too full of pride. 'Pride goeth before destruction.' Proverbs 16:18. Not that I need to remind anyone."
"Remind any one of what?" Scott questioned, trying to call her bluff.
Valerie sighed. "Of that verse. Don't you ever read a Bible?"
"Nah. What do I want with a bunch of old scribbles done by some old "supreme being" who won't show his face to anyone?" Valerie paused. Scott thought he'd gotten her with that remark. However, she kept the conversation going, making Scott realize that she was serious on the subject.
"Well, first of all, it wasn't written by a "supreme being," it was written by men on Earth who received their inspiration from the "supreme being." Like the four apostles who wrote the first books of the New Testament. They weren't gods, just four guys like you or me. Well, maybe you."
"Uh-huh, and you actually believe that stuff?"
"With every ounce of my soul."
"Great, a Bible pusher. All right, if it's all true, where's the proof, huh?"
"Right here," Valerie replied, pointing to the right side of her chest, where her heart would be if it weren't for her skin, muscle, and bone.
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard all about 'blind faith' and junk. But I mean real, hard copy proof." By now, the workers who'd been standing around the TV monitor had left to find another. They were sick of listening to two weirdo wrestlers arguing. That didn't stop Valerie.
"Okay, you want 'real' proof? Archeologists around the world have discovered many of the places where biblical events took place. Calvary, Jesus' tomb, stuff like that."
"Yeah? Well, maybe the Bible was written after all those places exhisted, and someone just told everyone it was true. I wasn't alive back then; how can I tell?"
"The Dead Sea Scrolls weren't just made by some nut and buried underground for someone to find!"
"What if he was a clever guy?"
Valeire sighed again. "Okay, look. You really want some proof? I don't have it with me now, but come over to my apartment right after the show tonight. Here's the address..." Valerie grabbed a pen that she saw sitting on the table frantically looked around for something to write on.
"Just tell it to me. I've got a good memory."
Valerie told him the address of her apartment. "If you really want some evidence that maybe a God is out there, go there afterwards. I'm on the third floor, number 212." With that, Valerie turned to leave. She stopped, though, and turned back to look Scott in the eyes. "Oh, by the way...it's not 'blind faith.' You need to open your eyes...and you heart." After that, Val walked away to the locker room.
Scott blew the comment off with a "pfft" sound. He almost jumped out of his wrestling boots when a hand grabbed his shoulder as he turned back to the monitor. It was Stan Morelli, "the Hardhat Kid," his opponent for the night. "Hey, it's almost time," he said. Scott saw the announcer on the monitor begin to announce the next match. Scott was surprised that the last match had ended during his conversation. He grabbed his mask from his jeans' pocket and headed towards the curtain.
The Shadow Master beat the Hardhat Kid with a huge shoulderbreaker, just after he'd sent his right shoulder under the top turnbuckle and straight into the ring post. After the match, Scott kicked the Kid until he rolled out under the bottom rope, and the referee helped him to the back. Scott thought under the mask, I wonder if the guys are getting scared of my stiffness? He was hoping the answer was "yes." He loved to intimidate people. It's what he'd been trying to do to Valerie, but it hadn't worked. She'd actually invited him to her house. He ruled out bringing date-rape drugs, just because he wanted to keep his job.
The Shadow Master got the microphone from the ring announcer, and began his tirade. "Now that I've plowed through one lame-*ss freak, there's another lame-*ss in the back that I got some beef with. If you're listening to me, Chris Parceles, get your scrawny little butt out here right now, so I can tear you a new one!"
Everyone's eyes were on the entrance curtain. No one was there. A few fans started chanting, "Chris, Chris," but still no sign of life.
"Oh, I see how it is. Yeah, you must be back there moping and whining over that dead mother of yours!" The audience fell silent, surprised at the cruel remark. Shadow Master looked over the crowd, and said, "Oh, gee, did I hit a nerve with you people? Good. You can all suffer just as much as the S***head Kid for all I care!" The fans now were booing the man in the ring, and more people started to chant Chris' name. Still, no sign of him.
"Well, you little wetback, you'd better stop you crying, because you'll need it all saved up for when I come back there. And, hey, thank you lucky stars that your mama's dead, because I'm sure she wouldn't want to be alive to see her son get the a** whooping I'm about to give you!"
Like a shot, the fans began to cheer at the tops of their lungs when Chris Parceles suddenly rushed through the curtain and sprinted to the ring. "Kick his a**," was the new chant that the crowd had started. Chris slid into the ring, and he and the Shadow Master began trading blows. They pounded on each other until Shadow went low on his smaller foe. He sent a double ax handle to the man's back, then stomped him down all the way.
