Bridging Memories - Part Four

["The Fabulous One" Dan Fierce]

Bridging Memories - Part Four 

(Recap: Dan Fierce had decided to begin to see his couples' psychologist, Dr. Phillip M. Schulmann, in a one-on-one setting on a trial basis to address some of his inner demons that reared their ugly heads as an indirect consequence of the Orlando shooting. I encourage reading the body of roleplays for Manifest Destiny found here. 

Also... POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains child abuse. If this sort of thing makes you uncomfortable or could have a detrimental effect on you, then please do NOT read further. ) 

Dan had been so nervous about this session with Dr. Schulmann that his knee was bouncing involuntarily. It was only when the receptionist gave him a sour look that he finally realized a childhood habit had reared its ugly head without his consent. He looked at his own limb with a cocked head, as if he wasn't even sure it belonged to him, before calming himself with some breathing exercises as he waited for his appointment.



Now that he was lying on the fainting couch, he had finally found a position that was somewhat comfortable. Dr. Schulmann had to really work to get Dan to open up at first, but that was something he was used to. He knew that most human's psyches were like water balloons; once a hole was punched through the barrier, the information would leak out, sometimes a steady trickle, sometimes a sudden burst. This patient started off as a trickle, but the stream had grown steadily more immense and rapid as the time went by.



The doctor had set aside three hours for this session, knowing that he might very well end up using at least two of them. He sat in his Victoria high backed chair, his legs crossed at the knees, scribbling notes down as fast as he could. Dan had also given him permission to tape the session in case he missed anything or had a difficult time deciphering his own scrawlings.



Dan had explained to his psychologist about how his birth family had violently turned their backs on him after catching him "fooling around" with another boy when he was a twelve, his father attempted to force redemption by way of choking him out, and his little brother chasing him down the street with a baseball bat, all while his mother wailed her self-pity, wondering where she had went wrong.



His first few months of living on the street were spent avoiding people whenever possible, all while trying to survive in the shadows. Dan remarked that saying that street life was hard ranks right up there in the top five phrases of stating the obvious. He had kept mostly to the highway, moving alongside the road as far out of eyeshot as possible, only surfacing at the rest stops to use the facilities and poke around in the garbage cans for discarded food.



He had made it all of the way to Dodge City before his raccoon-like diet had finally caught up to him. Food poisoning would have taken him if not for the attentiveness of strangers, but it also had landed him in a hospital, which meant he ran the risk of being returned to a family that looked at him like last Thanksgiving's leftovers.



He made a full escape, robed only in the wonderful open-backed hospital gown, slipping into the car belonging to a man, whom he would later acquaint himself with, named Ben. Ben knew the street life. That much had become transparent when he pulled up to a small church which housed a shelter. It was out in the middle of nowhere, most likely at the outskirts of Dodge City. There, Ben had procured some clothes he thought would fit his half-naked charge.



The cut-off jean shorts were so shorts that the pockets peeked out below the frayed ends like they knew a dirty secret. Dan had snickered to himself that the loud print shirt would surely stave off any would-be wooers. He didn't know how wrong he was.



Ben had offered to take him further down the road as long as he was okay with making one last stop before they parted company. Dan agreed naively, trusting the man who had shown him so much charity and understanding in the recent hours. The two had driven down Highway 56 towards Oklahoma, talking more like close friends than recent strangers.



Signs for little podunk flyspeck Kansas towns like Montezuma and Elkhart promised little to no civilization or scenery to entertain a bright-eyed and talkative twelve-year-old boy, but his grizzly bear like chauffeur didn't seem to mind. Just inside the Oklahoma border, they stopped in a nearly abandoned rest area under the auspice of fatigue. Ben told Dan to get out and stretch his legs a bit while he got something out of the trunk.



Lacking any proper facilities, Dan decided to water one of the trees. He didn't see Ben stalking up behind him with a rag drenched in chloroform. Ben gripped his prey tight as Dan fought for his life until all of the fight sank away. The last thing he heard before fading into unconsciousness was his captor's gravelly laugh.

"Close. I was so close to reaffirming that I belong at the top of this game. Don't get me wrong, Rick Majors is no slouch, and he certainly earned his shot. But... We all know where 'close' get us in this business, don't we?



