April 11th, 4:00 PM: The Cathedral.

The Nightmare's notorious 4-man starting pitching rotation dictated that Brian would pitch today. For today, the signing of Meryl Davis overshadowed Brian's own problems with the disappearance of Stacy. Some people howled over this supposed mismanagement of priorities, but Brian welcomed the shifting of the limelight. The police had made no progress in their investigation, and were reluctantly coming to the conclusion that the worst may have happened. Never had a person so completely and totally dropped off the face of the earth. There was no evidence of a struggle in the house, nor was there any unusual forensic evidence whatsoever. Police were stumped.

Brian had been sleeping very poorly since her disappearance, and had trouble concentrating on the signs from his catcher. More than once he threw the wrong pitch and almost had a wild ball. Sulking into the dugout in the 6th inning with a loss pending on the books, Brian asked Steve if they had any news. Steve shook his head sadly.

April 12th, 11:00 AM: Nightmare clubhouse.

Today was a special day in New York. Not only was it the debut of baseball's first ever female player, but both the Nightmare and Liberators were at home, and when that happened, the two clubs had special "throwback" days, special promotions where the Nightmare wore Yankees jerseys and the Liberators wore Mets jerseys. Brian slipped on the pinstripes and smirked. He used to dread these stripes, but now he couldn't wait for throwback days so he could honor the spirit of the legendary franchise that died 10 years ago.

Brian sat back in a chair and turned on the TV, only to be met with red-faced sportscasters and much blustering.

"This is a disgrace to the tradition of baseball in New York, and the owner of the team should be hung for it!"

Brian jumped out of his seat, thinking that maybe the man was talking about Meryl's signing. But after listening a couple of more minutes, Brian gleaned what the big disgrace was: The Liberators were refusing to wear the Mets uniforms.

"Alright, alright, sir, we get your point, you can calm down now."

"No! I will not calm down!"

"Sir, we'll have to cut your mike. Alright, now that we're down with that distraction, we move to the other side of town, the Bronx, where Meryl Davis, the first woman major leaguer, will be making her debut at the ripe ol' age of 19 years old, and feminists around the world rejoice."

3:00 PM: The Cathedral.

The anticipation rode high and the camera bulbs flashed as Meryl took her position on the field. Boos came from one of the bleacher areas in the outfield, which was typically the stomping grounds of the redneck population. The first pitch was thrown, and lasered right to Meryl. A trial by fire. But her expression never changed and she didn't run away from the ball like the girls in gym class, like certain sports analysts had predicted. She put her glove up and snagged the ball right out of the air with a loud SMACK from the glove. Many people were stunned. Steve and Brian were not. Her supposed defensive prowess was the very reason she was signed to the team in the first place, and she proved to be a far-above-average glove in fielding practice. Her bat, however, is a different story. Or would it be? Her ascension to the majors was so fast that she never had the opportunity to take BP, and offensive stats were not kept in the backwater league she played in before.

So, her glove was tested. But what about her arm? In the 5th inning, with the bases loaded and no outs, Meryl's abilities were fully tested. Snagging a hard-hit ball off the bounce, she rocketed the ball to the catcher to register the first out. The catcher threw to second, as the runner going there was a stereotypical corpulent slugger, and Meryl popped up again to rocket the ball again to first to record the third out. A triple play, and Meryl was the centerpiece. But she wasn't done yet.

Faced with the team's leadoff hitter in a crucial situation with two outs, the ball was hit to her. The ball almost got by, and she grabbed it as it was behind her. She then had to turn 180 degrees for the throw. As the opposing manager said after the game, "She didn't throw the ball. She teleported it to the first baseman's glove."

We've now established Meryl's defensive capabilities. But take a step back to the 2nd inning, when she came up in her 9-slot for her first career at-bat. She didn't waste any time. First pitch swinging, it went high, far, and deep, but ricocheted off the left-center wall as she motored around the bases for a triple, executing a Pete Rose headfirst slide into third, which turned out to be unnecessary, as the fielder was only throwing the ball as she approached 3rd. Her second at-bat would turn to be more productive. With runners on 2nd and 3rd, she delivered a space shot off a 2-1 pitch that landed inches into the third deck. After this, Brian and Steve looked towards each other and nodded approvingly.

