Hex, Lies, and Videotape
Oct 13, 2016 11:31:40 GMT -5
Post by AshCandor on Oct 13, 2016 11:31:40 GMT -5
OFF CAMERA:
“Crap. Why are you such a stupid liar, Sal?”
Salem Cartier paced back and forth, her hands shoved down into her light jacket on an early fall morning in Toronto. She was in a local park, her mind was racing a million miles a minute, talking to herself. With everything going in her life, it seemed a jumbled blur that she had to untangle. Raising an adopted child, and dealing with him in school. Being a good wife and dealing with household chores, paying bills (money wasn’t tight it was the actual physical paying of the bills that sometimes got forgotten depending on who got the mail that particular day. Salem swore she would put everything on automatic paperless billing online, since they were gone so much). Talking to her sister, making sure she was okay and not on course for a drug relapse. Morgan was actually staying with Artemis’ brother Gage these days. She chose not to pry too far into that situation for now. Hiring the private investigators to look into the whereabouts of her own child Lily had not bore much fruit yet. How could a six year old and the family that agreed to raise her just disappear off the map?
“Excuse me…. Salem?”
The voice behind her startled her, and she turned around to see the man speaking to her. What she saw was almost like looking into a mirror; that is if she were a male: dark hair, pale featured, piercing blue eyes. He smiled at her and extended his hand.
“Hey, it’s Stephen. I’m glad you agreed to meet with me.”
She just stared at his hand for a beat, thinking to herself. She reflected on the recent phone call that had come out of the blue; a stranger’s voice on the other end claiming to be her brother. Salem grew up and had lived her twenty-four years under the certainty that she had one sibling, an older sister. Now this guy swore that he was also a Cartier and that his parents were David and Elizabeth, just like her. Hearing his voice and seeing his picture, but to see him in the flesh a lot of her doubt went away. But all this did was raise more questions than it answered. She shook his hand and put forth her best smile. She was talking to herself moments ago because she had promised Artemis, Nina, and Morgan that she would go with all of them to meet Stephen. But there was just a feeling she had, an inkling that she needed to see this man alone…just the two of them.
“Salem, let’s sit on a bench and talk, hmm? We have… uh… a lot of catching up to do, huh? I’m… I’m sorry. This is awkward and probably harder for me than it is for you, maybe? God, you look just like me…”
He timidly gave her a pat on the shoulder; this was after all two strangers seeing each other for the first time, alleged blood relation or not. She nodded, and he put an arm around her and guided her over to the bench. They sat and she just stared at him, before finally attempting to speak.
“Hey… how? Why? Look… Stephen… this is…. This is nuts, quite frankly. I know that people get separated at birth, kids get put up for adoption, all that. But my parents never ever mentioned you growing up… After you called me I called them. David…Dad refused to say anything. Mom eventually broke down and said yes, she had a baby boy before Morgan but that he died. So… in light of everything else going on in my life right now that I really don’t want to burden you, I really don’t need this right now, but…”
He held up his hand to respectfully cut her off, his eyebrows going up.
“Salem… stop and please look at this from my perspective, okay? I grew up in foster care, a good loving family took me in and gave me the tools to have an excellent life. But I always knew I didn’t belong there with them. I sought inner peace. I used my words. Like I was telling you, I dove headlong into writing poetry and prose. Books are my healing potion, of a sort.”
Salem listened to that, and it resonated. How many books had she sat and read in her house while most of the other kids played outside when she was little; her mother and father were so protective of her.
“And then later on, I just had this urge to help people. I donate time as a counselor for troubled teens. Kids from similar situations that dodn’t have such a good guiding hand to nurture them. Everybody just needs a chance, and one person in their lives to go the extra mile and show they care. All through this, I researched. Finally I got the information I had so desperately looked for over the years: the names of my real parents. And to discover that not only do I have two parents that are living, but two sisters.”
Salem stopped him, holding up an index finger.
“That may be entirely true, but why didn’t you call mom and dad first? You never even tried to get in touch with them did you? Dad’s in denial, mom says you are dead..if…if you are… you. You know?”
Stephen nodded and looked away, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“I figured they didn’t want me back then, so what about now? I wanted to gauge their temperament, you know? I mean, you would know how they are these days, right? I was just looking for an angle to slowly reintroduce myself, or if it was even a good idea. Trust me, I would love nothing more than acceptance. But I think I want to know why I was given up in the first place even more. My life is good, I’m not desperate. I just have a little yearning for that knowledge, you know?”
