A Pile of Rubble
[Approximately two months ago. The UltraTitle Tournament – second round. The match between Jack Harmen and “The Aftermath” John McDonough has reached its conclusion with Harmen leaving victorious and McDonough eliminated. Backstage, McDonough sits on a bench, his body dripping in sweat and his head downward towards the ground.]
[Across the room leaning against the lockers is his protégé, Shane. Shane’s hands sit on top of his head, slowly, but repeatedly running through his jetblack hair. His eyes are transfixed on the wall across the room. The mood is tense, yet depressing. This signals the end of the road for John McDonough as a wrestler, a final attempt to achieve greatness and another failure.]
[Shane steps forward after shaking his head and clearing the cobwebs, understanding that the moment while shocking, is not as severe for him as it is the man sitting on the bench. He puts his hand on John’s shoulder, but John does not budge or flinch.]
Shane: I’m going to go load up the car – come out when you’re ready.
[He waits a moment before turning towards the door, hoping for a response. His mentor has no words. Upon reaching the door, Shane turns slowly, contemplating what he should or should not say.]
Shane: I’m proud of you.
[With this profound, yet simple statement Shane exits the room. Once the door shuts, John looks up, his icy blue eyes are exhausted and defeated, and takes a deep breath before rising to his feet.]
[He takes a couple of steps towards the locker in front of him – moving slowly, almost in a trance. As he reaches the locker, he slams his forearm against the door.]
John: [BLEEP!]
[He leans his head pressing hard against his forearm. For a moment only his breath can be heard.]
John: Wish someone would just put me out…
[Before he can finish the statement, the lights click off.]
John: What the?!
[Before he can finish the statement a loud thud is heard followed by a crash and another thud. A shaking and a hissing sound follow in the darkness then stop and start intermittently.]
[After a moment, the lights begin to flicker and come back on. John McDonough is lying lifeless on the floor – some blood leaking out from an unseen wound on his head. His body twitches slightly on the floor – convulsing. Above him on the locker where he rested his head at first, is the word “DEMON” written in black face paint with a smiley face next to it. The paint drips down the locker slowly, as if the drops of paint were tears for a fallen hero.]
[Fade out.]
[A small child’s hand cradles a police car and moves it along a carpeted floor – the child is making all the usual noises, which accompany such play, poorly imitated engines and tire screeching. The child’s dirty blonde hair sits parted to the side and he wears a bright blue New York Mets t-shirt with black shorts. He crawls along with the car as he moves it.]
[He stops a moment as something catches his ear – in the distance, there is the sound of two people yelling. A man and a woman, the child is somewhat frightened, but also unsure of what to make of it. He looks away from the door to his room, which is open.]
Child: Are they fighting again?
[He asks aloud – no one is visible, the child’s eyes are welling up with tears slowly, but surely. After a moment, he speaks again, his voice beginning to tremble.]
Child: Why do they fight?
[Suddenly, the police car, which was in his hand begins to move on its own. The child’s eyes begin to dry up as he is fascinated by its movement. He grabs another car begins to give chase.]
[We pan away and out of the room through the open door, where at the stairs we find a woman with auburn colored hair and a day dress on. She is familiar to our eyes – Maggie – the mother of Brandon, who has experienced and been tormented by strange occurrences in her home. She wears a face of anger and frustration as her cheeks are flush and a scowl crosses her face.]
[Her husband, Dan, comes into view now. He is wearing a suit and carries in his hand a suit case. His short hair is neatly cropped.]
Maggie: I know you’ve got a lot going on at work, but we need to deal with this!
[Dan shakes his head at his wife.]
Dan: There’s nothing to deal with, I’ve told you a thousand times, you’re just paranoid! You have a child and you want to protect him, but there’s nothing here!
[She runs her hand from her forehead on down across her entire face. She is exacerbated with her husband’s stubborn refusal to recognize what she is experiencing.]
Maggie: Dan, I know it’s difficult to understand and I know it sounds crazy, but you have to try to believe me! You have to try to help me figure out what we’re going to do… This is not good for our son!
[Despite her frustrations Maggie is pleading with her husband at this point. Grabbing his jacket with her hands and gently shaking him to emphasize the severity and sincerity of her point. Dan, however, remains steadfast and unshaken by her efforts. He reaches up and removes her hand from his suit, eyeing her carefully.]