After this, the Shadow Master turned to the ropes and yelled at the ring announcer to throw him a chair. Out of fear, the announcer obliged. Shadow caught the chair, but turned around only to get it driven into his face by a Parceles jumping side kick. The shot sent the Shadow Master outside the ring and onto the thin black mats.
Under the mask, Scott Shadows was becoming enraged. They hadn't planned that spot. He was about ready to get back in the ring and fulfill his plan for next week right away, when three security personnel jumped him and began to drag him around the ring and to the back. Scott tried to keep his cool, remembering that Chris would pay the next week.
The Shadow Master kicked and fought, but two more guards came to lend a hand. Perfectly on cue, IRW Commissioner Malone Frenzie strode down the aisle, past the four guards and one wrestler, and climbed the stairs into the ring. She had a microphone with her, and used it.
"Shadow Master, you want to make it your business to start fights? No way, pal, that's MY job!" Half of the crowd cheered. "So, if you want it so badly, then you've got it, next week. You versus Chris, next week at the Grand Theater!" The whole audience cheered and applauded that announcement.
Scott realized that he didn't have his microphone with him, so he just yelled at the top of his lungs, "I want it Hardcore rules! You want to make my matches, you make them my way! I don't want it to end until someone gives!"
"You want hardcore?" the commissioner replied. She glanced at Chris, then looked back at the tangled mass of people holding the Shadow Master down. "You've got it!" The crowd erupted. Just as with the week before, security dragged the Shadow Master back through the curtain and out of sight.
Scott checked the clock in his car. 11:35. It felt later, but that's just because he'd been exercising. He headed down the road, checking his memory for Val's address. He found the apartment and parked in a visitor space. He rang up to Val's room and got the clearance he needed to go up.
Scott stopped in front of the door. He prepared his mind for the inevitable lecture of why the Bible's true. He expected Val to have stuff from books or the internet, papers that pronounced findings of things from the Bible in today's world. He'd told himself that he'd wave them off, as he thought they'd have no more reliability than a supermarket tabloid that said, "NOAH'S ARK FOUND IN THE GRAND CANYON."
Scott knocked. "Come in," was Val's immediate response. Scott opened the door and walked into the room. It wasn't bad. A picture on the wall of Val and some family. Under that, a sofa. Across from that, an adequate-sized TV set on a small dresser. There was a rocking chair, a regular wooden chair with cushions on the seat and back, and a couple lamps strategically placed around the room. Val came out of a room in the small hallway across from Scott. She had a white nightgown on, in place of the green wrestling gear she'd worn earlier.
"You came," she said, smiling. "Thanks."
"No problem," Scott replied. "Now, are you ready to dazzle me with this proof of God that you supposedly possess?"
Valerie crossed the room and locked the door. She took Scott by the shoulder and directed him over to the sofa. "Have a seat," she said. "Believe me, you'll need it."
Scott made himself comfortable. He was about to ask if Val had any beer, but decided it would just be a waste of breath. Val moved the wooden chair to face Scott a few feet in front of him. She took a seat in it, then leaned forward, resting her arms in her lap.
"All right, so, where is it?" Scott asked. "Where's this document that claims God exists, and the Bible is fact?"
"Who said anything about a document?" Val countered. "I promised you evidence that God MAY exist. No one has any photographs of Jesus or anyone who lived at the time. There's no letter of Jesus' confession to be God in the flesh. If there was, there'd be no point in anyone having faith. It would rule it out, and we wouldn't be here talking about it. What I can tell you, though, is that studies have shown the Bible to be somewhere around 95% accurate. Truthfully, though, I don't have any documents that state that, either."
"I see...so, are you saying that you give up? Did you come home, think about it, and decide that I was right?"
"Absolutely not. I can feel God inside me. Anyone who knows Him can. You never hear anyone say that they can feel Buddha, or Ghandi, or any of those great leaders. But millions of people can feel Jesus in their hearts."
"Right, right, and my neighbor's cat can feel itself getting kicked in the ribs, but I can't, so what's your point."
"My point, Scott, is that God is supernatural. And you can't always see the supernatural, even when they're right in front of you."
"Great, just great. You bring me over here to tell me stories about mythical creatures, now, too?"
Val stood. "Scott, look at me." She held her arms out at her sides and rotated all the way around, still staying in one spot. "Do I look like a normal person? No jokes."
"Yeah. Yeah, you look like a normal human nutcase."
"Well...that shows what you know..."
