The news about The Rock being let out of the hospital two months after the horrible incident was received in the locker room with relief and sadness at the same time. Relief because he was out of danger, so to speak, from getting in a worse health condition than the one in which he was. Sadness because the doctors weren't sure when he'd be able to walk on his own again or when/if he'd be able to wrestle at all. Whenever Vince walked around the halls in the back, all the wrestlers would glare at him, blaming him silently for what had happened and for any other misfortune that could happen; either to them or someone they knew.
Vince, on the other hand, didn't really care about what the wrestlers thought of him. As long as they did their job and wrestle; putting on a show for the fans, everything was ok with him. It had been a while since Ralph or one of his 'boys' had called him, so he wasn't worrying all that much about that. Maybe they had forgotten about it...
One morning when they were in Miami, however, that theory was proven wrong. He was sitting on his leather chair from his desk, filling out papers that he needed to finish before the show started, but suddenly felt the urge to look at the newspaper only to find "IS VINCE MCMAHON BEHIND WHAT HAPPENED TO 'THE ROCK'?" Frowning, he reached over for another newspaper. "IS THE WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT EMPIRE CRUMBLING?" Furious, Vince threw both papers away from his desk and reached over for the phone to dial The Rock. Had he said anything to these people?!
In Miami, Rock was in his home. He wasn't working out how he would have done months ago if he had nothing to do. Instead, he was sitting on a wheelchair that was now his companion for everything. The weather outside was perfect for a jog or a walk by the beach, yet he could do neither; just sit around while he wheeled himself around the patio of his luxurious home. When the phone rang, he answered since he had taken his cell phone with him. "Hello?"
"Well, well! Seems you can't keep your mouth shut!"
Frowning in confusion but still glaring in anger at Vince's voice, he answered. "What the hell are you babbling about now? Wh-"
Vince scoffed. "Oh, so you're going to say that it wasn't you who-"
"Who put the headlines in those newspapers? No, Vince, it wasn't me. Why the hell would I do that? To 'ruin' you? Please! You're doing that well enough on your own, and I have better things to do than just call up newspapers to give those headlines. Why don't you call your little Mafia friends, huh? I bet they could probably give you those answers."
Without waiting for anything else, Rock hung up the phone. He'd be damned if Vince would point the finger at him for doing something he didn't do. Besides, whatever he got he deserved. As thoughts filled his head, he looked down at his legs that were motionless as he sat and would probably stay that way for a long time to come. When would he be able to use them again? To walk around? To work out or just...
'Then what did I do to deserve this...?'
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Vince stomped out of his locker room that was used as his office to go talk to Triple H. He knew a lot about everything, so maybe it had been him. But, just as he was going to open the door, his phone rang and answered.
"Hello, Vince. I hope you haven't forgotten me in this time..."
He didn't even have to see Ralph's face to picture him sitting down, smirking as he talked through the phone. "H- Hello, Ralph. Wh... I hadn't..."
Ralph stood up, walking around his office. "What's wrong, Vince? Speechless? Well, that's too bad... So how did that little conversation with that crippled man go? You know, that wrestler of yours who used to be so famous before I came along..."
Freezing as he stood, Vince paled. How did Ralph know of that phone call? Was he tracing all his phone calls too? And making sure he didn't squeal on him? "I don't know what you're talking about, Ralph. I didn't-"
"Oh, come on! You know better than to lie to *me*! I know everything, Vince. I know what you do, what you say... You'd be surprised, actually... I just wanted to let you know of something. Next week we'll be there to collect the millions that you owe me. And I don't want cops or any other little crap you have organized, got it?" He let out a sadistic laugh then. "By the way, don't worry about 'The Rock'. We'll give him some company so he won't feel so lonely. Who knows, maybe I'll put an end to his suffering. He doesn't deserve to be live as a cripple, right?" Letting out another laugh, he hung up.
Before he could say or do anything, Vince heard the click of the phone as he hung up and the dead tone. Triple H was about to walk in his locker room but stopped. "What do you want, Vince?" Triple H saw the way that his 'boss' looked; almost half dead even. When he saw his phone in his hand, he frowned deeper. "What happened, Vince!? Did they call again? What did they want now?"