Dan: Maggie, dear, explain this to me… Why haven’t I experienced anything like you are talking about? In all these years, why does it only happen to you?
Maggie: Brandon…
[Dan shakes his head as he is now becoming flush with frustration.]
Dan: Maggie, Brandon is a child – children have imaginary friends, they talk to themselves. Children do all sorts of wacky things – it’s not that.
[Maggie steps away from her husband shaking her head.]
Maggie: Whatever, Dan… Just go.
[Dan takes a step towards his wife…]
Maggie: Go!
[Maggie says this pointing towards the door. Dan shrugs his shoulders and walks out the door without a second glance. He slams the door behind himself. Maggie is attempting to console herself. After a moment of holding back the tears, she walks across the hallway and picks up her phone.]
Maggie: John, please be there…
[She says this with her voice trembling much like the child’s earlier.]
[Fade out.]
[A blue, wooded fence about eight feet high acts a barrier between the outside world and what lies within. Fortunately, for us there is a door to this fence, which lies in front of the cameraman, opened to unlock the mystery within. Although this fence door is tagged with warnings signs reading “Danger” and “Area Under Construction”, the warning goes unheeded.]
[Upon entrance, there is only an open lot with a pile of debris piled across a vast stretch of the lot. A mix of concrete and metal is twisted and entangled forming a mountain, where a building once stood.]
“Controlled demolition.”
[A voice speaks out, a familiar raspy tone, as the camera pans to reveal the IWF’s most maniacal athlete, the Minstrel. He stands there wearing a hard hat, his mask grinning at the chaotic scene before him and of course, he is dressed a fine white dress shirt along with black dress pants. His outfit is completed by a pair of black suspenders and black bowtie.]
Planned, prepared and executed flawlessly…
[He turns towards the camera.]
Much like Surge. Where I single-handedly changed the complexion of the IWF in a matter of mere minutes…
Where you witnessed me HANG Go-Go Spectacular and carry her around on my back like a school-boy carrying a backpack to school.
[He sways back and forth his thumbs holding out his suspenders with a sense of pride.]
I warned her in the weeks before that I would beat her within an inch of her life. That her second heart would start to fail like the first time. That she would see little Frankie reaching out for her, trying to reach into her chest and snatch back what is rightfully his!
[He reaches out making a grasping gesture.]
And I delivered with a little help from my friends. Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends. Eh, Paz?
[He delivers this line deliberately and slowly with a menacing depth. There is no sing-songy nature to his delivery as one might expect.]
And of course, I delivered a big thank you to her. I couldn’t have been more impressed with her though than I was later in the night – she may have actually killed the Allen girl…
And she calls me a monster.
[He laughs at this statement.]
At least, Paz, I am attacking people that are actually on the roster, putting people in dangers that are actually on the roster. Not mere spectators.
[He pauses.]
Not yet anyway, but maybe, just maybe, kiddies!
[A laugh follows maniacal, as ever, and chilling with the reality that this man could actually follow through based upon his short, but destructive path.]
And then later in the night, the little attorney, who stuck her nose where did it belong. Gone in a matter of mere seconds and all I had to do was just do the same as she did to me.
Stick my nose where it didn’t belong. Unfortunately for Miss Mayweather, who will be missing in action from now on, it’s a hobby of mine and I’m quite good at it.
Maybe she can put that law degree to use and find herself a loophole – I’d love to see her loophole. Whoop!
[He laughs uncontrollably at this rather terrible innuendo, keeling over, before mock wiping away the tears from her eyes. Just as quickly as he was convulsing with laughing, he returns to his upright and controlled position.]
Or maybe not and she’s just another body laid out in the wake of destruction.
[The Minstrel’s hand slings out put on display the rubble to his left.]
And at Chain Reaction Nine, where even I do not know where I will pop up, there will be nothing controlled about what occurs. No, carefully orchestrated plan.
I prefer it that way. My mother always told me I was card. A wild card.
[He turns towards the pile of rubble again and takes a deep breath.]
See, while this is all lovely, wouldn’t some of those large pieces of concrete look better having crushed some cars or colliding with other buildings. That’s how I would’ve done it.
And that is how this will be done at Chain Reaction Nine – there is no control. Just pure, unadulterated, anonymous chaos.
And when you put a force of nature like myself into that scene.
[He points to himself.]
It is no laughing matter.
[Fade out.]
