Post by Melinda Rhodes on Aug 7, 2017 12:44:30 GMT -6
The hotel room was like so many others I've been in in my life. Dull with white walls and brown carpets, the drapes and bed covers dressed to match. Everything was dimly lit by a street light outside my window, the time somewhere between fuck me O'clock and fuck off thirty in the morning. The blinds barely blocked the light as it filtered in through the horizontal white slats. Thin lines of dingy white play across my body as I lay upon the bed, staring up at slow spinning ceiling fan hanging from that stucco ceiling.
Why was I sleepless? In my head, I could never really lie to myself all that well. Only the rarest occasion have I ever deluded myself to the point that I'd believe a lie from within. My father raised me better, rest his soul. The doubt was there and while part of me wanted someone to hold me, comfort me, and tell me that it was all going to be ok, another side of me said to suck it up, be strong.
I contemplated calling James again on the phone, but he was probably sleeping at this point. I sat up with my arms wrapped around my torso firmly. It was time to do what most men and women do on a sleepless night in my profession. Gathering the phone up, I decide to check out twitter and read a few posts by friends and colleagues. Of course one couldn't help but notice the little twitter feud between Travis Blake and Samantha Tolson. I sighed and shook my head, reminding my old friend why I called her the fucking mayor of Suplex City with a choice posting. Then of course I happened upon yet another horrific and unsettling animation courtesy of EWC's resident evil bitch, Cheyenne, that involved insects tearing apart what appeared to be a skinned dog. Yeah, like I needed nightmares on top of everything else.
With a sigh, I decided to throw on a pair of sweats and some sandals. Since I can't sleep, I'll just use the gym for a late night work out. Maybe if I tired myself out, I'll go the fuck to sleep. A little jog down four flights of stairs later brought me to the ground floor. To my left was the outdoor pool where a young couple were making out at the shallow end. I smiled and left them to their devices, hanging down the hallway to the right.
I passed right by the sauna and slipped into the empty gym. It wasn't a full on gym, but there was a nice selection regardless. I headed right for the treadmill, fired it up and cranked it up to about ten. I wanted to wear my tattooed ass out and a good hard run for about an hour ought to do the trick. My feet pounded the textured rubber as it rolled and I focused on keeping my breathing even and controlled.
At one point the clink of weights would get my attention and I looked into the mirror to see a rather buff Asian man with extremely short cut black hair and a deep tan seated on a bench. He busied himself by curling a fifty pound hand weight like it was nothing. Dressed in a white tank top, and tan shorts, with his feet bare, he left little to my imagination.
I couldn't help but notice the Koi fish and Oni Demon tattooed on his right arm as a full sleeve, linked directly to a Foo dog on his chest. The work was beautifully drafted on his skin in bright, vibrant colors. He gave a little smile and a nod and I returned it, then resumed my workout.
I wondered to myself if he was another EWC Brawl competitor that I hadn't met. Once more I found myself lost in thoughts as I continued to sprint on the treadmill. The minutes would pass and suddenly I realized I didn't see the Asian man anymore in the mirror. I thought nothing of it and looked up at the clock to see the time when suddenly I felt something thin and flexible wrap around my throat. The distraction forced me into a stumble in mid run, but I never hit my face on the console.
Instead I found myself gurgling and sputtering as I saw him in the mirror, hoisting me off my feet with a chord wrapped around my tattooed neck! Where the fuck did he come from?! I kicked my legs and clawed at his face, the chord quickly starting to dig into my skin. Tears filled my eyes as stars filled my vision, my brain burning for the oxygen it was being so desperately starved of.
“Enjoy your last breaths, Ms. Rhodes,” the young man said with a surprisingly soft voice and polite tone. I started to slowly black out, my kicks weakening. My life flashed before my eyes; the first time I remembered my father's face, my first crush and kiss. I saw flashes of good times with friends and arguments with my father. Then finally, the day I gave birth to my little girl, Lana and held her in my arms, those bleary, tired eyes looking up at me for the very first time. The thought of leaving her behind was absolutely too much to bare....
….I suddenly found myself on the floor, sucking air into my lungs as hard as I could. A voice spoke into my ear briefly, but my skull was too busy pounding to hear anything beyond muffled noise. I rose slowly onto all fours, only to take a hard kick to the back, driving me right back down with my head bouncing off the side of the treadmill. My hearing returned as the thug put his bare foot against my throat and pressed down, choking me out of what little air I had managed to regain.
“I could've killed you then and I can still kill you now, Ms. Rhodes if you persist on insulting and fighting back. I come with a warning and a message; do not come after Hope Diamond again or next time, I will use a garrote instead of my phone charger to strangle you,” He said, then added, “She has powerful friends who will not hesitate to feed your corpse to a pig farm.”
I glared up at him, my teeth grit. He then backed off and once again, I was left sucking wind. As he walked away, leaving me still fighting for breath. I fought hard to get to my feet and committed that face to memory. I coughed hard as I fought and pushed myself to a stand. Just a reminder that no matter how bad a fighter you may be, if someone can get the drop on you, they can own you faster than you can swing.
With a furious flash, I yanked the phone from my pocket and called James at home.
“James, pick up the fucking phone!” I shouted after the fourth ring. It went to voice mail, so I dialed him back up again, the fear and uncertainty welling up inside of me.
