She opened her eyes.
A face unblurred, resolved itself. She looked on Linda with concern in her eyes. "Are you all right? Should I find a nurse?"
Linda blinked, and recognized the face of Jade Khindin, her psychologist. "I'm sorry. I just felt a bit odd for a moment…"
Jade shrugged and helped Linda up. "No matter. It's probably the medication withdrawal. That happens sometimes."
Linda smoothed down her white shift. "Thank you, Doctor."
Jade returned to her clipboard. "As I was saying. Your request for release has been approved."
"Vince said I could go?" Linda asked.
"No," Jade said. "We called him. He was very much against the idea. But we've determined that you have been fully rehabilitated, insofar as you were ever actually…um…" She shuffled some papers. "What I'm trying to say here is, you didn't really need to come here. You had a bit of a nervous breakdown, is all. You're perfectly okay."
Linda sat bolt upright. "Really?" The first thing she felt was relief. Then, a slow realization washed over her. She had spent three months in this awful institution, just because of a case of nerves. "That bastard Vince! I can't believe he did this to me."
Jade shrugged. "You win some, you lose some. I suggest you take legal action." She put the clipboard down. "As of this moment, you are free to go."
Linda grinned. "Wonderful." Her smile faded. "Vince drove me here. How am I going to get back?"
Jade shrugged. "There's a rental car company a mile away. I can drive you there, if you like. Do you have enough money?"
Linda nodded. "Thank you so much, doctor."
Linda glanced at the glowing green clock on the dashboard. The numbers read 12:27 AM.
She had been driving for seven hours straight, now. Even in her favorite business suit, it was an eerie feeling, to be all alone in the world. She was almost certain that she would not be welcome at the WWF, and she couldn't go back to the hospital.
She turned on the radio. A slow Backstreet Boys song came on. Linda hated the Backstreet Boys. She listened to it anyway.
A small oasis of light appeared on the highway, and Linda slowed down as she approached it. It appeared to be a combination roadside café/filling station. There was a sign, announcing INTERNET ACCESS: 20 ¢ENTS PER FIVE MINUTES.
Linda swung into the parking lot and walked up the woodchip pathway to the door. As she opened it, a blast of warm air hit her.
It was a pleasant enough place. There were rickety wooden tables scattered around the tiled floor, and a small row of computers lined up against one wall. They were all blank and dark, their monitor lights blinking in the gloom.
There seemed to be no one there, except for a dozing teenager behind the counter. Linda approached him. "Young man?"
The kid woke with a start. "Hungh? Oh." He shook his head blearily and gazed at Linda. "Yeah, what can I do for you?"
"I'd like a cinnamon bun and a cup of tea, if you would."
The kid got to work, finding a tea bag and warming up a frozen bun. Linda took the opportunity to sit down.
A blue glow pervaded the edge of her consciousness. She glanced over to the row of computers.
The one in the corner was on. There were three kids gathered around it.
Linda approached them. "Why are you out so late on a night like this?"
The kids turned around in unison. Two of them were boys, identical, with spiked hair, glasses, and white T-shirts. The girl had a ponytail, glasses, and a white turtleneck.
They grinned at Linda. The light glittered off of their braces.
The first boy spoke. "Hail to Linda McMahon, ruler of the company."
The second boy spoke. "Hail to Linda McMahon, ruler of her family—what's left of it."
The girl spoke. "Hail to Linda McMahon, ruler of herself once again."
Linda stared at them. "What? How do you know my name? Who the hell are you, anyway?"
The girl laughed, and pressed a key. All three of them vanished. The computer screen went blank.
Linda stared at the spot where the three kids had been. There was nothing there. She felt the chair where the girl had been sitting. It was slightly warm.
Her reverie was interrupted when the kid, with a clatter of crockery, set down her tea on the counter. "Hey, d'you want this or not?"
Linda started. "I'll take it to go, please."
When Linda finally turned into the driveway of the McMahon house, the lights were all off.
She turned off the motor and sat in the car for a moment, looking up at the huge manse where she had spent her entire married life. Crickets chirped in the darkness.
She swung her traveling bag over her shoulder and crunched up the gravel driveway to the front door. It was unlocked. Linda set to work making herself at home. She put the kettle on for tea, took off her shoes, and checked the laundry room, which was a mess. A sea of clothes littered the floor.
She opened the washing machine. It had choked in the spin cycle, and no one had thought to take the clothes out. There was scum growing on the top of the water.
Linda wrinkled her nose at the smell. "God, who did this?" She gingerly lifted the clothes out, put them in the hamper, and slammed down the lid of the washing machine. The kettle was boiling, so she went into the kitchen to make her tea.
A light went on. Trish Stratus came down the stairs, holding a skimpy silk kimono around her and wearing little pink fuzzy pump shoes. She shielded her eyes. "Who's there?"
Linda blinked. "Trish? What the hell are you doing here?"
Trish sighed in disgust. "Vince, it's Linda," she called up the stairs.
Vince clomped down the stairs, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. "Linda? What the hell?"
Linda waved to Vince. "They let me out. There was nothing wrong; I just had a nervous breakdown."
Vince snorted. "Nervous breakdown my ass. How the hell did you get back here?"
"Rent-A-Car," Linda said. "Why is Trish Stratus here?"
"I'm Vince's new wife," Trish said. She hugged Vince.