"That's okay. I'll get my chance. I just hope that Murdoc decides to gain a backbone and stick around now that he's the World Champion. Even if he doesn't, I'll at least get one last crack at him on Trauma 200. That's IF Majors decides to share him, anyways. It would be a wise move for him to keep Murdoc in the ring as long as possible, maybe even injure him if possible.



"That's what I would do if I were in his position. Unfortunately, this match is going to be an all-out cluster-fuck. On one side, we have three of the four PCW champions and two former World Champions, all hell-bent on reigning terror in the PCW halls.



"In fact, if there were fucks to be given about the rules in the ring, I'd go so far as to say that this gathered mass of evil would be in the negative in that aspect. It's nothing short of the epic 'good versus evil' that would make a special occasion like the 200th episode of Trauma a special one. We're also the only match booked, so that means we will have unlimited time to stomp a mud hole in their deserving asses as a collective.



"Sure they have the championship caliber on their side, but let's be real here. They can shine those baubles up real pretty and take them to a taco vendor on the street and still not be able get their bellies full. They have the talent to back up that gold, and that's why they are where they are. Don't pretend that we don't have equal abilities just because we don't have the same jewelry, sweeties.



"Sadistic decided to join his brother Grimm one last time. Both Brothers Dillinger are being paired with the current and new World Champ who still has unfinished business with the elder Hangtown Horror. Add the wildly unpredictable Alexa Black and PCW's own version of Jim Jones, Seromine, anyone who knows their stuff would call this team unbeatable. The outlook would look bleak. Normally.



"On my side, we have the well oiled machine and undefeated former tag champions Psychedelica, Nathan Saniti and Kelli Starr. You have yours truly, the winner of the Icemann Invitational, and Rick Majors, who won the Deadly Rumble. Plus, we have our ace in the hole. I'd say who it was, but I swore to keep it hush-hush.



"Murdoc's team all have a few things in common. First, they are all going to underestimate us. Each of us have proven time and time again that is a dangerous mindset. If they think that just because they hold most of the gold that they are somehow going to walk out of this match unscathed, then they will deserve the beat down they are about to receive. Gold just makes you the best until someone knocks you down a peg. Each of us specialize in just that.



"The second thing they all have in common is that deep down beneath all of the bile and muck that makes up their individual personalities, they are all cowards to the core.



"Sadistic slouched away after Grimm took his World Title for over half of a year to lick his wounds instead of sticking around to prove that he didn't just have one bad night. Murdoc collapsed under the weight of his own sickening ways, threatening to slink back into the shadows until his daughter was born, then he used her as a virtual shield in a feeble attempt at humanizing his getaway. Seromine and Alexa may have singles titles, but neither of them have been brave enough to do a damned thing on their own; no followers to interfere, no lackeys to drum when things go south.



"The only exception in the lot may be Grimm. That man shows next to no emotion. He shows no quit, unlike the rest of his crew. He truly is as people have said; a cornerstone of this company. Over time, even the densest stone concedes to the elements. He's showing the pock marks of weathering. As someone who's been in this business for far too long, I know the signs when I see them. His high flying days gave way to a more grounded approach long ago. I can see the weary eyes growing dimmer by the day.



"Seromine has his growing number of followers to prevent him from doing anything like winning a match clean. I have to wonder just how far he'd have gotten if he hadn't found the Jonesborough Kool-aid recipe. He'd likely still be tethered at the hip to Loco. Don't get me wrong, I can respect tag team specialists. I've been in my own fair share of teams and stables. In the long run, I only got somewhere when I relied on myself alone.



"As for Alexa, she just amuses me. She's taken a lucky streak and written it off as skill. That's cute. She may be a vicious bitch, but at the end of the day, she's still nothing more than a pretender who has to surround herself with a gaggle of brutes to do her dirty work. Momma ain't afraid to get her hands dirty, Alexa. So bring it, hooker.



"Once the smoke and glitter clears on Trauma 200, we may or may not have our entire team, but I can guarantee you one thing: This bitch will be one of the last ones standing in that ring. That's not just a promise. That's Fierce. See you at the big show kiddies. Toodles."