CHAPTER 18
Wrestlemania had always been called the grandest stage of them all, promising excitement and wonder to young and old. This year was no exception. Just two hours into the event and already the fans had gotten more than their money's worth. Kofi came out on top in his Money in the Bank match, Piper's Pit was ressurected, the crowd was out of their seats screaming for their favorite characters. John barely registered any of it.
He and Dave had holed up in John's private dressing room the entire show, only coming out when work demanded. He had barely made it through his prromo spot an hour ago, leaving Dave to wonder if the younger man would be able to hold it together long enough to not injure either himself or his opponent during his match tonight. It was obvious both men were off in their own little world. Backstage assistants only ventured to knock on the door when absolutely necessary and, even then, their rapping was soft and respectful. Vince and Linda themselves had even seen to stopping by before the show began.
Both McMahons had been cautious but not surprised tto see Bautista there. After his outbursts when Callie disappeared and subsequently being banned from Axxess, Linda knew he would show up uninvited to Wrestlemania, if for nothing other than to show support for Callie's brother. Seeing as how he'd managed to keep himself secluded and out of trouble, they'd let the situtation pass without mentioning it directly.
Both men kept half-hearted vigils on the show before them and full attention on their thoughts.
...
Over the course of time, Callie drifted in a haze of drugs and sounds. Though her vision was blurred, she would never have been able to tell for the surrounding darkness was so complete, it seemed a solid, cold mass. Callie coasted among nightmares made more frightening by the constant and deafening explosions that seemed to come from all sides. In them, she relived every terrifying moment of the past week; silently screaming for help but finding none. In each one, what haunted her most was the eyes...his eyes. Dark orbs burning into her with a ferocity that promised no mercy and no remorse. Beyond hurt, beyond caring whether she lived or died, all Callie prayed for now was freedom from those eyes.
...
"Damn, man," Shawn came up behind his longtime friend as he hobbled through the curtain. "I didn't think anything could top last year but, once again, you pulled it off."
Paul gave a pained grin to the other man as he cautiously put more weight onto his bad knee. "Yeah, well, hope everyone enjoyed it. Won't be too much longer before it's time to hang up the boots."
"Gonna join me in retirement, huh?"
Paul gave a deep laugh. "You know as well as I do, Shawn. No one ever REALLY retires from this company."
"Especially when they marry the boss's daughter?"
Both men laughed and turned towards the makeshift hallway to the locker room when Mark came through the curtain, wearing his trademark Undertaker gear. "What? No love for the guy that just kicked your ass?" He asked with a slight chuckle.
"Hell no. Imma be limping around like lame horse for the next week cause of you."
"Aw, please." mark gave the blonde a pat on the shoulder. "You'll live, Besides, it'll get ya some good lovin' from Steph tonight."
All three laughed but as they turned to finish their post-match banter elsewhere, Shawn stopped at the sound of murmured confusion that snaked it's way around the nearby technicians. Shrugging it off, figuring that whatever was wrong was beyond his expertise as an athlete anyway, he sped up to rejoin his oldest friends.
...
"Michael, what the hell? We have twelve minutes to get this thing lifted and locked up for the next match." Andrew glared down at the clipboard in his hand and scratched his nose. He wasn't cut out for this job. He'd known that from the start. He'd tried to see it as a challenge but the longer he worked for the company the more apparent it became that live events were not his forte. Just a few short days ago he'd begun sending out his resume for something that wouldn't shorten his life by ten years everytime the cameras began rolling.
"Something's wrong with the system, Andy. The gears aren't responding."
"Well, take it back through the steps manually and try it again. We're on a time limit here." Andrew watched the other man turn back to his console and stared out of the control room window towards the ring where the giant steel cell remained unmoved and menacing.
...
Staring into the mirror, he took a deep, refreshing breath. After all the months of sleepless nights and planning, the day of fruition had finally come. He had expected to be more nervous; feel some butterflies maybe, but he was oddly calm. Probably because of all of his meticulous planning. Smoothing his hair back one last time, Wade grabbed the items he'd placed near the door, took one last look around and walked out. It was showtime.
...
Sitting in the locker room, he was doing his best to pay attention to the show but concentration wasn't coming easy. Punk's thoughts were consumed by Callie and the helpless feeling that coursed through him. At times like this, he almost wished he allowed himself to indulge in mood-altering vices. Maybe then he'd be better able to bury the feelings he'd been battling day in and day out. Why, now, of all times, did he have to come to this sudden epiphany when there was a very good chance none of it would matter anyway?
