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Chronological Notation – this would have taken place sometime before
the events in “Oh
and look, here comes Ring Deacon!” The next piece I do will dwell on
events of the night of the previously posted events.
A recent Shelly Hollins quote for the BWWa web site . .
"Why did I join wrestling? I'm unsure. I believe the specific point was when I was sixteen, and a voice seemed to call to me one evening . .
"It proclaimed softly, 'Here kitty, kitty . . .
"'Come play in traffic.'"
Shelly Hollins mind had drifted back to that for some reason, as she dusted off the television in the main room her and Wilde shared. She was tired, for some reason, not operating well after five hours sleep. Odd, as she used to feel full of vigor when Cid was young, hardly three years ago, even though she rarely got that in any given day. Her body was still rattled by that chair shot she'd taken on the card. Shelly let out a deep exhale, then finished dusting the television until she was satisfied with the results. She had a cell phone in the other hand, and laid the dustrag besides a black dinner plate on the living room table.
As has been shown time again throughout her young life, Shelly Hollins rarely satisfies easily. Fans of Wilde Tanke could take that how they will, and the rest of us can safely assume it means in terms of personal and business agendas.
"As I've previously mentioned, I can sympathize with you on that issue, my friend," she said into the cell phone. "I believe you turn right. There's a yellow card shop to your right, correct? Left? Then turn left." Shelly screeched. "Moose? Are you alright? Moose?" Slight pause. "I’m relieved. I was worried I'd steered you into an accident."
Shelly turned, patting Amanda on the head, as he sat up on the couch. "You shouldn't have much further to go. .. .. .. Oh, I totally can understand the emotional conflict you're going through."
Shelly turned instinctively as Cid ran into and through the room into the kitchen. She turned to check on Amanda one more time, before she could turn to follow him in. Just as quickly, he came back, ran to the couch, and jumped on it, across from Amanda, who barely seemed to notice.
"Right, right," Shelly continued to her cell phone. "Tommy's stubborn, but I know you love him."
This pause lasted longer, as Shelly watched Amanda watching tv. She turned to a light yellow end table by the couch, and picked up a shopping list, jotting a few more items down as she listened.
Shelly sat down. "That sounds like our hotel, so if you're able to see it from there, you would presumably be in the vicinity of the store. Ok, then you are proceeding here following? Excellent. Farewell, my friend."
She stretched her arms out, curling her knees in front of her, as she eyed the skyline on the other side of a fairly large childproofed window. Too bright at first, she almost had to shield her eyes with her hands. She thought her eyes were dimming for a second or two, maybe an after match from the minor concussion she'd suffered. Just the clouds, though.
She remembered the night - and more or less most of the details despite the minor concussion suffered earlier that night. She'd sent Wilde home ahead of her, since they'd taken different cars to the arena. Her eyes drifted to that black plate in front of her. She could almost see the events unfolding in her memory in it . .
She was walking down the halls, since she wasn't feeling especially lightheaded or nauseous (although she was certainly feeling a little of each, and rather dizzy on the side).
Wondering around usually provided her with more insight. Who was still there, what was being said about everyone that night, what people were looking forward to. It was like the world around her dropped it’s shields and let her see just a little bit more than she figured they wanted her to see.
She’d seen the aftermath of some legendary events this way. In the past, that is. The night after she’d participated in an invasion of her federation of choice, Shawn Armstrong’s Association of Fantasy Wrestlers, into Stan Grubb’s North American Wrestling Alliance, came to mind. She’d seen her friends turn on their own friends – and in the case of Wilde and Rebecca Tanke, their very own family. She felt like walking around in a country she’d grown up in and then betrayed.
Another moment? More recent than 1997? She’d known people hated Jack Lynch, MSWA chief executive officer, and owner, but she also knew they felt an intense loyalty to him and his vision. She’d never known how incredibly deep those feelings ran until the night of his heart attack, spawned during Mr. Lynch’s in ring confrontation with her dearest Wilde.