Then, the strangest thing Scott had ever seen happened. Valerie Said got down on her hands and knees. Scott watched her, contemplating the reason why, yet still maintaining a lustful fantasy. That fantasy shattered, however, as did his reasoning, when Scott noticed that Val's skin was getting darker right before his eyes. Her head was facing down, and her long black hair hung towards the floor. Valerie's skin was changing to match the shade of that hair. No...her skin was growing more hair!
Scott's mind went blank. All he could do was watch. Val's body seemed to be growing, gaining mass. Either that, or her nightgown was shrinking. Scott saw two long, pointed ears rise from under Val's hair. He heard a growl. Valerie arched her back, and her gown tore and fell away, revealing a large, muscular, inhuman frame.
The being in front of Scott wasn't God. At least, he didn't think it was. But it certainly didn't look like Valerie Said, professional wrestler. It looked a bit more...canine. Just as that thought crossed Scott's mine, "Val" looked up at him. Her face was canine, all right. It had the long snout, the fur, the fangs...the works.
Scott laughed. The last emotion a normal human being would have during a moment like this would probably be joy. But Scott laughed. "Oh, man," he said. "Oh man, this isn't happening. This is some sort of dream...this is an act...G** D*** IT, this is not f***ing happening..."
The beast on the carpet at Scott's feet growled, as if in protest. Scott's laughter stopped, and he hopped up on the couch, sitting on his legs. He wanted to say something for some reason, but words escaped him. He just gazed into the eyes of a creature that, just moments ago, hadn't been what it was now. That stare was returned in kind.
The last time Scott had looked at a clock, it was 11:35. It was now 12:08 AM, and Scott still couldn't figure out how long he and "Val" had been staring at each other before "she" picked the torn nightgown up in her jowls and disappeared into the hallway. Scott stared at the entrance to the hallway, awaiting to see what would emerge.
After a while, it was Valerie, human, in the flesh, wearing yet another nightgown, this one blue. She fixed her hair as she came into view. Scott never noticed that he was breathing heavier than he had earlier in the day, after his wrestling match.
"Calm down, Tiger," Valerie said. "Don't go fainting on me. If you did, then you wouldn't remember the lesson you've just received." She was smiling, and she sat down on the couch next to Scott. He realized that she had a Bible with her. She opened it and read. "...because you have seen me, you have believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." John 20:29. Well, Scott, you didn't see God today. But you did see something that you knew could never exist. And now that you have, maybe you'll open that lock-box you call a mind. I pray you will."
Scott looked her in the eyes. Sincere eyes, yet they were also the same eyes he'd seen on the animal. He didn't say a word. His pride defense system had been breached, and he was nothing but a confused and frightened man.
"If you're too shaken up, you can sleep here tonight. Sleeping it off should help. I'll get you some sheets and a blanket." Scott didn't object. Val disappeared into the hall, and reappeared again soon, carrying two sheets and a heavy blanket. She set them out for Scott. "Well, I'm going to bed. It's been a long day for me. Sweet dreams."
"Come on, Mother F***er, get up! Get up, you son of a b****! Come on,
s***head, get up!"
Shadow Master sent a concrete fist into the bloodied face of the man on the mat.
He stomped the man's head down into the puddle of blood that had come for his
forehead.
"You think you're tough, huh? You think you're f***ing tough?! Answer me, f***er!"
He stomped again. Then he added another punch, but this time with the microphone. He sent another and another into the man's head. Finally, a large security team stormed the ring and tried to restrain the Shadow Master. He caught a few of them with hard rights to their heads before he was overwhelmed and tackled down.
As he was being dragged out of the arena, Shadow Master continued to spout swear words and threats into the microphone, until a guard tore it from his grip. He fought, kicking and screaming, but, somehow, he was pulled out of the audience's sight and into the back. A team of EMT's rushed the ring next, and tended to the barely conscious man in the middle, who, by now, looked to be drowning in a pool of red.
"Local parents are becoming increasingly concerned with a nearby wrestling organization known as Intensity Rules Wrestling. Their fears were heightened by a large degree after last night's show here at the Thesz Memorial Theater. On that show, a wrestler called the Shadow Master beat up another wrestler called Blue. Now, while
that is not an uncommon occurrence in professional wrestling, this particular beating resulted in multiple injuries for Blue, as well as many traumatized families."
"Me and my son were watching TV one day, and we saw the ad for the wrestling show, and the ad said that the show would be a family show, I mean, it specifically said, in white letters, 'Family Night', so we thought we'd go and see it, and it certainly wasn't a
family show. My boy had nightmares that night, and I called my lawyer, and he said that if I could get proof that the thing said 'Family Night,' then I'd have a case."
