"Yes."
"And tall."
"I think so. It was dark."
"And he smiled?"
"Yes!" Her head popped up. "A bright smile. It was the brightest thing in the world." She put her head down and looked at the cold gray table in front of her. "He kept smiling, except when he talked about Christian."
Benoit shifted slightly in his chair. "And he told you that Christian was murdered."
"I was supposed to die like Christian, he said. He was going to toss me into an alley. Like they did Christian. But, he didn't have time. Randy..." Her head turned towards the small window in the door. She could see Randy standing just outside, staring in the room. They told him he couldn't come in. "Randy came in and he ran."
"How did he get out?"
"I don't know. Maybe he was still there, hiding in the dark. Maybe he left when we left. Maybe he's still there, now." She turned her head to the side and looked at her lawyer. "I'm tired. I want to go home."
Dave Batista sat up straight and stared at Benoit with cold, unforgiving eyes. It was late (or early, depending on the point of view) and he'd been sleeping when he got Randy's call, but he looked as fresh as if he'd never gone to sleep. His suit was neatly steamed, collars crisp and seams straight.
He still didn't have the whole story, but he would get that later. For the moment, he had the important parts. Randy had come to Trish's condo to check on her and she was barely alive. She lost consciousness in the car on the way to the airport. The police had been called because the diagnosis was an overdose, and five hours after Trish Stratus had been shot full of heroin, two hours after she had been revived by doctors in the emergency room, she was sitting across from Homocide Detective Chris Benoit in a cold Miami-Dade interrogation room.
"Are we getting to a point, Detective?" Dave leaned forward and sat his arms on the table. "Ms. Stratus has obviously been through a lot tonight and she would like to get out of here and get some rest."
Benoit ignored him and fixed his eyes on Trish. "There's no one in your house right now, Trish. The police have been through there, and we've found some pretty interesting things." He reached into a box beside him and tossed out a plastic evidence bag containing a hypodermic needle. Another one held a spoon that had obviously been cooked. A third held what looked to be like a small baggie of white powder.
Trish looked at the things and shivered. She closed her eyes and took in deep breaths. She heard Benoit ask her, "Do you know where these came from?" She let out a shaky breath, then her eyes popped open. "I don't do heroin!" she screamed. If she had the strength, she would have jumped up and slapped them.
"That's enough!" Dave took Trish's arm and stood up, pulling her with him. "My client was almost killed tonight, Detective. Someone broke into her home and tried to murder her, and all you can do is accuse her of being a junkie? I'll be sure to file yet another complaint with your captain as soon as the courthouse is open in the morning."
He started to walk Trish towards the door when Benoit called out, "He was Christian's brother!"
Trish stopped and pulled her arm out of Dave's grasp. She was tired and afraid, so she thought maybe she heard him wrong. She slowly turned towards Benoit. "What?"
He pulled out a packet of pictures and spread them across the table. "Edge. He was Christian's brother."
She looked at him with confusion. "Christian didn't have a brother."
"Yes, he did." He moved the pictures around, pushing one towards her. As she moved closer, Trish saw that it was a picture of Christian and Edge together, smiling, when they were younger. Back when Christian still had long hair.
"He..." She gulped and reached out to the photograph. Her fingers ran down Christian's face lightly, then her nails angrily raked over Edge's. "He was at Ric's funeral." She turned to Dave. "I thought I saw Christian, but it was him. He was at Ric's funeral."
"Edge. Real name, Adam Copeland. He was Christian's half brother." Benoit stood up from his chair and walked around the table. "The brothers hadn't spoken in years, not since Edge found out what Christian was doing down here. They had a fight and now... it looks like Christian's brother is back for revenge."
Trish never took her eyes off the picture, though she noticed that they focused more on Christian's smiling face than Edge. She had seen enough of his grin to last an eternity. She slowly, absently sat down in the chair Dave had previously occupied. "He said it was my fault. He said I killed Christian. And..." She closed her eyes. A tear dropped from her eyelashes to fall on the picture and she reopened her eyes. "He killed Ric."