He paused, seemed to be getting a bit more emotional. Salem couldn’t help it, she reached out and patted his knee, took his hand. She looked into his eyes.
“Hey… we all just want a purpose and feel a need to be wanted, right? Or a want to be needed? Okay, I’m just stammering away now…”
Stephen just leaned over and hugged her, and she gave in and hugged back. She pulled back and looked into his eyes.
“Look Stephen, I agreed to this one on one meeting against my better judgement, and fibbing to my family and friends. Having talked on the phone, it took just a few moments ago for me to realize after seeing you… in my heart I believe you. And if you are indeed family, I want to know you. I don’t want this to be a drop in and then you go walk the earth for another twenty-plus years or whatever. Just be patient, because… because I’ve never had a brother before, you know?”
He laughed lightly and looked out at some kids playing in the park, he turned and looked back nodding.
“Funny, you should say that, I’ve never had a sister, let alone two of them. One of which is even kinda famous, if we’re being honest.”
Salem blushed and looked away.
“Am I? I don’t feel famous, not really. I’m just a chick that signed up to take beatings on television. Sometimes even hand out beatings of my own.”
Stephen squeezed her hand.
“Well, from what I’ve seen you’re pretty good at taking it and dishing it out. Now about Morgan….”
Salem just rolled her eyes.
“Oh god, how many years do you have free so we can talk about her? Wait ‘til you meet her. And don’t get me started on my wife….”
“Artemis… the little angry one… yeah….”
“Well… she’s sweet to me but that’s one in a million odds. Hey, do you wanna maybe go grab coffee and we can talk some more? I mean, we have two lifetimes to discuss here…”
Stephen smiled and shot her a thumbs up.
“That works for me….”
“Great!”
Stephen stood and offered his hand to Salem, and they walked along the sidewalk through the park. They never once noticed the dark figure in the bushes nearby secretly videotaping them.
ON CAMERA:
A lone cloud drifts across the full moon sometime around midnight. The flutter of raven’s wings cause bare branches to sway on the old tree it was just perched upon; the howl of an animal in the distance, a wolf perhaps. And then, the sound of trudging boots through dirt and gravel and underbrush. In the moonlight a cloaked figure walked along, the dark train of the garment dragging at the ground slightly. They carried a silver walking stick in hand, a staff with a seemingly unearthly purple glow atop it. The figure walked through the dead forest, small creatures scurry from it in advance of its wake. The camera view follows behind, never showing the face of the figure to this point.
“This has been a journey of years, with distances traveled further than most could imagine. These feet have carried me places when my head and heart deemed it necessary to seek out new worlds and realms of possibility. At times I’ve grown weary, in need of inspiration. To step through the door into this world of professional wrestling, it was surprising to some and most certainly not easy for me. I do not have generations of grappling blood within this body. In fact, whatever modicum of success I have achieved some would say I have been entirely undeserving of. If I have learned anything, it is that wrestlers can be quite the fickle bunch. I suppose the same can be said even for the fans. But then again, everyone has a right to their own opinion, and do we not also have the right to change our minds on things?”
Salem came to a clearing, an old dirt path that wound down into a valley. She stepped lightly, kicking away a stone or two until she came to an area with an old iron fence around it. She stepped toward the gate which was closed but not locked, a rusty chain looped through only to keep it from swinging wide in the wind and banging around. A weathered tin sign hung by the entrance announced this place as ‘The Carnival of Mirth and Mayhem’. An old large stepladder was set up in front of it. She tapped her staff at the sign, drawing attention to it. Rather than going around the ladder, she walked under it, and rested her hand upon the gate, looking up.
“This title is very appropriate to the business of wrestling, is it not? It is the realm of entertainment for the viewer and assured pain for its participants. And why does one actively sign up and participate in such barbarism? Knowing the risk of pain, of injury, perhaps life altering physical trauma which we may never come back from? For me it is equal parts escapism and fulfillment, to go from the joy and sorrow of everyday life into a cage in which all the joy and sorrows are magnified a thousand fold. Wrestling doesn’t care about everyday maladies: if your dog is sick, if your child has a medical condition, if your momma don’t dance and your daddy don’t rock and roll. In this arena, we play out the physical opera and often work through our own personal and professional frustrations by beating the hell out of another living being. Through the pain, sorrow, joy, and euphoria it helps magnify the notion that I am alive. To feel each and every experience both good and bad, it lets me know that I’m not just here I’m living life to the fullest. And to be honest, there are peaks in valleys. It would not be out of the question to consider myself in a valley right now… figuratively and literally.”