"However, the IRW denies that it's commercial said anything of the sort. They also say that they're willing to settle Thompson's case out of court..."
Titus Stewart switched the television off and turned to look at Scott Shadows. Both were grinning.
"Scott," Titus said, "what would we do without the media?"
"We'd probably bug the saints," Scott said between swigs of beer.
"I think we do that, too," Titus replied. "But nobody listens to them." They both laughed as Titus sat down behind his desk. "Nice work Saturday, Scott."
"What's the plan for next week?" Scott finished his beer and shook the bottle, holding the long neck at the top and moving the wider bottom
"Same old, same old," Titus yawned sarcastically. "It's the week after that things get good."
"Yeah?"
"Oh, yeah. But let me give you the backstory first."
"Shoot," Scott said. He meant it as an invitation, and Titus obliged.
"Chris Parseles."
Short Pause.
"What about him?"
"In a minute. You know Marty Thriller?"
"One of the biggest names on the indy circuit. Above me, even."
"Well, I'm about to do the impossible. I'm on the verge of having Marty sign a contract for IRW."
"You're kidding. That guy won't sign unless he knows big things'll come out of it."
"Exactly. And he knows that Intensity Rules will be the next fed on TV. The fans love our sick action, the T & A, the swearing, the anarchy. They want to be like us. And every wrestling magazine out there knows we're going to be the next to sign with a network, or better."
"Better?"
"Our violence doesn't gel well with cable. But it will. I'll make it happen. Until then, we're almost on premium TV as I speak."
"How did you manage to find a premium station?"
"I'll keep my business decisions to myself, Scott. Now, back to Marty. He knows we're the next big thing. He knows he can make 'mucho grande,'" he rubbed his fingers together, making the sign for money, "by taking his hardcore style to our ring. Ironic that I just spoke some Spanish, because that's the only problem."
"What is?"
"Our Hispanic friend, Christopher Parceles. You see, Scott, Marty isn't one to let bygones be bygones. He's the type of person who holds a grudge. For a while. And this grudge just happens to be with young Christopher."
"No kidding," Scott repeated himself. He pointed to Titus' mini-bar. "May I?"
"What's mine is yours."
Scott went to the bar and got another drink. He used a can opener to remove the lid as he continued. "So, what did Chris do to Marty that would keep him from signing a contract with us? Marty always seems like a calm little guy. I'd think he was some sort of wetback. Oh, wait...he is."
"Apparently, he wasn't always 'a calm little guy.' A few years ago, according to Marty, he and Chris went drinking. Chris got stoned, and Marty tried to get him to hand over the keys. But Chris was to dumb to think, and he did the driving. They had a little accident. Marty dislocated a shoulder and sprained his ankle. Chris was unscathed."
"So, he's mad that Chris got him busted up? He healed, right?"
"Of course. But not for a while. And, it just so happened that ECW had contacted Marty the day before. They had a spot. Marty would have taken it. But he was too injured. And Paul E., who had no time to waste with talent he hadn't signed, got someone else."
"I see. Marty lost his spot in one of the so-called "Big Name" feds because of Chris?"
"Right. And now, he won't sign with us unless Chris is gone."
"Fire him."
"Can't. He has a contract with me. But I need Marty."
"Wait, wait. What does all this have to do with the show in two weeks?"
"That's where you come in. I was smart enough, a few years ago, to put a little escape clause for myself in Chris' contract. If he becomes so injured that he can't compete for more than a month, he's out. I put that in there because I wanted some discipline for a guy I thought would injure easily. Now it works even more in my favor." Titus opened his desk drawer, took out a pencil, set it on the table, and went to fix himself a drink.
"What I want you to do," he continued, " is help me put that clause into action. We start with next week. You go out and beat whoever I decide should be put in front of you. After the match, you call out Chris. Say something insulting. His mother died about a year ago, use that."
"Gotcha," Scott said. He took a large swig as Titus sat back down and picked up the pencil.
"Chris'll run out, and you guys brawl until security takes you apart. Now, we move to two weeks away. You fight Chris in this match with no rules. Let Chris get some good spots. We have to give him some credit, he's a good flyer. But, in the end, you win. After that, you take a char, wrap it around his leg, and...," he snapped the pencil in two.
"Ouch," Scott replied, unemotionally. "How'm I gonna explain that to him?"
"Pretend it was an accident. He's so gullible, he'll believe you. I'll vouch. Slip-ups happen in this business all the time. After his leg's gone, he'll be in the hospital for a pretty long time. Long enough for the clause to go into effect. With him gone, the
door's open for Marty Thriller, and my company'll be the next in the 'big 2.' Think you're up to the task?"