Wilde, of course, shouldered a notable share of the blame for most people’s eyes for the event. Maybe justly so, maybe totally unduly. Regardless, the night after it happened, Shelly felt the same sensation of walking around in enemy territory, due to her longstanding friendship and business relation with Wilde.
Worse, and moreso, she felt like she was walking around predeath warming.
Thankfully, it proved to be a false omen.
She felt only the latter sense at first, as she wondered the backstage. A sense of dread, of genuine worry for another one of their own that night. She was deep into “enemy territory” when she began to feel that familiar tingle that almost spoke – or at least, almost spoke enough to say, “You’re an outsider.
”You’re not wanted.
“Go away.”
She’d ended up around the locker room assigned to the Sinful eXperiance members. The doors were still closed, but she assumed they’d gone home (or somewhere) earlier. Besides, she could feel the mental tingle of them leaving on the walls, smell the cheap cologne.
It was hard to miss the fact the lockers here kept the lights lower than anyone else. Shelly smiled, remembering how Penelope Skene, when the numbers of wrestlers to locker rooms just didn’t pan out right, had been tossed over on this side a few times. Shelly knew Pen wasn’t joking in her harsh criticism over the mistake, but that only made the situation infinitely more humorous.
Shelly felt a small ripple along her skin - a general sensation of panic and fear, even before she turned to notice a dull gold plate that read, "Slava Yakolinov," hanging half way off the next door. A small dent in the middle of the plate gave her an idea why it was hanging part way off.
She didn’t realize why she hadn’t heard the sound before. The soft crying from around the corner. She felt a dull ache of sympathy, not even knowing who it was. Her almond brown eyes flared, her mind raced alive, however, to a heightened sense of awareness, as she prepared to turn the corner.
Shelly had been doing this a long time. She knew to keep her defenses up, when, and how.
All she saw as she turned the corner was Josh’s turn to write.
A little body sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, trying to stay out of the light. A muffled cry emitted from the burrowed head of the fallen manager.
Joshua Peterman.
He was sitting next to the open door of his wrestler’s locker room, he seemed to be consumed in his own moment, not noticing Shelly. He continually murmured, "Please don't die, Jack," under his breath.
Shelly’s mind had flashed back at this point, too, to an earlier moment in her life . . or two. She wondered if he’d noticed her – she quickly realized he obviously didn’t. Lithe, graceful movements brought her to a crotched position.
Rather than ask the first question that came to mind – obviously, he wasn’t “all right” – Shelly asked, “Have they given you any word on his condition yet?”
Josh looked up – didn’t answer, at least, not verbally. He shook his head frantically in a “No,” motion. After a few seconds of it, his eyes seemed to drift into a spot just right of Shelly. She didn't have to look to know there was nothing there. "I'd have thought they'd taken him to the hospital," she asked, trying to keep her voice as calm and reassuring as she could. It was hard to do with the young man in her view - he looked almost to be in convulsions, from shaking so hard.
Fear. It would have been obvious what he was afraid of, even if not for his mumblings - his repeated pleas to the powers above. He finally looked up after a few tense seconds and nodded.
She thought about asking him why he was still here - but decided against it. Josh finally seemed to compose himself, looking up at her. She let him gather his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was harsh, like he'd been yelling all day and only now realized the damage he'd done to his vocal cords. "I don't know what to do. I know they wouldn't let me see him. God, you should have seen him. I . . " He tried to force himself up, but his limbs, stiff from lack of movement, wouldn't cooperate. "I need to get to him. Help. Be there, do SOME thing!"
Finally, he somehow managed to ignore the cloud of emotions in his mind to push himself to his feet. Shelly quickly stood as well, putting a hand on his trembling shoulders. "You really don't look well enough to drive."
He brushed her hand off his shoulder. "I'll be fine."
He took a few steps towards the middle of the hallway, but, nearly losing his balance, found it better to hold a hand up to the wall to straighten him self out. Shelly quickly walks up, cutting him off. "That would be rather dangerous considering your current condition. I hardly imagine your cousin would benefit somehow from you ending up in an accident."
"Whatever." Josh didn't answer, but instead attempted to sidestep her.