She unfastened the chain and swung the old creaky gate open, stepping inside. She walked along looking side to side at the abandoned carnival park. Exhibits and rides and booths here and there, overgrown and in disrepair. She stopped in front of a funhouse of mirrors and walked inside, the purple glow of her staff illuminating the way.
“I’ve won myself a handful of high profile matches, even though lately it has been not so much. And this business is all about what have you done for me lately. But you have to be diligent, and I will be the first to say my diligence has wavered lately. But like Andy Dufresne and his little rock hammer, I keep pecking away at that wall. Until I make it through the figurative excrement surrounding this business and make it to the place I really want to be. And woe be to those that stand in my way. Annie Dupree…Zellor… whatever you’re calling yourself these days. As I walk through this valley I see a particular shadow looming large over me. The possessor of the #GrrrFace, the ‘Pow right in the kisser’ girl, The Whitest Girl some may know. Even though we started our careers at roughly the same time, you’ve done much more, achieved more in this business. More than double the number of titles I’ve held. I don’t despise that one bit, I respect that. You are obviously very good at what you do. The All-American Sweetheart… but it’s well documented you don’t live a perfect existence. Nobody does. Yet you still portray it as such even though there is proof otherwise. Hmmm….”
She stopped in front of a mirror, the funhouse mirror distorting her face and as she moved her head slightly it morphed as if liquid. The camera is steady and stays upon it.
“I guess that’s the thing about facades, right? There’s how we really look, how we doll ourselves up with makeup and lipstick to present ourselves better; smiles on our faces, sometimes genuine and sometimes forced. And then there’s how everyone else views you. Haters will hate, and blind followers stay stubbing their toes. I might call myself a witch, but have you ever seen me fly on a broomstick? I just wonder now, is this the real Annie finally standing up? Has she let the cute mask finally fall away, the façade fade? Or is this harder edge a compensation for something else? Say what you will about vices and indiscretions, everyone has them, sure. Some like to keep them under wraps, away from the public eye, off the TMZ front page. Others get popped for public indecency and drugs. Honestly, I think you like the attention. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad. No matter how heinous the act, there will be some that will defend you forever, while still others will chastise and ridicule you. Either way it keeps people talking about you. It’s your life and you can do what you want to do. I’ve considered you a friend for a long time. But when your actions start interfering with me and my activities? That’s when we have issues. Is that selfish and conceited? Perhaps. Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t really care about the activities that you involve yourself in that get you on Harvey Levin’s website to earn him page clicks. All I can say to that is I’d rather be known for what I do inside a wrestling ring than what I do outside it. And right now, you’re teetering very close on the scales of that, Annie. And it’s sad, it really shouldn’t be the case. You’re the Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion in FGA. I’m just beginning to wonder if you’re in it for the wrestling recognition or the notoriety in general. Celebrity status negating all the hard work you’ve put in training, in the gym, between the ropes. Cluttering up the vision with coffee shops and football teams and whatever other window dressing you run around and throw yourself into. I’d be remiss to not point out that I’m doing some acting now, but even in doing so I’m not in it to be a movie star. For me, the wrestling ALWAYS comes first. That’s the truth. Some people can’t handle it. Some would rather hold it together under the false security of a lie than to shatter when faced with the facts.”
She punched a gloved fist forward, breaking the mirror as silvery glass cracked and fell all around her. She knelt down and looked at one jagged piece. She removed her glove and pricked her finger with it, a drop of blood running down before she put it in her mouth to stop the bleeding.