"You're asking the bird to fly. Injuring people is what I do best."
"I knew I could count on you, Scotty."
Six days later...IRW Extreme Asylum show.
Scott Shadows arrived at the arena a few hours before showtime. It was as few hours earlier than he normally showed up, but, today, he had some business to take care of. He took his bag out of the trunk and headed to the back entrance, noticing all the fans standing around the fence in front. They were already lining up to get in. Titus was right; IRW was the next big thing. And it would be Scott's job to keep it that way. Scott smirked, mostly to himself. He felt no remorse for what he had to do. In fact, he looked forward to it. His mind reran he and Titus' discussion. He especially liked the part where Titus had substituted the pencil for poor Chris' leg. It wouldn't be much harder than that; at lest, not for Scott.
As he approached the back entrance, Scott was surprised to see the bar of the door move away from his hand as he reached out. The blue metal pulled away, revealing a dark-skinned woman wearing sweatpants, a one-size-too-big T-shirt, and a denim jacket standing in the entrance. Her eyes widened quickly and she jerked back a little at the surprise of seeing someone in front of her.
"Oh, Scott," she laughed. "You scared me. You aren't usually at the building this early."
"Yeah, I know," Scott said, pushing past her and into the hallway. He turned to face her again, and she did likewise. "Got some stuff to do. What are you up to, Val?"
Valerie Said glanced outside, then pointed to the parking lot. "I was just going to go out, get some fresh air, and greet the people. They're here pretty early, too...might as well make it worth their while."
"What, you mean, like, sign autographs?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Titus hates it when we give free autographs."
"Oh, Titus is too uptight about money. A few John Hancocks won't make us lose money. If anything, it'll probably make the fans come back again!"
"Whatever you say," Scott replied. "Just be back before bell time."
Val laughed. "Yeah, okay, Dad." She waved to Scott as she walked out the door. Scott stared at her until the door closed. Specifically, he stared at a couple little features he saw from behind. He thought to himself, Man, what I wouldn't give...
After his perverted fantasies ceased, Scott about-faced and headed toward the locker rooms. After finding them, Scott had just enough time to open up his bag and put his things in a locker before none other than Chris Parceles appeared in the doorway, carrying a bag of his own.
"Hey, Scott!" he said, just as surprised as Val had been. "You're here already?"
"Nah, just a cardboard cutout," Scott replied, as unemotional as possible.
"Heh...funny," Chris didn't realize that Scott was humoring him. "Anyway, we got a thing tonight, don't we? Like, an angle, you know?"
"Yeah, I know what a 'thing' is." Scott felt annoyed by Chris' appearance, despite the fact that he'd come early just to meet with him.
"Right...how's it supposed to go again? Boss Titus didn't give me all the details, really."
Scott paused to grumble to himself, then began to gather the things he'd need for the night. "I've got a match. Right after that match, I'll get on the mic and call you out. You don't come right away, so I start to insult you. I'll say you're an illegal immigrant, and how I'm glad you mother is dead, so she won't have to see her son get beaten up, stuff like that."
"Oh...gee," Chris made his way over to a locker about halfway down the line from Scott's. "Do we have to use my Mom in this? I mean...it's kind of disrespectful, you know?"
"Well, it gets me big heat, and it gives you a good reason to come out and attack me. You got to make some sacrifices in this business, Chris."
"Yeah, I guess so...okay." Chris didn't sound too enthusiastic.
"So, after that, you run in and we start fighting, but security takes us apart. Then, Malone comes out and makes a match between us for next week. They start to drag me away, and I start saying more insults and sh*t, and I make it a hardcore match. You agree, and I get pulled to the back like last week. That's what Titus wants."
"All right, that sounds like a good angle. And we have the match at next week's show, which is, like, not too far from here, really?"
"Right...think you can handle that?"
"No problemo, mi amigo. Any ideas for the match next week?"
"Actually, I was going to let you come up with some spots. I do get to win, though, just so you know."
"Really? Wow, so this is, like, going to be a long...you know, battle between us?"
"Oh yeah. Big and long. Titus says he thinks you're going places."
"He does?" Chris took that lie as if it were a headline story.
"Oh, definitely. Anyways, I'm going to go over and get suited up."
"All right, man. I'll catch you later."
Or vice versa, Scott thought.