She kept the same poker face throughout the entire game, allowing only a hint of a smile when Brian congratulated her on her home run after. Wright sat down next to her in a mock huff, as he hadn't hit a home run in that game.

"Man, I only had two singles and a double. You got the triple and home run."

Meryl kept her face on. Brian shook his head. "Man, Wright. That's so bad. You only went 3 for 4? I could have done better!"

"I'm sure you could, what with your leg brace and not having batted once in your career and everything."

"Eh, my job is keep runners off the bases, not get on myself. Anyway, I'm hungry. Wanna get something to eat, Dave?"

"Do I! I'm famished! I know this little Italian place down by my house. It's got the meanest meatball parmesan ever."

At that moment, both David and Brian glanced down at Meryl, who was still sitting with her game face on, yet seemed somewhat expectant of something. Brian broke the ice. "Uh, you wanna come, Meryl?"

She looked up and broke her poker face for the first time, flashing an award-winning smile. "I thought you misogynists would never ask!"

8:00 PM: Frank's Pizza.

"So, she just disappeared?" Meryl asked.

"Yeah," came Brian's slightly despondent reply.

"That's rough."

"Sigh. Well, you deal with ---- as it happens."

Having stated that, Brian took a giant glomp out of his meatball sandwich. Wright continued the conversation.

"So, where exactly did you learn that, Meryl? We knew that you had a good glove, as we saw you in pre-game practice, but where did you learn to swing that lumber? No offense, but I didn't think your frame could generate that kind of power."

Meryl looked down at her food. "My dad was an up-and-coming player for the Binghamton Mets in the 1980's. They expected him to be the next Ted Williams, or Babe Ruth. He was untouchable. But a freak accident cut his career short. I was his only child, so in desperation he tried to teach me the game of baseball. I was a tomboy, so naturally I was suited for sports. I picked up on the game pretty quickly, but my dad had to threaten every league I tried to enter with legal action before I could actually play. It was a bother."

"And so..." Wright prodded.

"And so eventually I played for the high school team, but everybody told me that I couldn't play in the majors because of some idiotic rule about banning women in uniform or something. Luckily for me, Piazza's something of a visionary, and Floyd was willing to sign me."

"Any other teams contact you?"

"Yeah, the Liberators, mostly. But I grew up a Mets and Nightmare fan, as my dad had played for their farm organization, and… Well…"

Wright grinned, expecting something semi-embarrassing to come out.

"I kind of had a crush on Brian when I was growing up."

Wright nearly spit his soda all over the old lady next to him. "BRIAN! Holy Christ! You had a crush on a short fat guy who threw junk?"

Meryl grinned guiltily. They both looked at Brian, who was lost in thought and apparently wasn't following the conversation. "Meryl, you said that your dad played for the Binghamton Mets in the 1980's, right?"

"Uh, well, yeah."

"Mine did, too. What was his name?"

"Jack Davis."

Brian leapt up from his chair. "Jack Davis!" He turned to Wright. "That was the guy who was with my dad when he got shot in the knees, and got threatened by the shooter as he fled! My dad and him were supposed to be the Bash Brothers 2.0, but they both suffered career-ending injuries."

Wright sat back and marveled at the coincidence. "So, their kids meet, eh?"

Meryl was merely confused. "This matters how?"

Brian sat down, red-faced from his outburst. "Just found it funny." He sipped his drink and laughed nervously.

April 14th, 10:00 AM: Brian's house.

Brian awoke with a start. He desperately searched Stacy's side of the bed, hoping against hope that she was there, that her whole disappearance was just a dream. She was still gone.

10:00 AM: Piazza's office.

Piazza watched the news report, sat back, and shook his head sadly. "You know, you've just got to feel for Brian's situation right now. He – well, us – had an eventful life, and he finally settles down and marries the love of his life, only to have her drop off the face of the planet."

Floyd nodded empathetically. "Yeah. Man, when I get my hands on that new Boss… He isn't going to be able to sit down again – EVER." He pounded his first into his hand for emphasis.

"Now, now, Floyd. It wouldn't look very good if one team owner beat up another, right? Anyway, the news report doesn't have anything that the police report I just got doesn't. They are really stymied."

"This could be the next Lindbergh-type kidnapping. I just hope it gets resolved somehow, so either way Brian can have some closure."

