time: evening; six forty-five.

day: september eighteenth; oh-five.

place: bailey's bay; engel residence.

(Once you think you've got it made, the rug gets pulled out from underneath you; you hit the ground, or as I like to call reality, hard and writhe in pain for days. That's how it's been for me ever since the last SH. You think you're talented, you think you're a great wrestler, you think you've done so much; then you lose to Vern Michaels. The proverbial rug being pulled out from underneath me. Maybe it was for the best; after all, I've been training for about 8 hours a day ever since the tenth. This whole week has been nothing but basic training, both physical and in the ring. When your career has basically pulled a one-eighty from the direction you want it to be going, you have to resort to going back to the basics. Rinse, repeat. It's been hard, but I've gotten a lot quicker, stronger, and have become more aware than I was in my last performance. What a week, though. I'm so tired right now I could literally pass out and sleep for a couple days. My muscles ache, my body burns, and my head throbs in pain. I'm fortunate enough to have Dustin as a sparring partner whenever need be. I hope I was helping him as well. He knews how rusty I am; Christ, that was my second match in over two years. What did you people expect, another victory in under a minute? Won't happen here, the PHW actually has some talent, unlilke that bullshit NoW place.)

(Rest, relax. I just finished my eight hour session about thirty minutes ago; a shower of course following that. With all this training I've been doing, I'm getting the impression I'm neglecting my wife and child some. It's funny, all these years and I still haven't learned how to balance work and family. Maybe I was so disgusted with my performance last week, that I felt I had to push myself over the edge and revamp everything in order to come back and put on a much better show. But, Mia and Alexia have felt that as well and I will make it up to them. I just hope they can understand, because there's no way last week is going to happen again. Maybe I'll win, maybe I'll lose; but I guarantee you my performance will be ten times better.)

(I can't let my fans, family, and myself down again. I've come too far.)

(I've got to make an impact this week, I've got to do something. I've got to impress, I've got to make people wonder. God, it's like the beginning of my career all over again - AoWF and everything. I was always constantly revamping myself in my UHWA days and that's how I managed to get to the top of my game. I guess, after being out for so long, I just have to do it again. Where's Martyn when you need him?)

(It's ironic - I thought the AoWF were the most important days of my career. It turns out, my stay here could top that. Sure, I made a big name for myself in the AoWF, won lots of titles, and beat lots of talent. But, that was expected. I was a star on the rise. Now? I look like a fucking has-been and it's pissing me off.)

(No, not this time. This is the most important time because I have to prove myself all over again. It's AoWF two and I've gotta cut down the giants once more.)

(I find myself relaxing on the leather couch in my family room, watching ESPN's Sportscenter on mute. I'm decked out in a pair of Guess jeans and my Brett Favre jersey. Mia is in the kitchen, just finishing up the dishes from the very short dinner we had. I hear the water turn off and footsteps approaching. She comes into the room and jumps onto the couch right next to me, cuddling with me.)

virus: Hey baby, what's up?

Mia: Oh, nothing. It just feels like I haven't seen you ALL week. You've been so busy with your training and stuff, I've missed you. And you're too tired at night to do ANYTHING, lazy bum!

virus: Ah...I'm sorry about that. I guess I just took the loss I had last week really hard. I promise I'm going to make it up to you and Alexia. After next week's SH, we're going on a vacation for a couple days. Okay? Where do you want to go?

Mia: New York City?

virus: Eh...I was thinking somewhere along the lines of California, but okay. Why NYC?

Mia: Because I want to see the Conan O'Brien show! I love his late night talk show. I think they do tapings at 5:30pm. Come on, what do you say?

virus: Good idea. I'll make the arrangements, okay? Conan's a good friend of mine, I'm sure he'll get us front row. Hell, I might even let him know that I'm wrestling full-time again and he might invite me to come on his show. Haha, wouldn't that be something?

Mia: Yes it would! I can see you and him having a great time.

(She snuggles up to me some more, rubbing my left thigh. I put my arm around her and kiss her on the head.)

Mia: Ohh..I have to pick up Alexia soon. Baby, do you think you could pick her up tonight? It'll be a good way to make it up to her and talk with her. Her guitar lesson is over at seven thirty.

virus: Sure, no problem. I gotta cut something for PHW and then I'll be on my way. Can you write down directions for me? I've never been there before.

Mia: I will while you're doing your promo. The keys to the Jeep are in our bathroom, I think.

virus: Boo, I'll just take the vette. It's so much cooler than that Jeep. Haha.