The fans came to their feet as they saw Emerald climb to the top rope. She'd just been knocked from the ring apron into the guardrail by the six foot, seven inch "Buffalo" Brandon Knox, who'd decided to take a break from his choking of Jared Sphinx to brutalize Sphinx's valet. As with anyone who'd had pro wrestling training, Emerald wouldn't let it rest. She ascended the turnbuckle when Knox wasn't looking. Knox picked Sphinx up from the ground and gave him a hard shove that sent him into the corner opposite Emerald. Knox sent a few quick boots into Sphinx's gut, then prepared to whip him into the other corner.
Desperately, Sphinx reversed the Irish Whip, sending Knox towards the corner, and right into a big flipping neckbreaker from Emerald. For her deed, Emerald was given a large round of applause as she slid from the ring. Knox held his head and staggered to his feet. Sphinx kicked his opponent in the stomach and hit a swift single-armed DDT, then rolled him over and got the three count, and a huge crown pop. Sphinx and Emerald celebrated in the ring for a few seconds before exiting to the back.
Just as they got past the curtain, Valerie and Jared separated. Valerie spotted Scott standing by a TV monitor that was set up on a table for the benefit of the guys in the back. A few facility workers watched it, too. The announcer was on and ready to introduce the next match. Scott turned to see Val as she approached.
"Hey," she said, "what'd you think?"
"Think of what?"
"Of the match!"
"Oh, that...yeah, it was pretty good. I'll admit, I've never seen a chick do a move like that before."
"I know. I swiped it from Buff Bagwell. He won't mind; I'm not the first. Still, I think it was a pretty good spot. I can't believe I actually caught him while he was running! And he sold it so well. You know, if he'd wanted to, he could've just kept going and totally screwed my move up, but he went with it.
"You're awfully modest," Scott noted.
"Your point being?"
"No point. Just mentioning. I don't hear too many of the others talk like that."
"Well, you just don't listen. Besides, I can't be too full of pride. 'Pride goeth before destruction.' Proverbs 16:18. Not that I need to remind anyone."
"Remind any one of what?" Scott questioned, trying to call her bluff.
Valerie sighed. "Of that verse. Don't you ever read a Bible?"
"Nah. What do I want with a bunch of old scribbles done by some old "supreme being" who won't show his face to anyone?" Valerie paused. Scott thought he'd gotten her with that remark. However, she kept the conversation going, making Scott realize that she was serious on the subject.
"Well, first of all, it wasn't written by a "supreme being," it was written by men on Earth who received their inspiration from the "supreme being." Like the four apostles who wrote the first books of the New Testament. They weren't gods, just four guys like you or me. Well, maybe you."
"Uh-huh, and you actually believe that stuff?"
"With every ounce of my soul."
"Great, a Bible pusher. All right, if it's all true, where's the proof, huh?"
"Right here," Valerie replied, pointing to the right side of her chest, where her heart would be if it weren't for her skin, muscle, and bone.
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard all about 'blind faith' and junk. But I mean real, hard copy proof." By now, the workers who'd been standing around the TV monitor had left to find another. They were sick of listening to two weirdo wrestlers arguing. That didn't stop Valerie.
"Okay, you want 'real' proof? Archeologists around the world have discovered many of the places where biblical events took place. Calvary, Jesus' tomb, stuff like that."
"Yeah? Well, maybe the Bible was written after all those places exhisted, and someone just told everyone it was true. I wasn't alive back then; how can I tell?"
"The Dead Sea Scrolls weren't just made by some nut and buried underground for someone to find!"
"What if he was a clever guy?"
Valeire sighed again. "Okay, look. You really want some proof? I don't have it with me now, but come over to my apartment right after the show tonight. Here's the address..." Valerie grabbed a pen that she saw sitting on the table frantically looked around for something to write on.
"Just tell it to me. I've got a good memory."
Valerie told him the address of her apartment. "If you really want some evidence that maybe a God is out there, go there afterwards. I'm on the third floor, number 212." With that, Valerie turned to leave. She stopped, though, and turned back to look Scott in the eyes. "Oh, by the way...it's not 'blind faith.' You need to open your eyes...and you heart." After that, Val walked away to the locker room.
Scott blew the comment off with a "pfft" sound. He almost jumped out of his wrestling boots when a hand grabbed his shoulder as he turned back to the monitor. It was Stan Morelli, "the Hardhat Kid," his opponent for the night. "Hey, it's almost time," he said. Scott saw the announcer on the monitor begin to announce the next match. Scott was surprised that the last match had ended during his conversation. He grabbed his mask from his jeans' pocket and headed towards the curtain.