“The truth can indeed hurt. And for all your talk about wanting to be the greatest champion of this or that or the other thing and denying Dom Harter a Grand Slam Championship sweep, or whatever…. Let me hit you with some truth: That is in no way guaranteed, because nobody deserves anything in this business. Anything of any merit is earned, and even then it is not always respected. I respect the fact that you are the champion now, but I have zero respect for your behavior in our last match. In hindsight you said you were wrong for your actions. I can do no less than take that at face value. But know this: I’m getting tired of “sorry” and “better luck next time”. Sorry is one of the most hollow words in the English language. Sorry doesn’t usually make anyone feel better, at least the one it is spoken to, not deep down. It might soothe the speaker, but sorry only means you admit that you screwed up after the fact. But you know what? It’s noted and filed away. Because it is rather fitting that this show is called Retribution. Because fair is fair, and you deserve punishment for what you did to me in a fit of heated rage. To strike me with that title belt, giving me a win via disqualification and succeeding in only giving me yet another hollow feeling, déjà vu all over again. That belt and my face really have to stop meeting like that, although I might grant it a kiss when I wrangle it away from your waste. Because when I leave you laying in the middle of that ring in the Roy Wilkins Auditorium, those FGA fans in St. Paul Minnesota might actually experience you feeling truly sorry. Sorry over what is and what will never be.”
She stepped outside and walked along, tapping the walking stick on the ground until she came to an enclosed theater at the rear of the compound. An old ticket booth out front covered in dust and cobwebs. She stepped forward and a black cat hissed and ran past her. She went inside, down past rows of broken seats, and sat in the small orchestra section, an antique organ sitting there. She began to play a song that teetered on sweet and eerie. After a few tinkering runs, she settled into a melody possibly familiar to some with an apt title, Led Zeppelin’s ‘Your Time Is Gonna Come’.
The camera finally panned around to see that Salem had been wearing a Phantom of the Opera styled mask this entire time, and she looked up and smiled. Removing the mask, there was another mask beneath it… the face of Annie Dupree herself. She mugged for the camera for a moment before ripping that away as well. The black cat leaped up on the organ and began to purr.
“Soon we’ll find out who’s who and what’s what. The façade is gone. Don’t forget this is October, sweet Annie. It truly is the Season of the Witch. For you it might just be Pumpkin Spice Everything… but this is the time that the night truly does call to me. The beautiful music it sends out to me. I will toil and I will trouble thee and then FGA will bear witness to my greatest night in this company. I’ll have left the valley far behind and be atop a peak, and then the shadow you will see is mine looming over you, Annie. Only in beating you resoundingly will there be true Retribution. It’s time for hypocrisy to lie defeated down in its own valley.
Because… Salem is That Witch, and That Witch Endures. ‘Tis the Season.”
“Crap. Why are you such a stupid liar, Sal?”
Salem Cartier paced back and forth, her hands shoved down into her light jacket on an early fall morning in Toronto. She was in a local park, her mind was racing a million miles a minute, talking to herself. With everything going in her life, it seemed a jumbled blur that she had to untangle. Raising an adopted child, and dealing with him in school. Being a good wife and dealing with household chores, paying bills (money wasn’t tight it was the actual physical paying of the bills that sometimes got forgotten depending on who got the mail that particular day. Salem swore she would put everything on automatic paperless billing online, since they were gone so much). Talking to her sister, making sure she was okay and not on course for a drug relapse. Morgan was actually staying with Artemis’ brother Gage these days. She chose not to pry too far into that situation for now. Hiring the private investigators to look into the whereabouts of her own child Lily had not bore much fruit yet. How could a six year old and the family that agreed to raise her just disappear off the map?
“Excuse me…. Salem?”
The voice behind her startled her, and she turned around to see the man speaking to her. What she saw was almost like looking into a mirror; that is if she were a male: dark hair, pale featured, piercing blue eyes. He smiled at her and extended his hand.
“Hey, it’s Stephen. I’m glad you agreed to meet with me.”
She just stared at his hand for a beat, thinking to herself. She reflected on the recent phone call that had come out of the blue; a stranger’s voice on the other end claiming to be her brother. Salem grew up and had lived her twenty-four years under the certainty that she had one sibling, an older sister. Now this guy swore that he was also a Cartier and that his parents were David and Elizabeth, just like her. Hearing his voice and seeing his picture, but to see him in the flesh a lot of her doubt went away. But all this did was raise more questions than it answered. She shook his hand and put forth her best smile. She was talking to herself moments ago because she had promised Artemis, Nina, and Morgan that she would go with all of them to meet Stephen. But there was just a feeling she had, an inkling that she needed to see this man alone…just the two of them.