Linda stared. "You mean, 'going to be his new wife'," she corrected Trish. "Legally, Vince no divorce can yet take place." She went back into the kitchen to pour her tea. Trish followed her.
"What do you mean?" she shrilled. "He signed the papers and everything!"
Linda calmly poured the tea. "In order for a divorce to be legal, both parties must sign. I never did."
"But you were insane at the time," Vince said. He had wandered into the kitchen.
Linda dunked the tea bag in the mug. "That doesn't matter. Unless I'm actually dead, with a death certificate and everything, the divorce is not legal."
Vince threw up his hands. "All right. Fine. Whatever." He sat down at the table, his face in his hands.
Linda sat down at the table. "Tell you what. Tomorrow, I'll find a divorce lawyer. We can go through the documentation and everything without any trouble. Okay?"
Vince shrugged. "Great." His head dropped onto the table, and he started snoring. Trish gave him a disgusted look.
Linda sat back, sipping her tea. She smiled.
The phone rang. Mick Foley grunted and reached for the extension near
the bedside.
"H'lo?" he muttered.
Linda's voice came over the line. "Michael Foley? Is that you?"
Mick sat bolt upright. "Linda! How'd you get out of that hospital?"
"It's a long story," Linda told him. "The short of it is this: Vince and I were never actually divorced, so I'm trying to find a divorce lawyer to do the proceedings. However, if we get divorced, then the WWF automatically goes to any children that Vince and Trish might have, since Stephanie can't run the company and Shane's gone back to college."
"Damn." Mick slipped out of bed, trying not to wake his youngest daughter, who had had a bad dream and was sleeping peacefully between Mick and his wife. "So what then?"
Linda outlined her plan. Mick nodded. A slow smile crept over his face. "I think that'll work…"
Linda checked her watch. "He's late."
Samuel Wezelman, the divorce lawyer she had hired, nodded. "If he doesn't show, I'm charging the session to his account."
Linda shrugged. "He'll show. He had better show."
Vince showed up three minutes later. "Sorry I'm late. Trish had a bad dream and she didn't want me to go." He looked haggard and tired.
The three took their places. Linda and Vince sat on opposite sides of the room. Sam sat behind a desk.
Sam shuffled some papers. "We are now annulling the marriage of Vincent McMahon and Linda Weatherwax."
Vince looked surprised. "Weatherwax? That's your maiden name?"
"Yes," Linda said, rolling her eyes. "I thought you knew that."
"Hmm. All right, Mr…" Vince peered at Sam's nameplate. "Weasel-man?"
"Wezelman," Sam corrected. "It's pronounced Wezz-ell-man."
Vince listened with half an ear while Sam went into a long speech about custody and accounts. He was bored and thirsty, and there was a beer can sitting next to a pile of papers on Sam's desk.
While Sam droned on, Vince's hand inched toward the beer can. He thought he saw Linda looking at him, and his hand shot back to tapping on the glass cover of the desk with a paper clip.
Linda leaned forward to investigate some papers, and Vince saw his chance. He grabbed the beer can and drained it in one swallow, watching Linda out of the corner of his eye. She didn't seem to notice.
Eventually, Sam smiled brightly and shoved a piece of paper in front of Vince. "Just sign there."
Vince stared at it. "And this is the annulment, is it?"
Linda sighed in exasperation. "Honestly, Vince. Haven't you been listening? This is the divorce contract. Just sign."
Vince took a pen off of the desk and scribbled his name on the dotted line. He handed it back to Sam. "There."
Sam nodded. "Good. Now, Linda…" He gave the paper to her.
"Just a second." Linda took the piece of paper and carefully scrutinized it. From time to time, she glanced sideways at Vince, as though expecting him to do something.
Vince slumped down in his chair. He felt his vision wavering, and wondered blearily if it was really a good idea to down a whole can of beer on an empty stomach. Then everything went black.
Linda looked at the prone body of the man who had formerly been her husband. "Well, that's that."
Sam sat back in his chair. "I take it you'll want to alert the authorities?"
"No, I'll just have someone falsify an autopsy and claim he had a heart attack," Linda decided. She raised her head. "Mr. Foley? Would you take the body, please?"
Mick came out of the bathroom in which he had been hiding. He looked at Vince's body and whistled. "Jeez. What did you use?"
"Rat poison," Linda said. "If you would…" She indicated the body.
"Right." Mick picked up the body and dragged it out of the door.
Linda smiled. "Thank you, commissioner."
Sam tapped a pen on the divorce papers. "I take it you won't be needing these?"
"Not at all." Linda stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Wezelman."
Sam smiled. "Any time, ma'am." They shook hands.
The phone rang. Shane McMahon snored.
The phone rang again. Shane was still snoring.
The phone kept ringing. Shane fell out of bed. He landed on the phone, which rang right in his ear.
Shane shot bolt upright. "GYAH! Oh." He grabbed the phone. "Mmgph."
"Good morning to you, too." Linda's voice came out of the receiver.
Shane pressed the phone to his ear. "Mom? Is that you?"
"I'm sorry to call you so early," Linda said, "but your father had a heart attack."
Shane dropped the phone.
Well…all right, so it's not much of a start, and so I didn't have anything better to do. So I'm a total nerd. Still…
Thanks Jade Khindin for…um…a lot of stuff.
Comments? Suggestions? E-mail me at random_hero42@yahoo.com