“Come on, pick up pick up pick up!” I ran my fingers over my throat, the small line left by that asshole's phone charger cord.
Finally, his voice came over the phone, bleary and tired, “Mel.... it's two am here. What's up?”
“Pack your bags and grab the baby. I just got attacked at the hotel. You need to get yourself and Lana somewhere safe. I suggest you head over to Aubrey's house...”
“In Mancos?” He asked, “Wait you were attacked?”
“I lived through it, so that's not what's important, Love, just grab Lana, pack some things, and head on over there right now. I'll explain more later.”
I then hung up the phone and stormed back to my room. Luckily I stayed packed for the most part, so I just grabbed my bags up off the floor and headed for my rental car, a ninety-seven Buick Century in emerald green.
This was a line crossed, definitely. I drove out of the hotel and headed for the home of an old friend of mine. She moved here last year after we parted on less than favorable terms. In fact, some would say it may have been the final nail in the coffin of her wrestling career. Right now, however, I knew she would be a safe harbor in the storm.
My arrival at a particularly small warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago came an hour later. It wasn't much, but you could definitely tell that someone was slowly fixing up this home. I parked my car beside a beat up ninety-nine red Honda Civic. Not my favorite type of car, but they will get you from point A to point B most of the time.
I went to the large front door, my bags over one shoulder, and pounded my fist to the door, the sound reverberating through the whole building loudly. Hollow steel tends to do that. Looking down upon my phone, I noticed that it was now four am. A clacking sound followed by the turn of the massive handle came at me and the door groaned as it was pulled open. Standing before me with a curious look on her freckled face, surprisingly alert at this hour was none other than The Ginger Ninja, Molly O'Hatherine.
“Molly, can I bunk here with you tonight?” I asked.
She smirked back at me and crossed her arms, her thumb rolling across her lower lip.
“Why should I help you, considerin' you bailed on me and everyone else at Rebel South Wrestlin'?”
Oh what a barb to hurl at four am after the event I had just gone through.
“Look, Molly-” I started, but then she interrupted.
“No lookin' here, you fawked me over and after everythin' else I had been through, you now come ta' me at fawkin' four in tha' mournin', interrupt me sleep, and then have tha' nerve ta' ask me fer a place ta' bunk?” She looked at me with an incredulous expression.
I then lifted my head and showed her the mark left across my throat by a phone cord.
“I just got strangled by a motherfucking Yakuza looking asshole, and I need a safe place to bunk. If you'll allow me a night's sleep, I'll explain it all in the morning, ok?”
Molly walked up to me with all five foot two inches of her stature and glared right into my eyes. Goddamn was her stare a withering one too. It's amazing for how young and short she was, just how intimidating she could be despite all of that working against her.
“Fine. I'm onlae' a borderline heartless betch. I'll watch ye' fer one night, but after that, yer own yer own, ye' understand?” She said, then backed up and stepped to the side to allow me in her home.
The two of us entered and I marveled at how much better this little home looked on the inside as opposed to the rundown and oversized steel shack it appeared to be from the outside. It was sectioned off by modular walling, the room Molly and I stood in must have been the living room. The center piece was a modest forty inch TV on a steel stand with a game console and stereo system attached to it. A couch and coffee table rested in front of it upon the old wood-boarded floors with a recliner off to the right and a love seat to the left. A few pictures lined Molly's wall, many of them faces she's met over the course of her wrestling career that she still maintained contact with.
I did notice a picture of a woman around her age with short blue hair and glasses on her pale face smiling back at me from within the confines of a simple black frame.
“Who was it, Molly?” said a soft, slightly rasped, woman's voice coming from the open door to my left. The room was pitch black, so I couldn't make anything out.
“An.... old acquaintance that needs a place to stay, dear. Go back ta' sleep,” She told the source of that voice.
In the better lighting, I could see that Molly had visibly aged a little since I last saw her, as well as added some new tattoo ink to her body. The long hair really changed her most of all, as she used to keep it really short.
Molly often let people stay in her home, so I thought nothing of another person staying with her.
“Alright, Mel. There's a cot in tha' backroom by tha' kitchen. It's yours fer tha' night. Then ye' can explain just what tha' fawk is goin' on and why yer even here in Chicago in tha' first place. I moved here thinkin' nobodae' from tha' old life would come lookin'.”
“I will,” I started to head off, the adrenaline finally wearing down and severe fatigue overtaking me. As the two of us parted, I looked back over my shoulder at her, “Oh and Molly, thank you.”
“Aye, donnae' mention it. I'm sure I'll live ta' regret this later,” She said, then turned and headed into that dark room, shutting the door behind her. A few thoughts instantly hit my mind instantly.
She was sleeping in the same room with another woman, even though there's a cot in the back for her to sleep on? No, Molly's straight as an arrow. Maybe there's an explanation for it, I mean I'm not exactly on best terms with her, so she'd probably have no problem putting me in a room with a draft or something wrong with it.
With a shrug, I passed through the small but well kept kitchen and into the backroom, which also doubled as the laundry room as I folded the cot out next to the washer and dryer. It wasn't the most comfortable thing, but as tired as I was, it didn't fucking matter.