"Wait! What is this Cole?!" Punk was pulled from his thoughts at the genuine surprise in Jerry Lawler's voice and glanced towards the television to see Wade Barrett strutting down the ramp, no entrance music, with something shiny clutched in his fist. It was unusual because Barrett wasn't scheduled to do any on-camera work at the moment, especially not in the ring. But, then again, it was unusual for the cell to remain down around the ring for so long after a match too. Maybe there had been last minute changes but he hadn't heard of any. Suddenly, Punk was filled with an emotion that amounted to curiosity and dread mixed as one. It felt like an omen warning him that something horrible and momentous was about to occur and he found he could not look away from the screen.
Wade smirked at the crowd, reveling in the boos and jeers he received as he strode up to the ringhand nearest the ramp and demanded a microphone. When the stunned young man apparently took too long to respond, Wade jerked it out of his hand and proceeded to swing around, hitting him across the face and sprawling the smaller man out.
It was easy for Punk to see that his previous feeling had been grounded in truth. Wade had not pulled that punch at all. Already, a red welt could be seen forming on the ringhand's cheek and would probably be one hell of a bruise by the end of the show. Punk pulled himself from the thought to see Wade had entered the cell door and had begun to wrap a steel chain around it, amid much confusion among crew and referees outside the structure. The last thing he saw was Barrett using a rather large padlock to secure the chain, ensuring no one could join him inside. In one last moment of panic, Punk flew out of the room, nearly crashing into numerous people, jumping over trunks and crates before coming down the side corridor and bursting through the dressing room door.
...
Wade smiled and looked through the veil of steel at the crowd, the lights, the video screens. Taking in a deep breath he slowly climbed the steps and savored the feeling of ascending into the ring. He wanted to enjoy the moment, remember the feeling, because he knew this would be his last time. There was no going back now. Giving his crooked grin out into the arena he raised the microphone to his lips and began the most important promo of his life.
...
What the hell is going on?
Jeff wasn't sure who exactly said it but that seemed to sum up the general atmosphere in the arena. It was a madhouse of voices, each in their own urgent tone, giving ideas and squealing over radios. Unsure of what was taking place, the younger Hardy brother flagged down the person nearest him, a plump young woman with mousey brown hair.
"Hey," he gasped, barely grabbing her attention. "What's happening?"
She glanced around as if she were afraid someone would overhear and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Nervously, she answered "things aren't going as planned" before she hurried off, leaving Jeff just as bewildered as before.
...
"Well, I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm out here." Wade walked in slow circles around the ring, making sure to take his time. This was the only part he hadn't planned out and had kept it that was on purpose. He didn't was it to sound rehearsed, like part of the show. Oh, sure, the dumb clouts would eat it up at first but they'd learn soon enough. "First off, let me say that this is now MY show. I am in charge now."
Imagining the look on Vince McMahon's face at that remark brought another grin to his features. Little did he know that Vince never even heard it. At that moment, the CEO was barking orders for security into his headset and sending out crew, demanding they find out what was going on.
"You see," Wade continued. "This cell has one door. One way in and one way out. I control that door now. Why, you ask?" Barrett paused to smirk as the crowd booed in answer. "Well revenge of course!" He said it jolly, merry even, like announcing a party to friends. A party destined to be crashed by a homicidal maniac.
...
Dave and John both started at the sudden noise of the door slamming open and Punk bursting through, near breathless despite the short distance he'd run.
"What the fu..." Dave began, on his feet now, but Punk raised his hand to silence him.
"Are you guys seeing this?" He gestured towards the soundless monitor where Wade could be seen through the metalwork of the cell. They'd muted the television some time ago and, in the silence, had ceased to pay attention to it altogether. "Turn that up!" He grabbed the remote from the table and cranked up the volume before either of the other men could protest.
"All of you are priviledged enough to be able to bear witness to the greatest act of revenge ever carried out in front of an audience. You see, John Cena didn't just take my title from me. He took my dignity. He made me look weak..."
"What? They changed the lineup so Barrett could bitch. Probably just needed to take up some time," Dave looked from John to Punk.