The Shadow Master beat the Hardhat Kid with a huge shoulderbreaker, just after he'd sent his right shoulder under the top turnbuckle and straight into the ring post. After the match, Scott kicked the Kid until he rolled out under the bottom rope, and the referee helped him to the back. Scott thought under the mask, I wonder if the guys are getting scared of my stiffness? He was hoping the answer was "yes." He loved to intimidate people. It's what he'd been trying to do to Valerie, but it hadn't worked. She'd actually invited him to her house. He ruled out bringing date-rape drugs, just because he wanted to keep his job.
The Shadow Master got the microphone from the ring announcer, and began his tirade. "Now that I've plowed through one lame-*ss freak, there's another lame-*ss in the back that I got some beef with. If you're listening to me, Chris Parceles, get your scrawny little butt out here right now, so I can tear you a new one!"
Everyone's eyes were on the entrance curtain. No one was there. A few fans started chanting, "Chris, Chris," but still no sign of life.
"Oh, I see how it is. Yeah, you must be back there moping and whining over that dead mother of yours!" The audience fell silent, surprised at the cruel remark. Shadow Master looked over the crowd, and said, "Oh, gee, did I hit a nerve with you people? Good. You can all suffer just as much as the S***head Kid for all I care!" The fans now were booing the man in the ring, and more people started to chant Chris' name. Still, no sign of him.
"Well, you little wetback, you'd better stop you crying, because you'll need it all saved up for when I come back there. And, hey, thank you lucky stars that your mama's dead, because I'm sure she wouldn't want to be alive to see her son get the a** whooping I'm about to give you!"
Like a shot, the fans began to cheer at the tops of their lungs when Chris Parceles suddenly rushed through the curtain and sprinted to the ring. "Kick his a**," was the new chant that the crowd had started. Chris slid into the ring, and he and the Shadow Master began trading blows. They pounded on each other until Shadow went low on his smaller foe. He sent a double ax handle to the man's back, then stomped him down all the way.
After this, the Shadow Master turned to the ropes and yelled at the ring announcer to throw him a chair. Out of fear, the announcer obliged. Shadow caught the chair, but turned around only to get it driven into his face by a Parceles jumping side kick. The shot sent the Shadow Master outside the ring and onto the thin black mats.
Under the mask, Scott Shadows was becoming enraged. They hadn't planned that spot. He was about ready to get back in the ring and fulfill his plan for next week right away, when three security personnel jumped him and began to drag him around the ring and to the back. Scott tried to keep his cool, remembering that Chris would pay the next week.
The Shadow Master kicked and fought, but two more guards came to lend a hand. Perfectly on cue, IRW Commissioner Malone Frenzie strode down the aisle, past the four guards and one wrestler, and climbed the stairs into the ring. She had a microphone with her, and used it.
"Shadow Master, you want to make it your business to start fights? No way, pal, that's MY job!" Half of the crowd cheered. "So, if you want it so badly, then you've got it, next week. You versus Chris, next week at the Grand Theater!" The whole audience cheered and applauded that announcement.
Scott realized that he didn't have his microphone with him, so he just yelled at the top of his lungs, "I want it Hardcore rules! You want to make my matches, you make them my way! I don't want it to end until someone gives!"
"You want hardcore?" the commissioner replied. She glanced at Chris, then looked back at the tangled mass of people holding the Shadow Master down. "You've got it!" The crowd erupted. Just as with the week before, security dragged the Shadow Master back through the curtain and out of sight.
Scott checked the clock in his car. 11:35. It felt later, but that's just because he'd been exercising. He headed down the road, checking his memory for Val's address. He found the apartment and parked in a visitor space. He rang up to Val's room and got the clearance he needed to go up.
Scott stopped in front of the door. He prepared his mind for the inevitable lecture of why the Bible's true. He expected Val to have stuff from books or the internet, papers that pronounced findings of things from the Bible in today's world. He'd told himself that he'd wave them off, as he thought they'd have no more reliability than a supermarket tabloid that said, "NOAH'S ARK FOUND IN THE GRAND CANYON."
Scott knocked. "Come in," was Val's immediate response. Scott opened the door and walked into the room. It wasn't bad. A picture on the wall of Val and some family. Under that, a sofa. Across from that, an adequate-sized TV set on a small dresser. There was a rocking chair, a regular wooden chair with cushions on the seat and back, and a couple lamps strategically placed around the room. Val came out of a room in the small hallway across from Scott. She had a white nightgown on, in place of the green wrestling gear she'd worn earlier.
"You came," she said, smiling. "Thanks."
"No problem," Scott replied. "Now, are you ready to dazzle me with this proof of God that you supposedly possess?"
Valerie crossed the room and locked the door. She took Scott by the shoulder and directed him over to the sofa. "Have a seat," she said. "Believe me, you'll need it."