“Salem, let’s sit on a bench and talk, hmm? We have… uh… a lot of catching up to do, huh? I’m… I’m sorry. This is awkward and probably harder for me than it is for you, maybe? God, you look just like me…”
He timidly gave her a pat on the shoulder; this was after all two strangers seeing each other for the first time, alleged blood relation or not. She nodded, and he put an arm around her and guided her over to the bench. They sat and she just stared at him, before finally attempting to speak.
“Hey… how? Why? Look… Stephen… this is…. This is nuts, quite frankly. I know that people get separated at birth, kids get put up for adoption, all that. But my parents never ever mentioned you growing up… After you called me I called them. David…Dad refused to say anything. Mom eventually broke down and said yes, she had a baby boy before Morgan but that he died. So… in light of everything else going on in my life right now that I really don’t want to burden you, I really don’t need this right now, but…”
He held up his hand to respectfully cut her off, his eyebrows going up.
“Salem… stop and please look at this from my perspective, okay? I grew up in foster care, a good loving family took me in and gave me the tools to have an excellent life. But I always knew I didn’t belong there with them. I sought inner peace. I used my words. Like I was telling you, I dove headlong into writing poetry and prose. Books are my healing potion, of a sort.”
Salem listened to that, and it resonated. How many books had she sat and read in her house while most of the other kids played outside when she was little; her mother and father were so protective of her.
“And then later on, I just had this urge to help people. I donate time as a counselor for troubled teens. Kids from similar situations that dodn’t have such a good guiding hand to nurture them. Everybody just needs a chance, and one person in their lives to go the extra mile and show they care. All through this, I researched. Finally I got the information I had so desperately looked for over the years: the names of my real parents. And to discover that not only do I have two parents that are living, but two sisters.”
Salem stopped him, holding up an index finger.
“That may be entirely true, but why didn’t you call mom and dad first? You never even tried to get in touch with them did you? Dad’s in denial, mom says you are dead..if…if you are… you. You know?”
Stephen nodded and looked away, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“I figured they didn’t want me back then, so what about now? I wanted to gauge their temperament, you know? I mean, you would know how they are these days, right? I was just looking for an angle to slowly reintroduce myself, or if it was even a good idea. Trust me, I would love nothing more than acceptance. But I think I want to know why I was given up in the first place even more. My life is good, I’m not desperate. I just have a little yearning for that knowledge, you know?”
He paused, seemed to be getting a bit more emotional. Salem couldn’t help it, she reached out and patted his knee, took his hand. She looked into his eyes.
“Hey… we all just want a purpose and feel a need to be wanted, right? Or a want to be needed? Okay, I’m just stammering away now…”
Stephen just leaned over and hugged her, and she gave in and hugged back. She pulled back and looked into his eyes.
“Look Stephen, I agreed to this one on one meeting against my better judgement, and fibbing to my family and friends. Having talked on the phone, it took just a few moments ago for me to realize after seeing you… in my heart I believe you. And if you are indeed family, I want to know you. I don’t want this to be a drop in and then you go walk the earth for another twenty-plus years or whatever. Just be patient, because… because I’ve never had a brother before, you know?”
He laughed lightly and looked out at some kids playing in the park, he turned and looked back nodding.
“Funny, you should say that, I’ve never had a sister, let alone two of them. One of which is even kinda famous, if we’re being honest.”
Salem blushed and looked away.
“Am I? I don’t feel famous, not really. I’m just a chick that signed up to take beatings on television. Sometimes even hand out beatings of my own.”
Stephen squeezed her hand.
“Well, from what I’ve seen you’re pretty good at taking it and dishing it out. Now about Morgan….”
Salem just rolled her eyes.
“Oh god, how many years do you have free so we can talk about her? Wait ‘til you meet her. And don’t get me started on my wife….”
“Artemis… the little angry one… yeah….”
“Well… she’s sweet to me but that’s one in a million odds. Hey, do you wanna maybe go grab coffee and we can talk some more? I mean, we have two lifetimes to discuss here…”
Stephen smiled and shot her a thumbs up.
“That works for me….”
“Great!”
Stephen stood and offered his hand to Salem, and they walked along the sidewalk through the park. They never once noticed the dark figure in the bushes nearby secretly videotaping them.