Shelly took a step back, keeping herself in his way. "Besides, I've been ordered to report to the same hospital myself, to determine if I have any post concussion effects. Why don't you let me drive? I have to admit a certain persisting curiosity for Mr. Cross. Despite our recent differences, I . . . " she paused, Josh's eyes boring into her skull almost. "He'll be in all our prayers."
"That's nice and dandy, but if you don't mind, I've got to get down there, so please. Move."
He didn't seem very open to the idea of being helped, Shelly thought to herself. He walked past. She followed not half a step behind. She'd play for at least getting him to look her in the face, but if she couldn't her words wouldn't fail her. They rarely had in the past. "Sorry for his title loss."
"I don't care about a f***-ing title!" Despite his voice being horse to the point of numbness, Josh somehow managed to raise it more than Shelly might have hoped he would.
"Don't blame you. He seemed like he's a fine person as well."
Shelly hoped Josh hadn't notice her change her verb tense from past to present mid sentence. If he had, he gave no indication of it. He gave no initial reaction when Shelly suddenly stopped following him, as well.
"Well, you obviously know your way to the hospital, so I"ll let you be."
His steps slowed and stopped within three. "No . . . I wouldn't even know WHAT hospital they took him to."
Shelly smiled - only inwardly, so as to not risk putting him off should he turn to see it. "Oh? Maybe I could help. You turn at . . " Shelly dropped a rather convincing "Let me think" pause, then continued. Kind of. "You follow. . . no that's not right. Oh, I apologize. I've become so used to just DRIVING that I don't really pay attention to directions anymore. If you want, I could just drive you there."
"Fine. Just get me there," Josh answered.
"Of course," Shelly answered. She turned and followed, not looking back to see if he was keeping up. She could hear his footsteps quickly fall into place, anyway.
"And . . . I'm sorry for earlier," he said. "It's just, I never thought he would - thought. . . I can't talk about it." Josh's shoulders slumped a little. Shelly slowed her pace so he could catch up without realizing it. "You sure it's safe for you to drive if you've got a concussion?"
Shelly shrugged. "I've had them before, unfortunately. They say the after effects of one are quite permanent, you know? Nevertheless, I've driven with them before. Time and again, in truth. It's incredibly minor, if I do have one. This is more of a logical concern than anything." She paused, thinking of the right words. "The smart thing to do, to verbalize it in simpler terms."
"Yeah, makes sense, I guess," Josh said. "Thanks for the ride, I really could use someone to talk to."
She glanced over at him, almost too knowingly. "Sometimes that's all you can offer."
"Yeah, I don't get it, I don't know what's going through Jack's head," Josh answered, subconsciously articulating himself with his hands. "He's been being pretty dramatic as of late. We thought it was just a phase and . . " Jack stopped talking. Shelly didn't want him to dwell on the guilt he must be feeling over the possible notion he could have prevented this if he'd done something earlier. After all, true or not, it wouldn't do him any good.
"I feel a similar attitude towards Wilde sometimes," Shelly admitted. She smiled a bit at a random memory. It vanished as she remembered the circumstance Josh was now facing. "Anyway, you're welcome. I know how strange it can be in the back room. Sometimes it's easy to forget we're all in this together. In the end."
"Yeah," Josh said quietly, almost to himself. He could almost see Jack's
eyes starring back at him from the blackness. "It is."
Shelly’s mind flashed back to the present. She wondered if she’d fallen asleep, and peaked her ears, listening for crying of some other aftermath of a disaster. Parental instinct. Since none came, she forced herself to her feet, stretching her arms. She must have dozed off, at least a little, consumed in her flashbacks. She hadn’t seriously given much thought to taking Josh up on his offer to visit Cross and see how he was doing . . he’d said it as she was taking him home for a change and some rest – that after a rather heated argument when he insisted he stay.
That is – she’d never seriously considered his offer until just now
. .
End chapter
(Special thanks to Cross's handler for letting me cameo the Joshua Peterman character. Josh P’s direct contributions in the bold.)
"I slowly, carefully, painfully adapt to what I need to adapt to.
Not through want and planning, but through need and instinct."
jad