"They... They're coming next week. ::looks up at him:: But I think that Rock's in danger."
Vince, on the other hand, didn't really care about what the wrestlers thought of him. As long as they did their job and wrestle; putting on a show for the fans, everything was ok with him. It had been a while since Ralph or one of his 'boys' had called him, so he wasn't worrying all that much about that. Maybe they had forgotten about it...
One morning when they were in Miami, however, that theory was proven wrong. He was sitting on his leather chair from his desk, filling out papers that he needed to finish before the show started, but suddenly felt the urge to look at the newspaper only to find "IS VINCE MCMAHON BEHIND WHAT HAPPENED TO 'THE ROCK'?" Frowning, he reached over for another newspaper. "IS THE WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT EMPIRE CRUMBLING?" Furious, Vince threw both papers away from his desk and reached over for the phone to dial The Rock. Had he said anything to these people?!
In Miami, Rock was in his home. He wasn't working out how he would have done months ago if he had nothing to do. Instead, he was sitting on a wheelchair that was now his companion for everything. The weather outside was perfect for a jog or a walk by the beach, yet he could do neither; just sit around while he wheeled himself around the patio of his luxurious home. When the phone rang, he answered since he had taken his cell phone with him. "Hello?"
"Well, well! Seems you can't keep your mouth shut!"
Frowning in confusion but still glaring in anger at Vince's voice, he answered. "What the hell are you babbling about now? Wh-"
Vince scoffed. "Oh, so you're going to say that it wasn't you who-"
"Who put the headlines in those newspapers? No, Vince, it wasn't me. Why the hell would I do that? To 'ruin' you? Please! You're doing that well enough on your own, and I have better things to do than just call up newspapers to give those headlines. Why don't you call your little Mafia friends, huh? I bet they could probably give you those answers."
Without waiting for anything else, Rock hung up the phone. He'd be damned if Vince would point the finger at him for doing something he didn't do. Besides, whatever he got he deserved. As thoughts filled his head, he looked down at his legs that were motionless as he sat and would probably stay that way for a long time to come. When would he be able to use them again? To walk around? To work out or just...
'Then what did I do to deserve this...?'
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Vince stomped out of his locker room that was used as his office to go talk to Triple H. He knew a lot about everything, so maybe it had been him. But, just as he was going to open the door, his phone rang and answered.
"Hello, Vince. I hope you haven't forgotten me in this time..."
He didn't even have to see Ralph's face to picture him sitting down, smirking as he talked through the phone. "H- Hello, Ralph. Wh... I hadn't..."
Ralph stood up, walking around his office. "What's wrong, Vince? Speechless? Well, that's too bad... So how did that little conversation with that crippled man go? You know, that wrestler of yours who used to be so famous before I came along..."
Freezing as he stood, Vince paled. How did Ralph know of that phone call? Was he tracing all his phone calls too? And making sure he didn't squeal on him? "I don't know what you're talking about, Ralph. I didn't-"
"Oh, come on! You know better than to lie to *me*! I know everything, Vince. I know what you do, what you say... You'd be surprised, actually... I just wanted to let you know of something. Next week we'll be there to collect the millions that you owe me. And I don't want cops or any other little crap you have organized, got it?" He let out a sadistic laugh then. "By the way, don't worry about 'The Rock'. We'll give him some company so he won't feel so lonely. Who knows, maybe I'll put an end to his suffering. He doesn't deserve to be live as a cripple, right?" Letting out another laugh, he hung up.
Before he could say or do anything, Vince heard the click of the phone as he hung up and the dead tone. Triple H was about to walk in his locker room but stopped. "What do you want, Vince?" Triple H saw the way that his 'boss' looked; almost half dead even. When he saw his phone in his hand, he frowned deeper. "What happened, Vince!? Did they call again? What did they want now?"
"They... They're coming next week. ::looks up at him:: But I think that Rock's in danger."