*****
ON CAMERA:
A lone cloud drifts across the full moon sometime around midnight. The flutter of raven’s wings cause bare branches to sway on the old tree it was just perched upon; the howl of an animal in the distance, a wolf perhaps. And then, the sound of trudging boots through dirt and gravel and underbrush. In the moonlight a cloaked figure walked along, the dark train of the garment dragging at the ground slightly. They carried a silver walking stick in hand, a staff with a seemingly unearthly purple glow atop it. The figure walked through the dead forest, small creatures scurry from it in advance of its wake. The camera view follows behind, never showing the face of the figure to this point.
“This has been a journey of years, with distances traveled further than most could imagine. These feet have carried me places when my head and heart deemed it necessary to seek out new worlds and realms of possibility. At times I’ve grown weary, in need of inspiration. To step through the door into this world of professional wrestling, it was surprising to some and most certainly not easy for me. I do not have generations of grappling blood within this body. In fact, whatever modicum of success I have achieved some would say I have been entirely undeserving of. If I have learned anything, it is that wrestlers can be quite the fickle bunch. I suppose the same can be said even for the fans. But then again, everyone has a right to their own opinion, and do we not also have the right to change our minds on things?”
Salem came to a clearing, an old dirt path that wound down into a valley. She stepped lightly, kicking away a stone or two until she came to an area with an old iron fence around it. She stepped toward the gate which was closed but not locked, a rusty chain looped through only to keep it from swinging wide in the wind and banging around. A weathered tin sign hung by the entrance announced this place as ‘The Carnival of Mirth and Mayhem’. An old large stepladder was set up in front of it. She tapped her staff at the sign, drawing attention to it. Rather than going around the ladder, she walked under it, and rested her hand upon the gate, looking up.
“This title is very appropriate to the business of wrestling, is it not? It is the realm of entertainment for the viewer and assured pain for its participants. And why does one actively sign up and participate in such barbarism? Knowing the risk of pain, of injury, perhaps life altering physical trauma which we may never come back from? For me it is equal parts escapism and fulfillment, to go from the joy and sorrow of everyday life into a cage in which all the joy and sorrows are magnified a thousand fold. Wrestling doesn’t care about everyday maladies: if your dog is sick, if your child has a medical condition, if your momma don’t dance and your daddy don’t rock and roll. In this arena, we play out the physical opera and often work through our own personal and professional frustrations by beating the hell out of another living being. Through the pain, sorrow, joy, and euphoria it helps magnify the notion that I am alive. To feel each and every experience both good and bad, it lets me know that I’m not just here I’m living life to the fullest. And to be honest, there are peaks in valleys. It would not be out of the question to consider myself in a valley right now… figuratively and literally.”
She unfastened the chain and swung the old creaky gate open, stepping inside. She walked along looking side to side at the abandoned carnival park. Exhibits and rides and booths here and there, overgrown and in disrepair. She stopped in front of a funhouse of mirrors and walked inside, the purple glow of her staff illuminating the way.
“I’ve won myself a handful of high profile matches, even though lately it has been not so much. And this business is all about what have you done for me lately. But you have to be diligent, and I will be the first to say my diligence has wavered lately. But like Andy Dufresne and his little rock hammer, I keep pecking away at that wall. Until I make it through the figurative excrement surrounding this business and make it to the place I really want to be. And woe be to those that stand in my way. Annie Dupree…Zellor… whatever you’re calling yourself these days. As I walk through this valley I see a particular shadow looming large over me. The possessor of the #GrrrFace, the ‘Pow right in the kisser’ girl, The Whitest Girl some may know. Even though we started our careers at roughly the same time, you’ve done much more, achieved more in this business. More than double the number of titles I’ve held. I don’t despise that one bit, I respect that. You are obviously very good at what you do. The All-American Sweetheart… but it’s well documented you don’t live a perfect existence. Nobody does. Yet you still portray it as such even though there is proof otherwise. Hmmm….”
She stopped in front of a mirror, the funhouse mirror distorting her face and as she moved her head slightly it morphed as if liquid. The camera is steady and stays upon it.