7:00 PM: At Philadelphia.

Brian finished his warm-up tosses and walked back into the dugout for the start of the game. Meryl had proved to be a prototypical leadoff hitter, and so she batted in the #1 spot today. Most analysts had agreed that such a quick rise had not been seen since the days before the farm system. Today's game had Brian a little worried, however. In keeping with their reputation as a thug team, the Bells had been particularly outspoken about a female player. As one of their pitchers put it, "no ----- deserves to be playing our game." That particular pitcher happened to be today's starter. Meryl swung the bat a couple of times, then took the weight off and sauntered into the batter's box. Boos rained down from all corners of Grover Cleveland Alexander Stadium, a bare concrete structure that did no justice to the Hall of Famer for which it was named. TV analysts had to constantly remind audiences at home that the rowdy drunk fans that populated this stadium for Bells and Eagles games were not representative of the people of Philadelphia. Even so, they were not as bad as Gotham's fans. Shudder.

Meryl settled into her distinctive stance, a half-crouch with her front foot extended to the side of the batter's box on the far side of home plate. The pitcher scowled deeply, wound up with a kick, and delivered a blazing fastball. It hit its mark with a loud crack and thwonk: Meryl's helmet. She recoiled, spun, and collapsed to the ground, crawling towards the dugout using her arms. The stadium roared with delight. Brian, Steve, and Wright ran out to her side.

"Meryl, are you ok?"

"(mumble mumble) Grrr, LET ME AT THAT -------!" Meryl screamed, and attempted to charge the mound. She was held back by Wright and Steve.

"Stand down, Meryl. I'll handle them next inning."

Wright snorted. "Hah! ---- that! I'LL handle them THIS inning!"

True to his word, Wright came up after the #2 and #3 hitters smacked base hits to load the bases. He took the first two pitches for strikes. Wright narrowed his eyes at the pitcher and guessed a location. The pitch came hard and fast, and Wright was right on top of it, delivering it via express mail to a fan in the upper deck. The boos rained down hard and fast.

Next, it was Brian's turn to avenge Meryl. The first batter for the Bells was up. He too had been making a lot of "very nice" comments about Meryl. Brian smirked, wound up, and delivered a taste of his own medicine. The player flew backwards as if he had been shot and convulsed on the ground. The ump warned both benches, then called for the medic as the player continued convulsing on the ground. Brian received the return throw from the catcher and grinned at Meryl, who returned it.

In the 3rd inning, Meryl came up to bat again, and received a beanball to the ass. The ump immediately tossed the pitcher out, who argued the call vociferously. Brian, Steve, and Wright all jumped out of the dugout mouthing off at the pitcher. Steve waved off Brian and David, but they only backed off, they didn't return. They wanted to hear Steve's words. But Steve barely got a word off before the catcher threw the ball straight at his head. While the umps were preoccupied with keeping Steve and the pitcher apart, Brian ran in and flying-tackled the catcher to the ground. He sprang up quickly as if nothing happened and walked off. The catcher, none too happy, followed Brian, and grabbed him by the shoulder, whipping him around. They got into a nice little discussion, and the catcher shoved Brian off, resulting in Wright stepping in. The umps, having not seen the tackle, immediately ejected the catcher, which caused the Bells skipper to run out with his own concerns. Brian sauntered into the dugout.

Before the fracas was cleared up, the entire Bells coaching staff had been ejected except for the bullpen coach. As such, the Bells suffered from horrible mismanagement the whole game and ended up on the losing side.

April 15th, 1:00 PM: Brian's parents' home.

It was close to Easter, and Brian was helping his parents set up the house for the annual family Easter party. His nieces and nephews, still not quite over the fact that their uncle was a famous pitcher, kept asking him to play catch with them. Brian was still stinging from Stacy's disappearance, but he had to put up some semblance of happiness. The festivities would not last long. Brian's cell rang. It was Wright.

"Brian, man, I'm sorry…"

"What's the matter, Dave? Don't hold out on me now…"

"They've closed the investigation on Stacy. They just can't make any progress."

Brian fell into a chair. "Thanks, man…"

"Brian…"

"I'll deal with it somehow…"

Brian ran his hands through his hair. Somehow, the tears just wouldn't flow. In fact, a deep, dark side of him was glad that Stacy was gone…