"And beat up Randy. And tried to blow up Helmsley and Batista's cars. Shannon Moore is dead right now because this guy thinks your boyfriend and his friends had something to do with his brother's death. Because he thinks that it's all your fault." Benoit leaned down and pressed his hands flat on the table. "There's a lot of blood on your hands, Trish."
She looked up at him, blinking. She knew that Benoit hated all of them because of the things that went on inside Club Evolution and in the private rooms of Evolution Enterprises, but... she didn't think he could be so cruel. "Blood on my hands," she said softly. Trish shook her head. "I didn't kill anybody."
"But this guy thinks you did. He's like a fucking ghost, Trish. Ex-Special Forces. He knows what he's doing and he knows how to hide. I can't promise that I can keep you safe. And these guys? They couldn't even keep their own safe. Do you think they can protect you? Give me something useful Trish, anything that has anything to do with anybody and..."
"And that's enough." Dave took her arm again and pulled her up from her chair. "This interview is over. You've got your guy, now do your job and find him." He pulled Trish out of the room before Benoit could say anything else. Once they were in the hallway, he pushed Randy back and looked down at Trish. "Don't listen to him. I know you're smarter than him. There's not a damn thing he can do to protect you, especially if you go thinking that you can..."
"Stop!" She shook her head. "I don't know anything, Dave, and even if I did, I'm not rolling over for some cop who doesn't care, alright? I just... I'm tired and I wanna go to bed and..." She choked back a sob. "I want to be held and told that it'll be alright."
Dave looked down at her and sighed. He nodded, partially unsure of how to take things. He didn't think Trish was the kind to roll, but there was no counting for what people would do under stress. He didn't have time to think much on it, though, as Randy pushed him aside.
Randy rushed over and for a second, he didn't know what to do. He and Trish had based a relationship on sex, drugs and mutual ego. Yet, when she said she wanted to be held, he wanted to go and do that for her. He knew there had to be some underlying emotions there that neither of them would admit to, and he certainly wasn't about to do it right that moment, but he could at least let her feel protected.
He turned his head to Dave and gave him a nod that was more than a thank you. It told his friend that Trish would be fine and whatever Benoit had said behind that closed door wasn't anything to worry about. He knew Trish, and she wasn't going to roll, no matter what happened or how scared she was.
Randy wrapped his arms around Trish and felt a tension leave his body when she put her arms around his waist and pressed herself into him. Her hair was limp and wavy, and she was dressed in the only thing that had been available, a hospital gown and Randy's suit jacket.
"Christian had a brother," Trish said, her cheek pressed against Randy's chest. "He had a brother and now he's come back to get us." She looked up at him. "I'm tired, Randy, but I... I can't go home. I don't think I can ever go back there."
"I'll take you home with me." He turned them both and asked Dave, "We can get outta this place, right?"
He nodded. "Follow me," he told them, then led them out.
There were eyes on them and Trish tried to pull the jacket tighter around her body. Her feet were bare and the floor was cold. There were reporters outside and Dave took off his jacket, putting it over Trish's head as he lead her out to Randy's car. The entire walk, he repeated the mantra, "No Comment," and the reporters still pressed on. Randy shoved one guy hard enough to make him stumble back before they finally reached the car. He ushered Trish into the passenger side, then ran back around to get in.
He turned to look at her and wished he could tell her that everything would be alright. He didnt' know if it would. He usually liked with such ease, but right then, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not looking into her frightened eyes, knowing that she had very nearly died.
"He's gonna kill me, Randy," she said softly. "He's gonna kill us all. Unless..." She turned her head to the side and stared out the window. She knew what she was about to say, what she was about to condone, and it was something she never thought would come out of her mouth. And yet, this had been a life changing experience. She'd almost died. However, she knew that there wasn't much about the way she lived that would be different. When it was all over, she would find another condo. She would go back to her cage in the club. She would still powder her nose. And she would still be with Randy... if he wanted her. But something in her had broken, and as bad as it was, there was no repair. Her moral fiber had ripped.
"Trish?"
She turned her head back to him slowly and said, "Unless you find him and kill him first."
...go back