Scott made himself comfortable. He was about to ask if Val had any beer, but decided it would just be a waste of breath. Val moved the wooden chair to face Scott a few feet in front of him. She took a seat in it, then leaned forward, resting her arms in her lap.
"All right, so, where is it?" Scott asked. "Where's this document that claims God exists, and the Bible is fact?"
"Who said anything about a document?" Val countered. "I promised you evidence that God MAY exist. No one has any photographs of Jesus or anyone who lived at the time. There's no letter of Jesus' confession to be God in the flesh. If there was, there'd be no point in anyone having faith. It would rule it out, and we wouldn't be here talking about it. What I can tell you, though, is that studies have shown the Bible to be somewhere around 95% accurate. Truthfully, though, I don't have any documents that state that, either."
"I see...so, are you saying that you give up? Did you come home, think about it, and decide that I was right?"
"Absolutely not. I can feel God inside me. Anyone who knows Him can. You never hear anyone say that they can feel Buddha, or Ghandi, or any of those great leaders. But millions of people can feel Jesus in their hearts."
"Right, right, and my neighbor's cat can feel itself getting kicked in the ribs, but I can't, so what's your point."
"My point, Scott, is that God is supernatural. And you can't always see the supernatural, even when they're right in front of you."
"Great, just great. You bring me over here to tell me stories about mythical creatures, now, too?"
Val stood. "Scott, look at me." She held her arms out at her sides and rotated all the way around, still staying in one spot. "Do I look like a normal person? No jokes."
"Yeah. Yeah, you look like a normal human nutcase."
"Well...that shows what you know..."
Then, the strangest thing Scott had ever seen happened. Valerie Said got down on her hands and knees. Scott watched her, contemplating the reason why, yet still maintaining a lustful fantasy. That fantasy shattered, however, as did his reasoning, when Scott noticed that Val's skin was getting darker right before his eyes. Her head was facing down, and her long black hair hung towards the floor. Valerie's skin was changing to match the shade of that hair. No...her skin was growing more hair!
Scott's mind went blank. All he could do was watch. Val's body seemed to be growing, gaining mass. Either that, or her nightgown was shrinking. Scott saw two long, pointed ears rise from under Val's hair. He heard a growl. Valerie arched her back, and her gown tore and fell away, revealing a large, muscular, inhuman frame.
The being in front of Scott wasn't God. At least, he didn't think it was. But it certainly didn't look like Valerie Said, professional wrestler. It looked a bit more...canine. Just as that thought crossed Scott's mine, "Val" looked up at him. Her face was canine, all right. It had the long snout, the fur, the fangs...the works.
Scott laughed. The last emotion a normal human being would have during a moment like this would probably be joy. But Scott laughed. "Oh, man," he said. "Oh man, this isn't happening. This is some sort of dream...this is an act...G** D*** IT, this is not f***ing happening..."
The beast on the carpet at Scott's feet growled, as if in protest. Scott's laughter stopped, and he hopped up on the couch, sitting on his legs. He wanted to say something for some reason, but words escaped him. He just gazed into the eyes of a creature that, just moments ago, hadn't been what it was now. That stare was returned in kind.
The last time Scott had looked at a clock, it was 11:35. It was now 12:08 AM, and Scott still couldn't figure out how long he and "Val" had been staring at each other before "she" picked the torn nightgown up in her jowls and disappeared into the hallway. Scott stared at the entrance to the hallway, awaiting to see what would emerge.
After a while, it was Valerie, human, in the flesh, wearing yet another nightgown, this one blue. She fixed her hair as she came into view. Scott never noticed that he was breathing heavier than he had earlier in the day, after his wrestling match.
"Calm down, Tiger," Valerie said. "Don't go fainting on me. If you did, then you wouldn't remember the lesson you've just received." She was smiling, and she sat down on the couch next to Scott. He realized that she had a Bible with her. She opened it and read. "...because you have seen me, you have believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." John 20:29. Well, Scott, you didn't see God today. But you did see something that you knew could never exist. And now that you have, maybe you'll open that lock-box you call a mind. I pray you will."
Scott looked her in the eyes. Sincere eyes, yet they were also the same eyes he'd seen on the animal. He didn't say a word. His pride defense system had been breached, and he was nothing but a confused and frightened man.
"If you're too shaken up, you can sleep here tonight. Sleeping it off should help. I'll get you some sheets and a blanket." Scott didn't object. Val disappeared into the hall, and reappeared again soon, carrying two sheets and a heavy blanket. She set them out for Scott. "Well, I'm going to bed. It's been a long day for me. Sweet dreams."