"I don't think so. He took out an aide and locked himself in. Techs are in a panic cause the cell won't raise back up. Something's going on." Punk explained.
On the screen, Wade continued his speech. "What all of you don't know is that Cena's princess of a little sister snubbed me later that very same night." Wade had everyone's full attention now. John's blue eyes burned at the television screen. "It came to me that maybe both Cenas needed to be taught a very valuable lesson about respect." At the very mention of Callie, all three men were as stone statues, not moving or blinking, hanging on every work resonating from the speakers. A lesson? Sudden realization dawned on all of them causing the air to become thick with tension. This wan't part of the show. He was talking about Callie and he was talking about revenge.
...
The crowd began to seem uneasy. Even those who were not used to attending live events could feel that something was amiss. Wade kept on his slow, ambling circles around the rind, throwing his crooked smile at anyone who dared make eye contact with him. "You see," he continued. "Both of the Cena siblings have failed to show the proper respect due a champion of my caliber. But don't you worry your pretty little heads because after tonight, the matter will be rectified." Wade came around to the far side of the ring and stared directly into the camera. "John Cena, tonight you learn never to cross me again. You learn that there are consequences for your actions and, sometimes, it's the people you love the most that have to bear the consequences of those actions for you."
Backstage, John stared intently into the television screen. Somewhere, deep down, he already knew what was about to happen. All of the pieces were already fit together, forming the entire picture in his subconscious seconds before it materialized on the screen. He watched as Wade threw down the mic, wincing at the momentary feedback. Wade jumped down from the ring, away from the camera, bending down out of sight. John's heart began pounding uncontrollably in his chest, thumping away each second closer to the truth he had yet to allow himself to believe.
The entire arena was on the edge of their seats waiting with bated breath. As Wade disappeared farther down behind the ring, Cole and Lawler continued their chatter for the audience at home, hoping their concern was masked by their enthusiasm for the event.
"What is he looking for under the ring?"
"I don't know, COle, but this is getting weirder by the minute!"
Once again, the observation was timed perfectly because, at that moment, Wade tossed a steel chair into the ring and reached back down. What everyone saw next sent up a collective gasp from every single person involved. Wade used both hands to roll something else into the ring. Pale skin, shocking red hair. The very second John recognized his little sister, he was on his feet, running down the backstage halls, Dave and Punk close at his heels.
Wade crawled back into the ring and stared down at the limp body laying at his feet. Callie's face was swollen down one side while the bruises covered so much of her body that many of her tattoos were almost completely hidden. Maybe the fans didn't realize who they were looking at right away but both superstars and crew alike knew immediately. All of a sudden, behind the cameras was a flurry of activity. John and his cohorts raced towards ringside amid security personnel calling for backup, crew still struggling to lift the two ton cell and Vince spewing orders through every radio within earshot. After so long of not having any idea what happened to Callie, she was under their very roof, for anyone knew how long. It was apparent just by looking at her that she had been through hell and back. Ribs protruded from her torso beneath the thin tank top she wore and her bodysuit of bruises glared in the overhead lighting.
Wade ambled over and picked up the microphone before towering over his victim once again. Though he was looking at Callie, he spoke directly to John. "This is what happens when you cross me, Cena. Say goodbye to your precious baby sister." The microphone hit the ground once more, this time outside of the ring, bouncing off of the cell wall. He then reached down and grabbed a handful of red hair, dragging her over to the corner of the ring. He climbed out to the apron, leaning down through the ropes to grab the small woman by the throat.
Screams and jeers resounded from the crowd at the realization of what was unfolding before them. At Wade's last words, those in the audience that hadn't quite caught on, especially those that had attended the Axxess Q and A session, recognized where this 'storyline' was going and added their own sound effects to the uproar.
Slowly, Barrett manuvered Callie into a standing position; her only visible sign of life was a feeble attempt to raise her hands to the vice around her throat. Just as Wade began to climb the ropes, still grasping his prize, a deafening roar rose up from the stands as John emerged from the curtain followed by a small army hellbent on entering the steel structure at any cost. Dave and Punk's immediate appearance was no surprise to anyone since her friendship with the two men was common knowledge among fans but the ferocity with which they flew at the steel was frightening. Both superstars raged like two men possessed by demons thirsty for sacrifice. All three posted up at the corner nearest the ramp where Wade was cutting off more of Callie's air supply by the second, screaming orders to let her go, willing the cell to raise up and allow them to save her. No such miracle occurred.