Mia: You WISH, buddy. The vette might be faster, but my Jeep rocks and it can go on so many other terrains than your silly vette can't.

virus: Yeah, but....ah, whatever. We can both agree that our vehicles are just flat-out awesome, right?

Mia: Right.

(I get up from the couch and give my wonderful wife a kiss on the lips, then I head into the kitchen. I set up the video camera in its usual place; facing out toward the backyard through our floor-to-ceiling windows. I pull up a chair at the backside of the kitchen table, placing myself between the windows and the table. I'm pretty sure I put a fresh tape in. Yeah, I put one in right after dinner. I grab the remote on the counter and hit record.)

virus: Well, well; I'm sure you all are just as distraught, confused, and pissed off as I am over my loss to Vern Michaels. I never promised victory, but I usually deliver; and that...that was one of the worst performances I've had in my career in a LONG time. Hell, even some of my mid-way UHWA matches were better than that. So, quite obviously Vern was the better man that night. Sure, he was wrestling a man who was in his second match in over two and a half years. Do you want me to tell you how many days that is? I'm sure you get the picture.

For ninety percent of that time, I honestly thought I was NEVER coming back to wrestling. I had done my fair share of ass-kicking and dominating and I have plenty of money to support my family for the next eighty years, I thought I was done.

But, like I've said, friends can be pressuring and I was convinced to come here. Sure, I did some preparations before my match as any wrestler would with common sense, but you honestly can't expect me to waltz in after only having one match in over two and a half years and beat the hell out of Vern, can you? To be honest with you, Vern is NOT that great of a wrestler. I was there, trust me. You want to know who Vern beat that night?

A very, very rusty Matthew Engel. I've still gotta shake that rust off and I guarantee you, Vern, the next time we meet the rust will be fully off and you will not get so lucky.

But hey, how's that nose of yours? Broken in pieces, I hope.

A promise is a promise, bitch.

(The flashback of breaking Vern's nose appears in my mind and I smile...a very sadistic smile.)

virus: Moving on a bit, I want to talk a bit about the upcoming card before I get into my match in particular. Isn't it quite odd that the odds are completely stacked against Exit Music this week? I mean, Dustin's fighting Jones, I'm fighting Murdock, Silvio is fighting Lazarus. Shame and Estella have their hands full, I mean it's crazy. Does Kendrick feel threatened by us? Well, he fucking should be. We're the rising stars here and pretty soon groups like WKMF will be defunct. I'm not asking you guys to roll over and play dead, but rest assured it's inevitable. Exit Music is on the rise and well, the WKMFers just won't be able to contest. They won't be able to match up to the talent and skills we possess. Maybe I'm being a bit overly confident, but I have faith and confidence in myself and my friends. They'll prevail, even if the entire night is stacked completely out of our favor.

(I grin for the camera, hoping that little speech hit home in some people.)

virus: Now, onto the main purpose of this shindig; Erik Murdock. So, you're what...the PHW Champ? You're undefeated? You're six eight and about three hundred pounds. You're a former police detective, and from what I've heard one hell of a wrestler. You've been here quite some time and have dominated a lot of the PHW. You watched your mother get whacked, and the fans pretty much hate you. I can't understand why, you seem like an honest guy trying to make a living.

Murdock, I really don't give a fuck if you're undefeated or the Champ. Please don't wave that in my face like it actually means something, because it doesn't. Sure, you've got some "momentum" going for you, but that can be easily stopped. Maybe by me, maybe by someone else. In my opinion, the bigger they are - both in physicality and reputation - the harder they fall. You've built yourself up to be some unstoppable force in the PHW, when in reality you're on the edge of having everything come tumbling down and crashing at the bottom of your feet.

Your belt means nothing. Your streak means nothing. I hope they aren't on your mind when you're up against me, because you're going to need a hell of a lot more than that "momentum" you've got going for yourself. You might be some "unstoppable force" to some people, but nothing's unstoppable to me. Nobody is unbeatable. That's something I've learned throughout my career. Wrestling is trying to be better than your opponent on that given night. I've been beaten by some great wrestlers, but I come back and beat them the next week or so after that. Take Tommy Riley, for one. A legendary wrestler in his time. Sure, I lost to him in my first match against him, but I came back - injured knee and all - and ended up beating the best technician the AoWF ever saw.

So like I said, nobody is unbeatable. If you go on thinking you're unstoppable and that no one will touch you, chances are you're just one step away from getting your ass handed to you on a silver platter. I've seen it happen so many times. Anybody remember Aaron Faith? Exactly.