“I guess that’s the thing about facades, right? There’s how we really look, how we doll ourselves up with makeup and lipstick to present ourselves better; smiles on our faces, sometimes genuine and sometimes forced. And then there’s how everyone else views you. Haters will hate, and blind followers stay stubbing their toes. I might call myself a witch, but have you ever seen me fly on a broomstick? I just wonder now, is this the real Annie finally standing up? Has she let the cute mask finally fall away, the façade fade? Or is this harder edge a compensation for something else? Say what you will about vices and indiscretions, everyone has them, sure. Some like to keep them under wraps, away from the public eye, off the TMZ front page. Others get popped for public indecency and drugs. Honestly, I think you like the attention. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad. No matter how heinous the act, there will be some that will defend you forever, while still others will chastise and ridicule you. Either way it keeps people talking about you. It’s your life and you can do what you want to do. I’ve considered you a friend for a long time. But when your actions start interfering with me and my activities? That’s when we have issues. Is that selfish and conceited? Perhaps. Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t really care about the activities that you involve yourself in that get you on Harvey Levin’s website to earn him page clicks. All I can say to that is I’d rather be known for what I do inside a wrestling ring than what I do outside it. And right now, you’re teetering very close on the scales of that, Annie. And it’s sad, it really shouldn’t be the case. You’re the Mid-Atlantic Legacy champion in FGA. I’m just beginning to wonder if you’re in it for the wrestling recognition or the notoriety in general. Celebrity status negating all the hard work you’ve put in training, in the gym, between the ropes. Cluttering up the vision with coffee shops and football teams and whatever other window dressing you run around and throw yourself into. I’d be remiss to not point out that I’m doing some acting now, but even in doing so I’m not in it to be a movie star. For me, the wrestling ALWAYS comes first. That’s the truth. Some people can’t handle it. Some would rather hold it together under the false security of a lie than to shatter when faced with the facts.”
She punched a gloved fist forward, breaking the mirror as silvery glass cracked and fell all around her. She knelt down and looked at one jagged piece. She removed her glove and pricked her finger with it, a drop of blood running down before she put it in her mouth to stop the bleeding.
“The truth can indeed hurt. And for all your talk about wanting to be the greatest champion of this or that or the other thing and denying Dom Harter a Grand Slam Championship sweep, or whatever…. Let me hit you with some truth: That is in no way guaranteed, because nobody deserves anything in this business. Anything of any merit is earned, and even then it is not always respected. I respect the fact that you are the champion now, but I have zero respect for your behavior in our last match. In hindsight you said you were wrong for your actions. I can do no less than take that at face value. But know this: I’m getting tired of “sorry” and “better luck next time”. Sorry is one of the most hollow words in the English language. Sorry doesn’t usually make anyone feel better, at least the one it is spoken to, not deep down. It might soothe the speaker, but sorry only means you admit that you screwed up after the fact. But you know what? It’s noted and filed away. Because it is rather fitting that this show is called Retribution. Because fair is fair, and you deserve punishment for what you did to me in a fit of heated rage. To strike me with that title belt, giving me a win via disqualification and succeeding in only giving me yet another hollow feeling, déjà vu all over again. That belt and my face really have to stop meeting like that, although I might grant it a kiss when I wrangle it away from your waste. Because when I leave you laying in the middle of that ring in the Roy Wilkins Auditorium, those FGA fans in St. Paul Minnesota might actually experience you feeling truly sorry. Sorry over what is and what will never be.”
She stepped outside and walked along, tapping the walking stick on the ground until she came to an enclosed theater at the rear of the compound. An old ticket booth out front covered in dust and cobwebs. She stepped forward and a black cat hissed and ran past her. She went inside, down past rows of broken seats, and sat in the small orchestra section, an antique organ sitting there. She began to play a song that teetered on sweet and eerie. After a few tinkering runs, she settled into a melody possibly familiar to some with an apt title, Led Zeppelin’s ‘Your Time Is Gonna Come’.
The camera finally panned around to see that Salem had been wearing a Phantom of the Opera styled mask this entire time, and she looked up and smiled. Removing the mask, there was another mask beneath it… the face of Annie Dupree herself. She mugged for the camera for a moment before ripping that away as well. The black cat leaped up on the organ and began to purr.
“Soon we’ll find out who’s who and what’s what. The façade is gone. Don’t forget this is October, sweet Annie. It truly is the Season of the Witch. For you it might just be Pumpkin Spice Everything… but this is the time that the night truly does call to me. The beautiful music it sends out to me. I will toil and I will trouble thee and then FGA will bear witness to my greatest night in this company. I’ll have left the valley far behind and be atop a peak, and then the shadow you will see is mine looming over you, Annie. Only in beating you resoundingly will there be true Retribution. It’s time for hypocrisy to lie defeated down in its own valley.
Because… Salem is That Witch, and That Witch Endures. ‘Tis the Season.”