Wade grinned down at the helpless men surrounded by security and crew scrambling over each other to figure out what to do. He climbed so his feet were on either side of the top turnbuckle, squatting down to keep Callie's feet on the mat. This was the moment he had dreamt about for so long. Every detail was like a rerun of a television show he'd seen a thousand times. His joy is what gave him the push to cross that forbidden point of no return. In one swift motion, Barrett stood to full height on the top ropes, lifting Callie high above his head, his manicured nails leaving blood marks along her neck. As the screaming from the crowd reached it's climax, Wade went down, not only chokeslamming her from above the top rope but coming down on top of her as well, relishing in the crackle of her ribs splitting beneath his weight. Callie was utterly limp, her head and limbs bouncing off of he mat like rubber. When her body finally settled and Wade lifted himself to admire his handiwork, she was laying on her side, her hair partially covering her face. Through the steel wall of the cell, the cameras captured a find trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.
For the three witnesses outside of the ring, the entire scene played out in slow motion. John saw his sister coming down from the top rope; saw too late that Wade positioned himself to come down on top of her, heard the thunder of their bodies hitting the mat together. His screaming had ceased for the moment, no words able to force themselves past his throat. All eyes were on Callie, waiting for any sign of life. Few noticed that Wade had almost immediately gone over and picked up the chair he'd thrown into the ring earlier. John himself was so focused on Callie that even he had failed to notice until the steel came down across the top half of her body, the sound seeming to reverberate through the entire arena.
As the rest of the world watched in horror, Wade brought the chair down again and again, bringing more blood to the mat. Each time it fell, the crowd wailed in shock at the violence Wade put before them. They had come to see a show, not a murder.
While Barrett continued to pummel Callie in the ring, the three superstars outside of the cell watched in terror as they kept trying to find a way in. Punk and Dave were busy circling the structure, hoping for a loose end or long forgotten trap door, while John screamed Callie's name, unable to tear his eyes away from her. John felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Randy and Jeff behind him, along with almost everyone else from the locker room. He wasn't sure who's idea it was or who'd brought them ringside but crew to his right were using blot cutters to create a hole in the cell's fencing as quickly as they could, snapping each wire individually almost in rhythm with the impacts of the chair with Callie's head.
As soon as the hole seemed large enough, John plunged through without warning, taking no notice of the cuts he would bear for weeks from the sharp points protruding from the wall of steel. He lunged towards Wade only for enough to remove him from his sister, dropping down to shield her from any more blows that came but none did. Dave had followed closely behind and speared Wade through the ropes and onto the floor below, out of John's sight.
With Barrett being handled, John took the time to look down at his sister and almost immediately wished he hadn't. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts, her head bleeding profusely from an unseen gash. Dark circles painted beneath her eyes shone against the pale skin surrounding them. Tears sprung to his eyes at the sight of her like this. When they'd first met, she'd been underweight, weakened by hard work. Everything about her had screamed 'waif'. In fact, since then he'd taken great pride in watching her transformation into the beautiful woman everyone knew and loved. But this...if it weren't for the fact that she needed him so much, he might have turned away just to spare himself the memory. Gingerly, John reached out a hand and lightly touched her cheek, her hair. At this, it seemed a dam broke within him. Mindful of whatever injuries she'd sustained, he leaned over her, quietly repeating her name and running his hands through her hair. The red snapped him back to reality. It couldn't have been more than a minute since he first looked down at her but, in that time, only he and Callie had existed for him. Blood covering his hand from her hair brought him out of his shock long enough to look around. The fans were still screaming and, taking a quick survey of his surroundings, John saw why. Crew had widened the hole in the cell enough to allow a safer entrance and the ring had quickly filled with WWE personnel along with with many superstars, Jeff among them, who were trying to pull Bautista off of Barrett before he killed him. As much as they would all love to see Wade as a lifeless corpse for his actions, Dave would be of no use to Callie from a prison cell. Punk was kneeling on her other side with tears brimming in his eyes. The two men locked gazes for a brief moment before they were surrounded by medical personnel attempting to move them out of the way. Punk allowed himself to be pushed aside easily enough but John was a different story. He clung to her as if she would disappear again before his very eyes. With her lifeblood quickly pooling on the mat, it seemed a very good possibility.