(A grin.)

virus: Your height and weight...they mean nothing as well, Murdock. If you even try to throw those in my face, saying you're eight inches taller than me and practically eighty pounds bigger, I'll proverbially beat that down with so much reason and logic until it can't breathe. While you are a bigger man than me, you're also slower and less agile. Sure, you're stronger and taller, but that doesn't mean much now-a-days. It's all about style, technique, agility, and stamina. Throw your twenty five inch arms out the window, they're useless unless you can throw them around like a lightweight.

Because I'm quick - I'm hard to hit. I'll have you wrapped up like a pretzel before you can say "Hey, where's the cheese?".

I've taken down guys bigger than you, Murdock. I've taken down guys smaller than me. Weight and height don't have much meaning anymore, it's what you can bring to the ring. From what I've heard, you can bring a lot to the ring. I mean, why else are you Champ, right?

..

Right.

Bring everything you got. Bring your talent, your skills, your abilities - you'll need every ounce of it against me. Sure, my last performance wasn't great, but I can guarantee you a ten times better one up against you. I've been told when I'm backed into a corner, especially being thrown against the Champ my second week in, I deliver. That's what it's about, Murdock, delivery. If you can deliver better than I can, then you've got it made.

If you can't, well; you're shit out of luck.

And "oops", there goes that streak. Sorry.

(I give a "nothing I can do" face.)

virus: I won't go into your mother's death, because I'm sure that's a very touchy subject for you and I'd hate to have you crying on public television. That would just be embarrassing for both of us. Let's move on to something else, shall we? You've obviously done a lot of dominating in your stay here, Murdock, being undefeated and such. Let me let you in on some inside information.

Fuck all of your past opponents; I will be the toughest person you've ever faced.

When you're seventy three and sharing old "war stories" with your grandkids, you will remember me. You will remember this match. You will remember how fucking tough I was, win or lose. That's what I bring to the ring. That's what I've always brought to the ring. I deliver, no questions asked. You'll get the match of your lifetime on september twenty-fourth, Erik. That's something I can definitely promise. I can't promise victory, but I can assure you of that. I only hope you come as prepared as I will, because I'd really hate for this to turn into a two minute match with your shoulders pinned.

and then where would you be? How much prestige would that title have?

Survey says: none.

(I wink at the camera and grab the remote control, turning it off. I put the camera back in its corner and take the video tape out, placing it on the counter. I check the clock - seven fifteen. I rush into my bedroom, grab the keys to the vette and the directions, and rush to the front door. I yell out to Mia that I'm leaving and she yells back with an informal "See ya shuga". I rush out the front door, hop into the vette. I start this baby up and explode down the driveway. I find myself on the road, directions in hand.)

place: outside of bailey's bay.

(I pull up into the teacher's driveway and turn off the vette, putting it into neutral and pulling the e-brake up. I step out of the car and walk to the front door. I give the door a solid knock, but the door slowly opens on its own. I realize that it was already opened and I take a peek through the crack between the door and the frame. Nobody. I open the door all the way and it feels like I'm walking into an abandoned house. I walk along the first room, which I think is the dining room.)

virus: Alexia? Baby? Where are you?

(No answer. I walk slowly to the kitchen and notice a room to my left. I see blood on the floor and I slowly back away...no. This...this can't be happening. Not again. NOT AGAIN! I rush into the room and see a man on the floor, with obvious bullet wounds in the chest and head. He's lying in a puddle of his own blood. I search the rest of the room, but there's no sign of her.)

(I rush through the kitchen, checking the bedrooms. No sign. Closets maybe? Maybe she escaped and hid in the house somewhere and they couldn't find her. I run around the house rampant, yelling out her name. Please, baby. Please hear me. Please tell me you're okay. I check the upstairs, only a bedroom and a single bath. Nothing, nobody. I run outside and check the garage. I rip it apart, checking for anything - a body, a piece of clothing. Nothing, absolutely fucking nothing. Why now? Why is it happening again with her?)

(I run back into the house and go back to the first room, with the guitar teacher murdered. I pull out my cell phone and dial the numbers nine, one, one - but before I hit talk...I notice a note on the shirt of the slain man.)

Note: We have Alexia. The ransom is $2.5 million. Answer your cell phone at 10pm tomorrow for the details.

(My jaw hits the floor. I collapse on the nearby chair, finding it hard to breathe. I hit the talk button on my cell phone and get a police dispatcher. Yes. There's been a murder. Please send paramedics, police. One forty Jefferson Road. Please, right away. My name? It's Matthew. Matthew Engel...they, they took my daughter.)

(Please, just send help.)